Second, sorry for reacting to your generosity by going
silent for several weeks.
But now where were we?
Ah, right. Summer.
So every summer since the kids were born has gone pretty
much the same way. I start it out filled with energy and armed with a long list
of all the educational and enriching activities I’m going to do with them. By
mid-summer I find myself repeating phrases like “Wow, the summer is really
flying by!” and promising myself that I will do those educational activities
any day now. By the end of summer, that ambitious list has been completely
abandoned and my catch phrases have just given way to long strings of
expletives.
Somehow the void of time that was school is instantly filled
by some sort of “busyness” the way that wet sand rushes in to erase a footprint
on a beach. I can’t quite wrap my head around how our schedules are going to
readjust to accommodate school resuming soon, but I know it has something to do
with a constantly dirty house and a lot less sleep.
All that whining aside, there have been some moments of
summer grace that I’m clinging to. Summer grace #1 was our trip to St. Louis
for the albinism conference.
For me, the very best moments of childhood involved waking
up when it was still dark and hearing the muffled sound of suitcases being
zipped and car doors closed. In that moment my anticipation became so electric
the very air seemed to snap and crackle.
Of course now I realize that that moment of excitement was
made possible because the adults had already spent hours and hours planning and
packing and stressing. For parents, there is less snapping and crackling and
more groaning and moaning.
Luckily the kids’ excitement over taking the train to St.
Louis was so palpable that even as I stood bleary-eyed on the platform at the
crack of dawn, I couldn’t help but bubble with their anticipation. Their enthusiasm
about the train ride didn’t wane through the 13 hours of traveling and layovers
that day and it continued on the equally long trek home. Any trip on any form
of transportation is exhausting with three kids (especially a toddler), but the
train was so much better than a car or plane any day. Damn those lucky
Europeans with all their fancy pants trains.
But I digress.
The conference of course was wonderful – connecting with old
friends, meeting many new friends, attending informative sessions, and in
general just soaking in the joy of having so much white hair in one place.
There were some rude or stupid comments and plenty of staring when we went out
as a group, but for the most part we enjoyed our blissful albinism bubble.
The boys were much older this time compared to our first
conference in D.C., so I was most interested to see how they would handle the
kids’ programs. We have talked openly about albinism in the past, but they hadn’t
seemed interested in the topic. I chalked it up to the fact that we live in a
very diverse city, they have each other, and we are pretty active with our
Michigan chapter of NOAH.
That is why I was a surprised that Fionn walked up to
another little boy the first day of the conference and said, “Hey, you have
white hair just like me!” They never said anything about albinism the rest of the
trip, but it was interesting nonetheless.
A month later, they were running around a playhouse in the
ophthalmologist’s office when a new boy walked in and started asking them why
they have red eyes. Emerson did what Emerson does and ignored him. Fionn stopped
and responded in a very matter of fact tone, “No I don’t, I have blue eyes.”
Then he smiled and added proudly, “And I have white hair!”
Moment of summer grace #2 was on a camping trip with
friends. It’s pathetic to say that we started planning this camping trip back
in February as a way to reunite with college friends we hadn’t seen in years.
The pathetic part is that despite months and months of planning, half the
people still canceled at the last minute and we were down to three
couples/families. Despite the setback and despite the intermittent rainstorms
throughout the weekend, we had a great time. The kids loved it all too: eating
s’mores, sitting by the fire, sleeping in a tent and playing in the canoe (whether
or not it was actually in the water).
Even though the highlight of the weekend was spending time with our friends, my moment of grace actually happened thanks to a large group of German Baptists (if you are confused, think Mennonites) that set up camp across from us. They had the foresight to create a dining area under a huge white canopy so that they could stay together even if it rained. We looked on with jealousy as we retreated to our tiny individual tents every couple of hours.
As we were getting ready for bed the second night, a new
storm starting brewing and the camp managers came around to say that it would
be a big one. We were instructed to take cover in the bathrooms, which was not
reassuring. A few minutes later, the wind started thrashing the trees and the
lightning and thunder began a booming symphony that went on uninterrupted for
hours. We huddled in our tents and told the kids it was fine to go to sleep,
but I have to admit a tiny part of me was freaking out. I love a good storm usually – just not when I
have three kids in the middle of it protected only by a piece of cloth and a
few flimsy poles.
Finally the worst blew over and I started to breathe again.
At that moment, over the still rumbling thunder and drizzle of rain, I heard
the sound of people singing. The German Baptists were sitting together under
their canopy, completely unruffled by the storm, and now they were singing
hymns.
By that time the boys were asleep, so we took Miren out of
the tent and walked to the beach across from us to watch lightning strike over
the water in the distance. We watched the sky and black water light up every
few seconds and we listened to hymns. It was…. surreal.
A few minutes later, the singing stopped and their children
came out onto the grass with sparklers. Through the rain and mist, it looked
like frenetic fairy dust that swirled and exploded and danced. Apparently my
always-good-citizen husband had given them one of our boxes of sparklers
earlier that night and the kids were ecstatic. He had also offered them canoe
rides that day, which they seemed excited about but never took him up on it.
After our strangely magical night, the Baptists returned
Robbie’s generosity by bringing over a batch of homemade donuts that had just
fried. They were the most amazing donuts I have ever eaten, although I still
can’t figure out how you fry donuts while camping.
So finally to summer grace #3. Even though our camping trip
had been on a beach, the crazy weather this summer had caused an algae bloom
that prevented us from swimming. Last weekend we finally got a chance to swim
on a local lake for the afternoon. It was a tiny bit cold for lake swimming,
but we dived in blue-lipped and shivering nonetheless.
The moment of summer grace came watching Miren explore the beach. She is an exhausting handful all the time, but she is also refreshingly curious and fearless. I’m not sure if it was five minutes or an hour, but I just sat there watching her squeeze sand between her toes, walk backward to examine her footprints, squat down in the water and let the tiny waves lap at her back, taste test some washed up plants (did I mention she has really fast hands?), and poke at debris with sticks.
The moment of summer grace came watching Miren explore the beach. She is an exhausting handful all the time, but she is also refreshingly curious and fearless. I’m not sure if it was five minutes or an hour, but I just sat there watching her squeeze sand between her toes, walk backward to examine her footprints, squat down in the water and let the tiny waves lap at her back, taste test some washed up plants (did I mention she has really fast hands?), and poke at debris with sticks.
This probably seems like a strangely inane moment to focus on, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot. How sad it is that we stop exploring the world like that when we get older. How sad it is that I can’t be that present in the moment more often.