field explorers club

So after four days away from my family, I did not slip back into the waters of daily life with my kids like a jumping silver dolphin who slides gracefully into the sea after a brief flirtation with the air. Nor was I like a sea turtle who suddenly moves smoothly and effortlessly after flopping around on the sand. I was not like any creature who belongs in the water at all. I was more like a kid who has not yet learned to swim but thinks the water looks awfully inviting, and so jumps in only to find it's cold and foreign. Thrashing about in utterly exhausting futility ensues.

Gosh. That doesn't sound too good. It hasn't been terrible; it just hasn't been smooth. Wednesday was my birthday and I felt mad at Frances especially for not being nicer to me (perhaps a misplaced expectation to have of a six year old, but it bothered me all the same). Maybe she and her brother were punishing me for going away. But maybe I was asking for it: I felt behind in various areas of my life when I got back, and commenced to multi-task at a fiercer than usual rate around the house. Such as simultaneous laundry-folding, email-checking, pesto-making, inner wheel-turning...all while I am ostensibly listening to one of my kids tell me about his dream last night. Sort of.

Between their acting out and my evasive distractedness, I have been missing the feeling of true connection with my kids. So this morning I finally made a move to break our bad habits. I proposed we form a field explorers club.

Inspired by a new favorite from the library, Field Trips by Jim Arnosky, each child packed a notebook, binoculars, and pencils in a newly designated field bag. Frances brought along her bird books. Then we set out across the 30 feet that separates the back deck from the garden, and began to record our observations. Gabriel planted himself on a garden path and began drawing a daddy longlegs he found on a zinnia leaf, and Frances gravitated towards the swings, where she listened to the birds in the trees and tried to identify them by their calls.

We were driven indoors within 30 minutes by the fantastically aggressive mosquitoes, so the club members continued drawing indoors, aided by books. We have not yet made membership cards, but I think that would be a good idea.

 

Because maybe a membership card tucked in my wallet might remind me that sometimes all it takes is a deep breath, an intention to slow down and look around (if only for a half hour!), and join together in a simple, common pursuit. Creating our club was hardly a silver bullet (I nearly strangled Frances about two hours later) but it did gently realign something inside me. On a hot and humid July morning, that slight adjustment in my vision made all the difference.