Shark Mom

From my vacation journal, written on 7/19/07.

On our last full day camping, we went to the bayside beach, where the water is warm and shallow. For me, it was a bittersweet day because I will soon return to my regular life, albeit the summer edition. And though it's been a year since I became a single parent, the challenge is still great. But this day was a day for fun. At this beach, the boys can walk far out in the water because there are long sandbars. The boys feel daring and fierce but I feel they are safe. And that there is a happy parenting combination.

As she does most days when the boys are in the water, my friend S swam out to play with them. They love to watch her swim in the ocean and they know that she will take them even further from the shore. Today she played that she was a shark come to get the boys and I could hear their screaming laughter as they swam away from the shark (though mostly they taunted her to come and get them).

When they weren't expecting it, I snuck in and played shark mom for a bit myself. To me, shark mom and any number of other made-up games are the essence of parenthood. One of my favorite childhood games was playing restaurant. My sister and I ran the show and served my father a lunch of deviled egg sandwiches. We made him order the sandwiches off of a hand-made menu that featured any number of exotic dishes. As I recall, he would order everything on the menu but for the egg salad, which he knew to be the only available item. That he played along with us made the game that much more thrilling. I want to be that kind of parent more often.

There are still six weeks of summer left before JT and I return to the school year. That life, though rewarding, is sometimes a grind. A single parent has to get the business of life taken care, with no expectation of help from a partner. Only when the lunches are packed and the laundry is (mostly) caught up, is there time to play games and have some laughter. That's when I get to play shark mom. I hope that next year I'll have more time to play those silly mama games. Because I think that they add up to a collection of happy childhood memories; the kind that will last my son a lifetime.

Thanks to my friend S and her son D for the inspiration, not to mention the shark mom game.

Vacation Journal

For the past two weeks, I've been out on the very tip of Cape Cod, camping with friends near Provincetown. We've done a lot of bike riding and swimming and plenty of relaxing. I read voraciously. The time to regroup got me thinking. Over the course of the vacation I wrote a few essays that I will be posting over the next few weeks. I'll post them with the date of the original writing at the end of each essay. Some are variations on themes that have frequented this blog; some are new ideas. Mostly they are thoughts about where life has taken me, especially in the past year, with some hopes for the future thrown in for good measure.

Slippery

One of the best things about summer is sliding through the water of a pool or the ocean and the sense of how quick and agile your body feels in that moment. I have loved that feeling since I first learned how to swim. This summer I've been teaching JT to pick up diving sticks, so that he learns to propel himself under water.

And that's really the thing I love most about the slippery feeling: it's powerful. It's a reminder of everything you can do. And just how fast you can do it.

Road Warriors

Taking a break from watching Harry Potter the boys discovered that nothing moves Friday afternoon traffic on I-95 like a little Lenny Kravitz.

Off to Camp

This afternoon, we head northward for two weeks of camping at the very tip of Cape Cod. We expect cool mornings, sea breezes, bike rides, camp meals at a family picnic table, playing games, trips to the beach, and lots and lots of fun with the R-K family. We'll be at the North Highlands Campground ----- the office phone is 508-487-1191, if you need to reach us.

We're expecting some big fun. The picture is one of the memories from last year. And here at Sassafras House we're looking forward to new memories and stories to tell. Fresh adventures and a lot of laughs are on the agenda.

Also, if we're really, really lucky, maybe the kids will let us tie them to a tree again.

What the F*&#?

Until Tony Snow wrote his USA Today editorial on the Bush pardon of Scooter Libby, I was willing to let it go. After all, the president's broad Constitutional power to pardon convicted offenders has been around since the dawn of time (or at least American government time). The power is broad, it's unfettered, and it's a bit of anomaly in our government of strict checks and balances. But for all that, (and yes, there's much to talk about in all that) it's a legitimate Constitutional power. Nearly every president has used it; almost all used it to pardon their cronies and friends.

That doesn't make the power right, of course, but it is political reality. I don't suppose that most anyone was surprised by the Libby pardon. I wasn't. No one else should have been.

But then Snow wrote in the USA Today, " [Bush] believes pardons and commutations should reflect a genuine determination to strengthen the rule of law and increase public faith in government."

Whhhhhhhhhhhhat?

That sort of reasoning is just shameful. Bush commuted Libby's sentence and he should own it, not offer up slimy, distasteful justifications for his actions. To me, that sentence shows how very little respect he has for the reasoning skills of the American public. Not to mention the "rule of law" and "public faith in government."

Time Zone Management

Whenever JT and I come home after a visit out west, we find that our sleep patterns are a mess. We are awake until midnight and sleep in until 10 am. It's like we're teenagers, staying up until all hours of the night. After few days, this is no longer amusing and I begin the tedious process of getting JT back into the normal sleep pattern of a 7 year old.

He is not a willing accomplice to this project. So I invited our friend D to spend the night. D is a notorious early-riser so though we got to bed rather late on Tuesday night (around 10:30 pm), I just knew that we'd all be up with the sun. This would lend itself to a reasonable Wednesday night bedtime and more of a normal sleep pattern. Victory for Mama!

But you know what they say about the best-laid plans. D slept until 8:30 am yesterday, though JT was up by 7:30. No worries, I thought to myself. We're basically back on track. He had a full day yesterday, riding his scooter up and down the street with the other boys. There were some scraped knees and as he stood in the shower last night he reported that his feet were tired. He was fast-asleep by 9:30. I figured that he'd be up around 8 am.

Ha! It's 9:45 as I write and JT is still sawing logs. Soon I will send the kittens upstairs to roust him out. And now I'll need a Plan B for sleep management.

In Praise of Neighbors

Twice a year, in July and again in October, my neighborhood holds a block party. We shut the street to cars, meet in the middle, and share food and company. The kids enjoy the freedom of riding bikes and scooters in the street. The adults are reminded of what neighborhoods are about. We talk and catch up. We share our favorite foods. We connect.

I grew up in neighborhoods with this kind of feel. It seemed natural when I was a child; now it seems downright old-fashioned. People looked out for one another...and kept track of the kids. Lost pets were returned; cups of sugar were borrowed; fresh garden produce was shared (and even the zucchini was welcomed). When I moved here two years ago, I chose the house because the neighborhood had the look and feel of what I wanted: big trees, green yards, sidewalks, and front porches. It seemed like a place with good neighbors.

And looks did not deceive. These folks are terrific and always ready with a smile and a wave. J and A, who live two doors down, scrupulously maintain the yard of the elderly man next door. Come nor'easter time, the snow blower owners always help those of us equipped with just a shovel. D, the man with the beautiful garden across the street, came across the street with his wrench to help me remove the training wheels from JT's bike. G next door helped me remove the rusty old sprinkler from my hose when the time came for a new sprinkler. And in an act far beyond simply being neighborly, N replaced my faucet when it broke off. It was a tedious job requiring extraordinary patience and hours of his time.

All of these things are offered in the spirit of kindness and neighborliness that seems a bit old-fashioned in these days of busy lives and 4 car garages. But on Second Street twice a year we pause to appreciate and enjoy the neighborhood. And because we take that time, we are able to reap the rewards all year long.

So today I will toast my nation's independence and my neighborhood's dependence. And I will enjoy the laughter of kids with water balloons and bicycles and grown ups with extra tomatoes and a willingness to help out.
Plus, I will enjoy a neighborhood potluck featuring grilled hot dogs, cold beer, and sushi. Because, hey, I live in New Jersey and that's how we do it here.

Watersports

The silver lining of the faucet suddenly breaking off is that it sends an AMAZING fountain of water across the kitchen. And so, for a very brief second, there was some real excitement in the air. Then I realized that having a functional sink is a very helpful tool in the kitchen. And this mess is going to cost me a couple hundred, not including the 75 cents I now owe the curse bowl, courtesy of this unexpected event.

And what's the deal with water and me, anyway?

Selective Hearing

Why is it that my son can remember every curse word I uttered while we were in California (31.......because damnit, he wants to make sure that I pay up the curse bowl), any number of embarrassing events in my life (including, but not limited too, that time that my underwire bra blew out on a wild ride at California Disney), and whether or not he had a fudgesicle in June of 2005 but he CANNOT remember to leave his grimy hands off the glass door in the living room. Despite it's conveniently located handle, he chooses to slide the door open with his hands on the glass. And when I remind him for the one millionth time NOT to do that he looks at me with a wounded look and says, "Mama, I'm just a little boy and it's hard to remember."