As I shake out the sisal mat at the sliding door to the back door, the sand, the pebbles, the wood clips, the bits of leaves and dead insect bodies flood me with memories. In. Out. In. Out. Shut the door! The kids two, three, four, sometimes six flying in and out in wet swim suits and fingers pressed against their lips signaling not to tell the other guys where they are. Spies, fairies, dragons, Legos dude running from the Kragle, and princesses just letting it go visited this house.
This was the summer of exploration. In the creases between, pioneer day camp, cabin time, Girl Scout camp, Lake Powell, more cabin time, and trips to the pool, they kids learned to play. This was the first summer for me as a mom that I intentionally had weeks of unstructured free time, un-mommed free time. Wow, free time? Yes, free. Do what you want as long as you check in and tell me where you are. Interestingly enough, it was quite a chore to get them out the door. But, once there, they realized it is pretty awesome. Fortunately, Son found a new buddy a bit down the street. And, Daughter discovered the telephone so she could arrange overnights.
I really enjoyed being the mom at the house with the sprinkler in the back and jelly sandwiches. Unfortunately, after several spills and debacles with the juices, this house only provided water for the rest of the summer. Never mind this inconvenience, the other house had juice boxes. I loved watching the kids, mine and our guests, discover things on their own. All the while I thought about the wonderful things I did when I was their age.
I lived in Texas north of Dallas and had lots of different friends. There was the twins. Everyone went their house to play Barbie. They had a Dream Mansion of three floors and all the furniture. Their dad let us use all his bi-fold record album covers to make walls for more buildings so we had a city. I remember the day they moved. Their room was cleared out and Karen was desperately looking for one of her Barbie rings. I found the tiny thing near the vacant imprint of the Dream House.
A few houses down the twins, both way up a steep hill from me, lived a girl with a boat. We'd get to spend the night in there and pretend we were lost a sea. But, one night her mom asked me if I had the go "pee." Finding this word and others offensive in their crudeness, I stopped staying the night there. There was also some girls who had an RV parked in their driveway all summer. We used to make PlayDuh hamburgers and play drive up window with other kids roaming around the hood.
Roaming, that is what I remember the most fondly. Moving out of the city a little further north on I35, we were in farmland. I befriended a gal who lived on one. What an adventure we had teasing the cows and building a fort with pallets and carpet squares her dad dragged over for us. We also went exploring on a creek near my house. Creating altered personalities as Rambette and Conette (from the movies Rambo and Conan the Barbarian because they were the strongest characters we could come up with.) we got all kinds of muddy chasing our "bad guys." Yes, might I add, we were still climbing fences and walking along the creek when we were 12.
Tonight, the eve of the first day of school, my kiddos, one almost 9 and the other almost 10.5, must retire their wings and capes and join the soldiers of learning. The good intentioned mom that I am, bed time was seven, 7:30, okay fine, 8. "Just one more Lego to finish the motel," they plea. "Wait, I have to build a bed so my guy can go to bed. Wait, I need to.... No I didn't brush my teeth. Fine." The stall tactics commence. Quickly following comes the fears. "What am I going to wear? Will they like me? Will I have friends? What am I going to do at recess because I don't like sitting around talking like the other girls. What if I am weird? Too loud? Not loud enough? What if.......?"
Sigh, a hug, and all I can say is, "This doesn't all have to be figured out tonight or even tomorrow. Just be the authentic you and you will find the people who want to be with that you."
"But what if I don't find that person and I am all alone?" she questions.
I can only hold her and say, "I know. I know. I have been there."
Wringing out my mop, I watch the brown water drip into the drain. I ponder the beauty of the age of innocence. The freedom to be who one is exactly as they need to be at that moment. The summer of freedom of schedules and judgement. A couple of weeks to be truly who they are. I watch the evidence of barefoot prints, well played in the mud and grass, wash away in the dirty water. I smile at memory of the garage door slamming shut announcing the presence of an explorer and his team seeking a beverage. With a stone in my throat, I think about all of the other moms out there consoling their children to sleep as they mourn the aberrant loss of the freedom to be authentic. It will be okay, you will fit in. I just know it. How could it be any other way as you are so awesome, child.
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