The Next Stage

This morning I filled three garbage bags with clothing for Goodwill. The clothes range from size "newborn" to 2T and each item brought back a flood of memories. Glover Park t-shirts, Frederick soccer uniforms, much loved leotards and princess t-shirts... I pulled out the ones that felt particularly significant, like the pink and black skirt that Evie wore daily for nearly a year, but the rest are off to be released into the world. For the first time, I am not saving the smaller sizes to be passed down to a little sister. I felt a stir of emotions as I filled up the bags, but they weren't the emotions I was expecting.

For the past nine years, I have devoted my life to raising three daughters. I also went to grad school and wrote two books. But, if you took snapshots of me moment to moment over the past nine years, you would see me wiping a nose here, pushing a swing there, changing a diaper here, and giving a hug there. I have been very busy with all the very busy things that one does when raising toddlers. It's not that, as a mother, I'm not doing any of those things any more just because the girls are older. It's just that recently I find myself more often planning activities for Lucy's Brownie troop or teaching Evie's math league or listening to Lucy read or helping Evie think up arguments for a debate or driving to soccer or ballet or piano or drama or science seekers or gymnastics... I'm still busy raising them, but it's different.

This difference struck me a few weeks ago when I spend the weekend in Boston with five friends from college and three babies. I watched them nursing and snuggling and calming their babies. I remember that stage so well. There were nights when Evie was up screaming for three hours and I found myself in tears thinking this stage will never ever end. And then there was her first smile and her first laugh and I found myself praying that this stage will never ever end.

But it did. It does. That's the way life works of course. Now my first baby is learning about elastic potential energy, my second baby can read and ride a bike and my third baby goes to preschool and didn't even need to sit on my lap during Tangled. This is the though that, while folding tiny t-shirts, I expected to bring me to tears.

Here's the thing though. I love this stage. I love that we can all go skiing or hike up Sanitas together. I love that I spent the morning in a debate with Evie and Lucy over whether it's better to be a werewolf, vampire or ghost (in case you're wondering, I'm going with werewolf) and that we'll spend the afternoon at the Nutcracker. Do I miss the snuggly, sweet stage of raising babies? Of course. But while I look older nine years later, I'm also realizing that I'm suddenly feeling younger than I've felt in a long while. I'm getting more sleep and more exercise and I'm finding more time to pursue interests that have gotten dusty over the past nine years.

Looking at those bags, I can't help but feel nostalgic at all the memories that go along with the stained and worn clothing in them. But part of me feels that, by pulling those clothes out of closets and the basement and releasing them into the world, we have made a little more room for ourselves at this stage of our lives. And to tell you the truth, that feels like a wonderful thing.

The art of parenting from sink to swim

My mom said she learned how to swim when someone took her out in the lake and threw her off the boat. I said, "Mom, they weren't trying to teach you how to swim." - Paula Poundstone

Plunge into the sublime seas, dive deep and swim far, so you shall come back with self-respect, with new power, with an advanced experience that shall explain and overlook the old. - R.W. Emerson

Two summers ago, we rented a house in Duck, North Carolina with some friends from Maryland. The girls were in heaven spending a week with three of their best friends at a house near the beach, with a pool in the back to boot. Evie and the two older kids all knew how to swim and immediately took to showing off for each other the craziest ways to jump into the pool. Lucy floated in the pool with a life jacket and watched them for the first couple of days. Then she decided that she'd had enough of feeling left out. So one afternoon she jumped into the pool. And started to drown. Toby immediately jumped in, fully clothed, and rescued her. The next day she did the same thing all over again. The image of Lucy's face staring up from the water will never leave me. I have nightmares about it still. I never realized drowning would be so silent, but it was. She didn't splash or make a sound, just looked up with huge eyes, terrified, and started sinking.

When we got back from North Carolina that summer, I decided that Lucy needed to learn how to swim. I signed her up for swim lessons that fall, but understandably she wasn't thrilled at the idea of walking in from the freezing cold into the moderately cold "bubble", or basically tent over Hood College's pool, and learning how to swim while shivering and with her arms covered in goosebumps. I decided that a bad experience might turn her off and put my swimming goals for her on hold for the time being. I wasn't too worried about drowning anyway since the only water she regularly encountered was in the bath tub.

Fast forward to this past summer, a move to southern California, and my drowning fears resurfaced. We live in a city where you can swim outdoors almost year round. Almost all of her friends from school have swimming pools. And that little girl who jumped into the deep end without even knowing how to swim? Well, she's decided that she'd actually rather stay on the side of the pool or attached to a floatie from now on.

One of the first things I did after we moved to L.A. was to sign the girls up for group lessons at the Y. Lucy refused to go in. After deciding that the number of kids might be intimidating her, I signed her up for private swimming lessons. She refused those at first as well, but then bargained that she'd go if Evie took lessons too. So, to Evie's delight, she spends twenty minutes every Wednesday with an instructor in the pool. In eight weeks, Evie has learned how to dive, swim the butterfly, do flip turns, somersault backwards and forwards, and collect all of the rings underwater without coming up for breath. Lucy, on the other hand, is improving at a slower rate. As in only the instructor and I can tell there's been any improvement at all.

I'm seven years into this whole parenting thing and I feel pretty confident overall. But every once and a while a situation comes up where I question my own approach. I have tried bribes ("any toy you want if you can swim to me"), threats ("no more playdates if you don't try to swim"), sheer frustration ("Lucy, come ON, just TRY it") and I've even contemplated just a good old fashioned toss off the side to see if she could make it. I've finally settled on encouragement. When I say encouragement, I mean both to Lucy and myself. After two months of lessons, Lucy has gone from refusing to get in the water at first to now pushing from the wall to me, if I am close enough that she can reach out her hand and grab my arm without even moving from the wall. I am encouraging her each time with applause for even the tiniest of efforts. I am also whispering words of encouragement to myself. My normal dialogue? "You're doing a good job parenting. This is the right approach! Be patient. It'll happen!" I try to remind myself that she is not refusing to swim out of obstinance but out of fear, and that helps a bit with the whole patience part of it on my end.

In most situations, I would give both of us a break and decide that she's just not ready and try again another month, another year. Lucy doesn't want to bike? That's fine for now. Not ready to play in a soccer game? She was probably too young anyway. But swiming is a must. I can't give up on her and I can't let her give up either. I suppose learning to swim could serve as a metaphor for all things in life since the only thing that is holding her back is the fear that is keeping her from trying. I'm trying my best to help her get to the point where she's confident enough to give it her best shot. I don't care if she can ever swim the butterfly or the backstroke. I just want her to be able to swim to the side of the pool if she falls in. Though Ill admit that what I'd really love is for her to jump into the pool fearlessly once again - only this time to resurface from her jump and swim to the other side.