I Didn't Know I Could Do That!

Midwest winters are long. When you have little kids, Midwest winters can feel even longer. Going outside is a chore with all the snow gear. Coming inside from a Midwest winter means snowy boots, ice encrusted gloves. But eventually, spring comes, and it feels like shedding a skin. The snow boots are up on a shelf, and our hall closet is no longer stuffed with snowpants and puffy winter coats. We can go outside on a whim, come back inside, go right out again. I hear the sliding door make that familiar rhythmic sound of opening, closing, and opening again.

Spring marks one of my favorite times as a mother. The kids are drawn to the outdoors, and rediscover the backyard and the other children in the neighborhood. And the most magical event of the new year? The first outing to the park.

After winter, the kids have been cooped up, and they practically attack the playground. There is so much to do all at once, that usually, one of the kids will run up to me, out of breath and cheeks flushed with color and say, "Mom? Can we stay a long time? A really long time?"

Of course we'll stay a long time, I want to say. I wouldn't miss this for the world.

We know our children grow up quickly, but nothing drives that point home more than the first time at the park in the spring. The child who couldn't reach the monkey bars last fall can, just a few months later, not only reach the monkey bars, but can propel himself across to the other side. Or maybe a child has aged enough to graduate from the baby swings to the "real swings." I, the Mommy, can sit on a park bench beneath a tree bursting with blossoms, and see the tangible proof that my children are growing and learning. It's an unstoppable force. With each changing season, the world becomes just a little more accessible to them as their bodies and brains grow and develop. I can't stop it, and I wouldn't want to.

My six year old calls to me. "Mom!" he yells. "Look!"

"Be careful!" I answer. Mommies have to say things like that. But I smile when I see him, grinning proudly at the top of a web-like structure. Just last year, I remember there were tears when he couldn't quite reach his legs to the right places to climb up to the top. But here he is, after achieving his goal with barely any effort. "Do you see me, Mom? Do you see where I am? I didn't know I could do that!"

Riding with Ruby

Riding in a car with a dog is an experience that’s new to me. In my childhood, I had cats. And I can tell you, riding in a car with a cat is not fun; it’s something only done when absolutely necessary. No, I did not know the experience of riding in a car with my dog until I became an adult. Pregnant with my third child, we decided our children deserved the joys—and yes, the responsibility—of dog ownership. Little did I realize that I was the one who would get a crash course in the joys and responsibility of raising a young family alongside a dog. And little did I know that this self-proclaimed “cat person” would be completely converted when we brought home Ruby, our spunky, playful and smarter-than-her-own-good Chocolate Lab. The tail wagging when she sees me—whether I’ve been gone for the day or gone to the mailbox—and her gentleness with the children has made me quickly consider her to be part of the family. It’s her exuberance that makes living with her so much fun. And the sheer happiness that happens when she hears the jingle of the leash that promises a walk does not compare to the absolute glee she exhibits when she hears me grab my car keys from off the hook that hangs by our back door. Ruby leaps and starts, imploring me with her eyes: Is the answer yes? Can we ride in the car?

Most of the time, the answer is yes. Driving my minivan back and forth between school and errands and piano lessons, Ruby is almost always invited to come along. In fact, I like her company, the way she listens intently while I chatter to her about my day or recite my to-do list while we wait for the kids to emerge from school. She never interrupts, and never once complains about the music on the radio. She sits quietly, and I wonder what she’s thinking as we pass trees and fire hydrants; when we pass other dogs on walks with their owners, she looks down at them regally. 

Once the initial excitement subsides and Ruby leaps up to her spot in the front passenger seat, she immediately takes on a much calmer persona. As I drive through town, I’ve taken note of other dogs who ride in cars. Some dogs bark and pace in the back seat, while others prefer to sit on their owner’s lap. I once saw a woman skillfully executing a left turn while balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and two chihuahuas, who scuffled on her lap, vying for the best view out the driver’s side window. Still other dogs prefer to hang their head out the window, their ears and tongue lolling in parallel ecstasy, eyes squinted, mouth in an open grin. But Ruby finds all that to be beneath her. On a cool summer day, she will allow her nose to hang out of an open window ever so daintily, where she sniffs the fresh air gracefully; I can see her nose wrinkle slightly. But for the most part, Ruby’s head is erect, looking straight ahead. On especially hot days, I turn the air conditioning vent toward her and she sniffs appreciatively.

We must look like quite a pair, the two of us. Whether by design or not, I chose a dog who matches me almost exactly in hair color. From behind, perhaps it just looks like I’m riding in the car with my sister, or a friend. Ruby looks through the windshield dutifully, nodding pleasantly to the school children who yell out her name; she’s become somewhat of a celebrity at our elementary school. She does not bark, and only wags her tail in a rhythmic thump, thump, thump when she recognizes her family or a neighbor.

Later in the day, I’ll take Ruby for a walk. The walk is that age-old ritual all dog owners adhere to; this in itself is a special time between dog and owner. But even as we end our walk, and Ruby and I return to our home and walk up the driveway, Ruby will pause by the parked car and look up at me imploringly. Her tail will wag hesitantly, as she searches my face for the answer: Can we ride in the car?

Family Camping

Because of the large span of ages in our children, I can see the writing on the wall: it’s going to get increasingly difficult to find family activities that appeal to everyone. How do you find something cool enough for a teenager that’s also friendly enough for a preschooler? Time will tell. But taking advantage of some unusually warm spring break weather, our family packed up the tent this past week and headed to a State Park nearby for an overnight camping adventure.

Somewhat a novice camper myself, I follow my husband’s lead when it comes to the camping trips. We like to make a game of it, to try to keep it as simple as possible. No electronic devices are allowed, and we rely on firelight and flashlights for our after-dark entertainment, which usually consists of s’mores and reading aloud. My husband and my sons, having read a variety of Gary Paulsen books that involve some type of wilderness survival, have an arsenal of pocket knives and even a magnesium block and flint to start our fires—proclaiming that matches are for wimps.

Of course, going without our regular conveniences make things a little slower, a little more deliberate. Which is why our camping trips are so technicolor: hands down, our camping trips have afforded us the most precious, concentrated family togetherness time. I have no doubt that our children, in adulthood, will look back on our times on the campground as the most special. Having a State Park as your living room turns your whole world upside down, especially for a family deeply entrenched in middle class suburbia. Look, there are deer behind those trees! Why are those geese flying in a V formation? These are things we don’t often ponder when in our natural habitat, which happens mostly indoors with modern convenience at every turn. Our trip to the “wild” reminds me how much I love my indoor plumbing, my hot shower and my electric coffee pot. But I’m game for the next trip. If I’ve got my husband and my kids and yes, even my dog, I’ve got everything I need. Sign me up!