One of our recent excursions took us to the Blue Ridge Tunnel Trail. We chose the Afton entrance.
I packed our lunch and we headed over.
There were slight misgivings when we reached the parking lot only to discover there were (1) no picnic tables and (2) no modern bathrooms and (3) the porta potties were perched right on the edge of the parking lot.
We ate standing outside the van, fashioning our sandwiches on the running board and trying to be as far NOT downwind of the porta potties as possible.
Then we cleaned up our lunch, I grabbed a bag of snacks, and we headed down the trail.
There were wild black raspberries growing on the side of the trail, as well as vetch and viper's bugloss.
In the distance, there was a vocal cow making the sort of vehement protests I imagine she makes when her calf has just come in from a wet pasture and carelessly skipped across the freshly mopped floor. "Do you hear that goose?" asked Rosie (3), with wide eyes.
"That is a cow," said Ethan.
"No, that is a goose. Gooses honk. That is a goose," she said with a knowing nod. All of her nods are knowing, and there is no convincing her ever that she may be incorrect about something.
Rosie with Mimi and Lily
As we neared the entrance to the tunnel, various children ran ahead. Flashlight beams inundated and then dissipated as the children set off in twos and threes.
River (5), while the others forge ahead
It took about twenty minutes to walk all the way through the tunnel. (Well, on average. Some of the children were MUCH faster and had to wait for those of us following certain young ones who talked the entire time to hear the echoes and had to be reminded repeatedly to "keep walking, please.")
We were not a quiet group.
When we reached the other side, we gathered just outside the tunnel and split candy necklaces and sour gummies.
Then we headed back.
River (5) and Gideon (12). I have no idea what she is doing here.
Ada (10) and Salem (12)
Edee (15) and Eve (7)
Mimi (17) and Lily (18)
Gideon and River
I was pleasantly surprised by the family's reaction to the walk. Several of the older girls stopped to take pictures of the trailside flowers, the older boys chauffeured those who wanted to race ahead, and the Littles vacillated between (i) being dramatic about how tired their legs were and about how so many rocks were in their shoes, which precipitated their being piggy-backed and (ii) demanding put me down right now! at which point they would race ahead three steps, stand stock still, say something loudly to hear the echo, and notice rocks in their shoes.
The tunnel was cool, the outside air was hot, and when we got home we unpacked the picnic bags and crashed in assorted positions around the house.
I'm not one who typically figures out a "Word of the Year," you know, the one word that will remind you of your focus for the coming year: Yes, or Hope, or Trust (never my words). There were a few January 1's where I tried that, but I inevitably either forgot what the word was by mid-January or I forgot until the following January that I had even picked out a word.
However, this is the second summer that I have picked out a Word of the Summer. Summer is such an evasive season to me as a mother. As a child, it was this long-awaited holiday that left me deliciously exhausted and sunburnt and bug-bitten and chomping at the bit to start school.
As a mother, it is this long-awaited holiday that leaves me exhausted and sunburnt and bug-bitten and frantically dodging the planning and inevitability of school.
I always assume there will be these long, lazy days of heat and pool towels drying and popsicles and afternoon movies in front of the air conditioner.
And those elements are there: the heat and the drying pool towels and the popsicles and the air-conditioned movies. But they are squeezed in between getting various children to their orthodontist appointments or mowing jobs or babysitting jobs or driving lessons or summer camps or airports or college orientations. And always looming are the school subjects that probably should have been finished or maybe should have been started or definitely should have been checked (here's looking at you, Math).
And so a couple of summers ago, I decided to pick a focus for the summer that was actually achievable. Something that, no matter what, if I had been intentional, I could look back on the summer and say, "Yes, in the midst of the busyness of summer, THAT did happen."
And this summer, I picked "Explore."
Ethan and I have always loved exploring, just poking around different places and seeing what crawls out. When the children were all little, the easiest way to be together as a family was to load everyone in the van and just DRIVE. No GPS, no planned destination, no timeline. Sometimes we would get an audiobook from the library, always someone would fuss a bit, and usually some would nap.
Long-suffering Ben with Edee and Mimi in 2009ish
Sometimes we would take a boat, sometimes we would take a fishing pole, but mostly we would just take coffees, sippy cups, diapers, and snacks.
A grubby Jon-Jon with a live Maverick in 2009ish
Jon-Jon, Abey, and Maverick in 2009ish
Ethan, Ben, and Maverick fishing in 2009ish
On the boat with Papa, circa 2009
But as they have gotten older and more numerous and more opinionated, those times have dwindled off. Our gathering in the van has been limited to the drive to and from church twice a Sunday.
And I hate that.
Which is why recent Monday (Ethan's day off) mornings have found me packing sandwiches and chips and cookies and watermelon, hollering, "Did everyone go potty?" and grabbing my camera to head out to the van.
It all started a few Sundays back when I was contemplating Ben being gone all summer, Lily ready to start college, and two more needing to get their driver's licenses. I started down the path of "Woe is me this stage of life stinks am I really this old," a path that typically ends with me listening morosely to Cowboy Junkies and longing for the days I didn't have to do Pilates just to move without needing to be oiled and could swing without having to vomit.
Sweet Susie, Lily, Ben (Mr. Admissions Counselor), and Ethan. See why I feel old?
I mean, it just wasn't a good place to be. I have meals to get on and laundry to do!
Also, I am supremely blessed. I have a husband whom I love madly, children that exasperate me in the most wonderful, hilarious ways, and two adult children who outshine me totally and make me so proud I could burst.
Ada (10) and Zebby (8), not the adult children
So on Monday morning I shoved paper plates and paper towels and assorted foods at the children, announced, "Put these in the van! We are going for a picnic!" and we headed off.
It wasn't any kind of grandiose destination. We drove about fifteen minutes away to familiar territory, had a picnic, and went for a walk.
And it was magical.
You know the moment I realized it was magical? It was when I bit into my sandwich, thought, I taste bug spray, and was suddenly transported to many summer meals of my childhood. This just tastes exactly right. I didn't know this is what I needed to taste, but this is it.
We weren't far away and we weren't anywhere foreign, but we were exploring. We were turning over rocks and peeking under leaves and scampering further down the trail to catch another glimpse of the ducklings.
And even the unexpected seasoning of bug spray served to jolt me from my plain picnic fare and transport me to carefree summers of long ago.
I absolutely loved it. And right then I decided that we WILL explore this summer. Even in the midst of all the comings and goings and goodbye-ing and hello-ing, we will turn over different metaphorical rocks and see what crawls out.
And when I really am old and you come to visit me and we head out to the porch for a picnic, you make the sandwiches and I'll bring the bug spray.
Today marked the official start to I-Just-Want-to-Nap-All-Day Week. As in, I said to Ethan, "I just want to nap all day." And he said, "Well, yes. This is I-Just-Want-to-Nap-All-Day Week." Some people call it the week of Vacation Bible School. We call it like it is. It's not even like I'm doing anything for VBS. I'm not. I was going to, and then along about April (hello, first trimester) I thought, "What in the world am I thinking? I can't handle basic life, let alone devoting an entire week of mornings to being out of the house and chipper among children. I will be miserable, and everyone around me will be miserable." So I backed out of helping. I would feel bad about that, except I just can't muster the energy. Besides, Ben (14) offered to teach the preschoolers, and everyone knows a 6'4"(?) 14-year old boy way beats his 5'9" 30-mumble-year old mother. Especially when said 30+ person is mother to two of said preschoolers.
Zebby (3) and Ben (14)
So, see? I'm not even doing anything. My job is to make sure the laundry gets done and meals are plentiful (by the way, thanks for dinner tonight, Sweetie). The mornings start early, with nervous older children who double- and triple-check to make sure they have everything they need and excited younger children who "cannot WAIT for GPS/UPS/BBS/Whatever-it's-called!" Karen picks up the oldest four at 8:15AM so they can do whatever they need to do as teacher/aides, we make sure the next six down are there by 9:00AM as participants, and then the 13mo gets to spend the morning with Mama. (Doesn't that sound cozy? "The baby gets to spend the morning with her mother." Perhaps I should remind you that this child is used to having at least TEN people to bossily fuss at and demand attention and applause from, and now this child must be content with just her mother. These are trying times.) At noon, the six partipants get picked up, Karen drops the oldest four off a little after that; and we eat and hear about the day's adventures and misadventures and nap and pretty much lie around the rest of the day. It's just exhausting.
Miriam and Abraham (11). She's doing Nursery Work this week and plays a hawk in the skit; he is the Recreation Assistant and plays Terry the Turtle.
Eve (13 mos.) with Lily (12). Lily is helping with one of the classes and plays Brittany Butterfly in the skit; Eve is an absolute pudge who must be squeezed all of the time and is a terror if you are far away from her sheepskin-lined bed.
We're only one day in, and when we picked up Ben and Abe from their Trail Life meeting at 8:20 tonight, Ben said, "I'm ready for bed." Me, too. I'm getting tireder just thinking about all I am not doing this week. Maybe tomorrow I can catch at least a couple of naps.
These are chickens. I don't know their names. Chickens are dumb; and no, they can't come in, even if it's raining. Go away, chickens.
It doesn't feel like the first day of summer. It feels like the ... 17th or 18th. Or maybe 28th or 29th. But not 1st. Not to me.
We sort of slid out of school. There was no "This is the last day of school!" or ice cream party or week of watching videos like there was when I was in school. We just sort of started dropping subjects, and then we woke up one day and spent the whole day not doing school. Shortly thereafter, one of my friends asked if I was going to continue school through the summer. "No," I said. "I mean, how can you with yard work and projects and all the stuff around the house that has to be done?"
And the very next day we did school. And life was a little bit easier, because the children were occupied and there was a semblance of order. And then I thought, "How can you NOT do school, with all of the things that have to be done and a need for order?"
Aren't I confusing?
Lately my house has been driving me crazy. The rabbit stinks, no matter how often you change his (her?) bedding, there are always crumbs on the floor (and I am up to mopping the kitchen floor daily, mind you), various pieces of laundry and swimsuits and Legos and books and shoes are always strewn everywhere.
Ethan came (again!) to my rescue last week. He marched into the girls' room and started boxing up toys. Some of them were thrown away, some were donated to thrift stores, and some were boxed for future use. The girls were eager to help (albeit easily distracted) and thrilled that their room was made so easy to clean.
Then Ethan went with me to pick up an outside rabbit hutch (with enclosed run -- and this thing is CUTE!). So the rabbit is out of the house and happy. And I am thrilled.
And once again I reminded that less is more/less is more/less is more. I am always the one to fight it hardest, thinking that we're taking something away from the kids or getting rid of something we'll desperately need or ... I don't know ... throwing something valuable away.
We never are! We never are!
Not that things are hunky-dory, mind you. The yard is still a wreck, the flower garden is mostly large weeds, there is a large trash pile in the middle of the driveway waiting for us to borrow a truck to cart it away, and I'm not sure where to put all of the blankets that have recently taken over the upstairs hallway.
But! Little by little, things will get done. And then winter will come and give us a break from the yard work, and we will be pining for the long lazy days of summer.
Wait. Long lazy days? Who coined that phrase, anyway? Was he seven? And single?
Abraham and Jon-Jon, wading through the creek at Braley Pond
So somewhere in the middle of the list of Habitually Neglected Things sits this blog. Also: the yard, meal planning, checkbook balancing, hanging pictures (our walls are still bare and I'm afraid I don't even notice anymore!), and every closet in this house.
So I'm going to deal with the blog today, because that's by far the most pleasant duty. (Ha! If I call it a duty, it means I need to do it, right?)
I'll start with books. Because everywhere I look, every day, that's what I see. I won't bore you with a recitation of all of the books lying around. I'll bore you with a random collection of books we are reading:
(There are links embedded in this post. Email subscribers may need to click over.)
And by "reading," I mean the children are reading their books and I ritualistically pick up my book about 0.3 seconds before I fall asleep. But the books are so pretty on my nightstand.
Gideon, running away (again)
Do you have any good reads to share? I feel a nap coming on...
One thing we love (perhaps that's a little too strong - "happily endure"?) about Staunton is the summer ... oddly enough. I would normally advise anyone traveling to Virginia to pick fall or winter or spring to come, but we've been surprised by charm even in the midst of summer. While it has gotten hot (and Very Good Friends Russ and Kathy -- how'd you like those Capital Letters, Kath? -- arrived just in time to help us install our mega window-unit air conditioning), the breezes are constant, the nights are beginning to cool (and it's still August!), and there are enough water spots to cool us down on the hottest days.
We've explored around and found lakes and ponds and dams and the swimming pool of some friends. We've been enjoying ending Mondays at our friends' pool. Granted, most of the time is spent helping children overcome their fear of water (and get their suits on) and keeping babies occupied, but the kids eagerly look forward to Mondays and brag all week about what kind of swimming they're going to try.
And there's been other water play ... a canner full of water and a spray bottle provided almost an entire afternoon's entertainment.
Miriam and Jonathan
(And when it's not your turn with the spray bottle, just go ahead and dump a water bottle down her back...)
Miriam and Abraham
Eden, Ben, and Lily
Some of us just watch the goings-on.
David Bianca (the bunny) and his/her? paper towel
Salem and Maverick
Salem
But the real trick is when Papa gets home from work...luring him out of the van so you can douse him.
Jonathan and Ethan
And then when it's time to come inside, everyone is STARVING (because water can make you SOOOO HUNGRRRRYYYYY MOOOOOM). We eat lots, and then we play some more.
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