Camp Counselor

Sitting in the Cool Carter Clubhouse this morning,

I had the sudden realization how much my life these days feels like my summers spent as a camp counselor:

My days are filled to overflowing with children whose energy knows no bounds (except when it's time for dinner prep) and constantly look to me for suggestions, guidance, direction (except when they don't like what I'm suggesting, guiding, and directing them to do.)

It's up to me to make sure these hellions are sufficiently bathed, dressed to their mothers' approval, lathered in sunscreen, covered in bug spray, and otherwise ready to face the day.  I'm also charged with preparing their every meal, making sure that they eat well, and urging them to drink water, drink water, and drink more water.

If I feel annoyed, or grumpy, or fed up, or just plain worn out tired, that's simply too bad.  I'm charged with singing a jolly good tune - even through tightly clenched teeth.  (When in doubt, Christmas tunes have the effect of catching campers off guard, occasionally making them forget just what they're squabbling about, this time.  Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer in July?  Why not?  They know all the words, and it buys you two minutes to unclench your jaw.)

Creepy spiders?  Scary boom-boom thunderstorms?  Bee stings?  Antagonizing cabinmates?  Potty runs in the middle of the night?  It's all on me, baby.

And then I realized some stark differences, too.

I receive no wages, however meager, for the hard work I do.

There is no contract I've signed that GUARANTEES ME TWO CHILD-FREE HOURS EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

I cannot simply usher my children into a cafeteria where hot food awaits us, during those times I'm not actually required to cook for them.  Additionally, they can see the pantry from where they sit, so I can't get away with claiming that there is nothing else they may eat except what is on their plate.

My co-counselor works long hours.  And sleeps while I am awake.  And works while I am asleep.

My co-counselor is equally afraid of creepy spiders as my "campers," doesn't wake during thunderstorms or for children who have to potty, and treats bee stings more like a fascinating science experiment in skin reaction and less like an exercise in distraction and downplay for the hysterical boy.

Occasionally, when I forget that I'm not allowed to be grouchy, annoyed, fed up, pissed off, and JUST SO OVER IT, I have no "respite counselor" who cheerfully swoops in to relieve me, giving me a tight hug and a big grin before sending me on my way to a two hour break.  Instead, all eyes are upon the mom with the screeching, thrashing, flailing, screaming, red-faced two year old who was told, gently and with much advance warning, that it was time to leave the pool.

Those summers I spent as a counselor, when my exhausted campers drifted off to sleep listening to the symphony of crickets surrounding our hogan, I lay in bed, spent and weary, yet fighting sleep.  I'd count the cricket chirps and wait for my mind to ease, knowing that in the morning, I'd have to rise and do it all over again. 

In the calm of evening, of course, the other stark differences come through. 

The differences come in creating a sanctuary in our very own backyard, which invites a calm and a peace not known before, where we simply sit, together.  Where we simply hang out, (how often do you see three boys, ages 2, 5 and 8, simply hang out?) talk about ferns and spiderwebs and big clouds and blues skies, where we begin the day.

Where we pore over a new camping book, reminding each other to dig out the ropes to try new kind of knots, trying out new camp songs, then singing old favorites - "Little Cabin in the Woods"  and "John Jacob Jingelheimer Schmidt."

Where we light a single tea light, drop it into a mason jar, and pretend it is a bonfire.

Where we talk about Life Issues like navigating through changing friendship, and kids who are very sick, and why the cat keeps attacking the butterflies.  And why she then pukes it up on the porch.

Where we leave the tranquility of our clubhouse for the adventure of exploring our neighborhood, on bikes.  How I revel in the freedom this affords to each of us, the pleasure we share in this conquest of wheels and pavement and exploration.  Where my sweet companion, riding behind me in his little seat, points and grunts in happy excitement when he spots a squirrel, a yapping dog, a peliated woodpecker perched on a tree branch.  Where I watch, in admiration, as my two older boys push themselves with small legs up big hills, determined to be Big Enough.

Where I discover anew all the things I loved best about being a camp counselor with the children I love best in the whole world. 

Where they drop into bed, weary and spent.  Where I lie on my own pillow, knowing I'll get up in the morning and do it all over again.

And feeling the excitement, the anticipation, for morning to arrive.

Rock Me Gently

Abruptly, it was decided that the time had come for Aidan to have his own room again, and for Pax to move in with Leo.

Which means the time has come to paint over the nursery.

 Which is much easier said than done.

For eight years and three months, I've sat in the light blue cushioned rocker -  and rocked.  Rocking.... reflecting, remembering, reconsidering, regretting, revisiting, renewing.

I rocked and read books in the month before Aidan's birth, anxiously awaiting his arrival. Killing time, dreaming, not fully believing I'd hold a baby in my arms, rock in that same chair with him.

Newly born, I rocked him to sleep. Night after night, nap after nap. Even though the books said not to, I did it. I felt mildly guilty, but I did it anyway. I nursed him in that chair, preferring its comfort and cushion over any other seat in the house. That chair, that nursery, became my escape.

I found out I was pregnant with another baby, and I loved rocking both of them to sleep. I gazed at the walls, still loving the colors we'd chosen, marveling over the time I spent agonizing over the theme, finding a corresponding plaid paper to complement the border. I was adamant over a non-gendered room. In retrospect, knowing I would give birth to three gorgeous boys, I'd choose the exact same thing again. I cannot imagine not watching every single boy fall in love with the hippo at eye level on the changing table......

I rocked our baby in my belly while I rocked our baby in my arms. I dreamed. I dreamed of a new room for Aidan, of him becoming a big brother. I wondered if we'd change the top color of the room, if it were a girl. I decided, no way. The yellow was too cheery. Nothing would look better.

And then I miscarried. And I rocked my sorrow. I rocked and rocked, tears streaming down my face, not yet ready to put my long-ago sleeping boy into his bed. I rocked until my sorrow dissolved into a form of acceptance, until my tired arms could no longer hold my lovely, living, breathing, beautifully asleep boy.

I rocked my hope. I rocked my anger, my frustration, my sadness. I rocked my joy, my delight, my happiness in the discoveries of each day, discoveries only the perspective of a young toddler can bring.

I rocked my joy. I rocked and rocked, knowing that this room was no longer fit for Aidan, that a new baby would fill the space. In December, just weeks before he was born, his crib was filled to overflowing with wrapped gifts. How clever I was, how resourceful - fill the crib with Christmas gifts, tempt the eyes of those who were to receive, yet keep them out of arm's reach. I loved that the gifts filled the spot that our true gift would soon fill - the gift of Leo Gabriel, named after the beloved grandfather and the angel who brought such good news to Mary. He was our good news.

I rocked through the hard days of transitioning to two babes. We made small changes to that room, wanting Leo to feel that it was own, yet knowing it was perfect for every baby. We hung the belly cast we'd made when I was still pregnant with Leo, framed photos of his beautifully sleeping self. We introduced him to the animals on the walls; the Lion's call was the first animal sound he learned.

Years later, I rocked and dreamed again. I was excited for Aidan and Leo, knowing they'd share a room together, to make room for another. I clung to the dream of our September baby, knowing he would be our last. I reveled in enjoying every final moment in that nursery: bringing him home; snuggling him in his crib; changing him on the 34 year old dresser, repainted and refinished; introducing him to hippo, twice torn, twice replaced.

I've read hundreds of books, thousands of pages sitting in that chair, ranging from "What to Expect When You're Expecting" to "Baby Days: Games to play with Newborns" to "Goodnight Moon" and "The Going to Bed Book" and "I Love You Forever" and "Owl Babies" and "The Kissing Hand...."

This room has borne witness to my greatest joys, my greatest sorrow, my deepest fears, my highest hopes and dreams. How impossibly attached I have become to butter yellow walls, pastel Malawi safari animals, and blue plaid paper. I never thought this nursery would bring so much solace and peace to my heart; in the waning days of being "nursery," I drank it in the gulps of a parched and dehydrated soul.

Long after Pax surrendered in slumber, I cradled him and rocked him and gazed at the ever-darkening room. I reflect on the day, remembering the joys and regretting the harsh words spoken, the impatient tap of the foot, the misunderstanding. I sink deeply, rehearsing how tomorrow will be different, planning my improvement.  I remind myself that I am doing the best I can do, and that I will do the same again tomorrow.  I forgive myself for my failings.  

I rock, I hum, I kiss him on his delicate, full lips. I rock him longer still.

Thousands of nights, tens of thousands of naps, I've rocked these babes to their peace-filled slumber.

Those books were wrong, I decide. Never have I known greater peace and contentment as rocking my children to sleep, night after night, in a room I never imagined would hold such memories.

I read recently that in order to live more fully and in the fullness of love and grace, we should detach ourselves from our attachments. I suppose, them, that I must detach myself from this room, this space, this place that has borne witness to the highest highs and the lowest lows of my existence. I am moving aside, making way for the occupant who will fill it, make it his, occupy it, love it, and miss it when we move to a bigger home...

As for the rocker?  It has found new space.  Nestled cozily into the corner of the family's room, arm's length away from dozens of beloved books, my children pile into my lap to hear stories, to snuggle, to rock.  Late at night, when the house is sleeping, I find myself in that chair: to think, to reflect, to dream.  To rock. And rock. And rock some more.  

May's Days

The end of May is HERE and I would be remiss not to mention a few highlights that were glossed over here on this blog - days and occasions we celebrated, amidst the angst, anger, and frustration of the deceptive and damaging work of the Board of Supervisors.  Without further ado.......

I received an invitation to a Mother's Tea at Leo's school.  The invitation stated that we should "Dress to Impress."  Leo interpreted this to mean.... a bright plaid shirt; cute blue chinos; boat shoes; and.... his favorite tights.  I was definitely impressed.  

Leo graduated from preschool.  I took so many photos this day, but this one was my favorite, because he looks both so ready to head off to kindergarten, and yet so content to stay safely tucked at my side, lovingly embraced.  Like many mothers I know, the day felt bittersweet.  I am proud and happy of this giggly, friendly, mischievous, and incredibly kind-hearted boy - and yet my heart aches when I think of how much my world will change in the fall when the ratio of boys-at-school to boys-at-home shifts in a way that cannot possibly feel balanced for my liking.  Watching Leo walk across the stage to accept his "diploma," I felt more grateful than ever for the one boy still snuggled close on my lap. 

Leo thrived and flourished under the guidance of the beloved Miss Barbara.  She is a wonderful, patient, funny, calm, and experienced teacher who loved my boy.  And I love her because of it. 

Mother's Day was such a lovely day!  No tears, no gnashing of teeth, no wailing, no tantrums from anyone - children or my own - which was quite a relief, given last year's disastrous day.  We celebrated with a picnic lunch at a local vineyard. The food was delish; the company, divine.  My favorite photo from that day - only Aidan stayed in place; the rest of us ran from far away places once the timer on the camera was set.

Aidan had the best school year of his life, under the incredible guidance of his gifted teacher.  Perhaps Mrs. Henning's most amazing attribute as a teacher is her ability to create a cohesive, cooperative community of learners among the diverse group of students in her class.  Her classroom was organized, inviting, friendly, and lush with opportunity for learning.  She holds high expectations of her students, yet she is compassionate and kind.  She is funny and fun, yet knows how to bring order to chaos with a single hand gesture.  She exudes love of children and a passion for teaching, and Aidan flourished in ways I could have only dreamed.  I am filled with gratitude for the gift that Mrs. Henning gave to Aidan - the gift of his second grade year.

To celebrate the beginning of summer, we presented a "Butterfly Kit" to the boys on the last day of school.  Five larvae arrived in our mailbox, complete with instructions on how to care for them as they moved from larvae to chrysalis, and as we're still waiting and observing (in a larger habitat), to Painted Lady Butterflies.  Pax absolutely loved to watch the caterpillars as they ate their way though TONS of food, growing in front of our very eyes!  One morning, we measured them against a penny held to the side of the cup.  In the morning, the larvae just barely reached beyond the edge of the penny.  By afternoon, it was fully sticking out of each end and was noticeably fatter, too!  Very exciting stuff, I tell you!

For many years, as much as I love our house, I've hated the lot it was built upon (that we chose, for the record.)  The front yard is one huge hill going up from our house; the back yard is one huge hill going down.  But in summer, the trees fill in all around, the ground becomes lush with ferns and wild growth, and with birds chirping everywhere, it feels almost like we are in a treehouse sanctuary of sorts.  Recently, I was struck with sudden inspiration to make our "wild" backyard much more accessible and play-worthy.  So the kids and I have set about creating a cool little "clubhouse" in our very own backyard, hauling down scrap lumber, propping up big logs to serve as borders, fashioning seats and tables, organizing an "outdoor mailbox" and deciding who gets to sit on the mossy rock - a place of honor.  Tonight, we packed a picnic dinner and headed down the hill for a lovely little meal amidst the creepy crawlies, next to the creek that feeds the lake just a few hundred feet from where we're sitting, and with the crickets chirping in the background.  This picture does not do it justice, because it was awesome, the first of many more adventures here to come. 

Ah, Summer: the best is yet to come.

Mad Scientist!

When Aidan decided that he wanted a science-themed birthday party this year, I wondered if I'd met my match in party planning.  But I love a good challenge, and after just two internet searches, I realized that this party of his was the best of both words:  Teacher Meets Mom.  Eureka! 

The party turned out to be among my most favorites.  Most of the guests were in Aidan's class this year, and they were truly a joy to have at our home - he has many kind and sweet friends, that is for sure.  Since we haven't done a big party for Aidan in several years (his choice), it came as a rather unexpected surprise to have such a calm and lovely party.  No tears, no fights, no wrestling matches (which is more than I can say about a certain pirate party we hosted recently).  :o) 

I managed to get a lot of fun photos from the event, and although I usually try to avoid photo overload on my blog, I'm making an exception this time.  (However, as a general rule, I try to avoid including photos of other people's kids on my blog if I don't have their permission... so some of my favorites, including a group shot of the party bunch, are not included here.)

Welcome to the Lab!

 Be sure to wear a lab coat, please...

 The Mad Scientist with the Origin of (his) Species:

Preparations are complete and ready for the scientists!

"Scientific Progress Goes 'Boink!'"

What a Cache!

School's out and summer has officially begun - even if the calendar won't say so for another month!

Day 1 of Vacation:  Any seasoned mom knows how rough the first transitional days are from school routine to summer vacation.  Wisely, this mom vacated the premises for much of the day, leaving the wailing and gnashing of teeth for Jeff to deal with.  Any seasoned dad knows better than to keep three kids cooped up in the house on a summer day, so he decided to attempt geocaching with the kids.  Despite enjoying a wonderful adventure of an entirely different kind (namely, meeting a man who is hiking across the country!), no geocaches were found on the first attempt.

Jeff, of course, was more determined than ever to find the caches.  So on Day 2 of summer vacation, the  5 of us set out together to Unlock the Mysteries Hidden on the nearby Rail Trail:

(awesome new hiking sticks from Grandma and Grandpa)

After we typed in the coordinates into the GPS and set off, we carefully tracked our progress until we knew we were exactly at the coordinates where the first cache was hidden.  Looking high and low, after just a few minutes, we heard Aidan say, "Hey, I think I found something!" Out came this ammo can, filled with treasure!

The thrill of finding a hidden treasure was magnified by the connection we felt to others who had made the discovery before us, and the wonderment of who might find it next.

We logged our find, selected a few treasures from the bag, and chose a few to leave in return (including the camp-style can opener that the hiker the boys had met the day before had given to each of them, as a gift).

Finding one geocache practically made us Bounty Hunting Experts.  Confidently, we set off toward our second cache, located about half a mile or so from the first.

This one, dubbed "Treasure Chest" online, was a little bit trickier to find.  But we did it!!  It was first established in 2006 - very cool.

Lots of cool and creative treasures in this oversized cache bucket - I LOVE the magnetic words that a fellow logophile left!

After signing the log at this cache, we learned that it had been found most recently on St. Patrick's Day by another family in our community.

These are some of the tokens left behind from others who have found the cache.  Essentially, the tokens are a physical marker of your finding the cache (in addition to signing the log book).  Individuals or families create original tokens and write their name and where they are from on the token before leaving it in the cache.  I am really excited for our family to design and create our own - we'll definitely revisit these first two caches to add our tokens to the mix.

Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!  (Pax's choice from the Treasure Chest)

Geocaching was so much fun.  It took our previously-enjoyed family activity - hiking - to a new level, with the added incentive of finding and leaving treasure. It prompted some good discussion on what to take and what to leave, and it was gratifying to see the kids turn down "ordinary" treasures like dollar bills in favor of more unique finds. I love the whole concept of geocaching,  where technology actually fosters connection and community instead of hampering it.  I have long thought that a single hike through the woods opens you up to discovery and experience beyond imagination, if you just pay attention;  geocaching has added a whole new dimension to our exploration.

We're heading to California in a couple of weeks, and we hope to find a few places to hunt for geocaches.  How cool will it be to log ourselves in as "visitors from Virginia"?! 

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Some great resources on geocaching - 

Official site - 

http://www.geocaching.com/

Some helpful tips and cautionary advice - 

http://www.treadlightly.org/page.php/news-pressrelease/Press-Release?i=7&gclid=CKOGlu3JmbACFSYTNAodZT0AaQ

More info on the tokens, especially if you want to take it to the next level (minting your own)

http://coyotewatches.wordpress.com/category/geocaching/

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“Let children walk with Nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life, their joyous inseparable unity, as taught in woods and meadows, plains and mountains and streams of our blessed star, and they will learn that death is stingless indeed, and as beautiful as life.” – John Muir

Public Comment.

I did what I could tonight.  I gave voice to the storm that has been raging inside my heart for two weeks, battering me against the shore, easing off for a few moments, then walloping me again.  It is such a uniquely desperate feeling to fight for something over which I have absolutely no control.

Tonight was a family effort.  My mom, still recovering from oral surgery, put kids to bed so that Jeff, my dad, and I could attend the Board of Supervisors meeting together.  She encouraged us with the reminder that "speaking truth to power is never easy, always worth doing."  My dad preceded me in delivering his own comments to the board, and his delivery was passionate and forceful, with the perfect balance of clever wit and hard facts.  We were a good tag team, and in his emphatic and direct delivery, he gave me the courage to be a bit more assertive and forceful in my own.

My Public Comment delivered to the Board of Supervisors tonight:
********************************

My name is Anne Carter.  I hold a current teaching license in Virginia, and I serve on the PTO Board of Central Elementary School where the oldest of my three children attends.

As you may know, Central prides itself on creating students who are STARS - an acronym for the following character-building traits:
     Show Citizenship
     Take Responsibility
     Act Kindly
     Respect Others
     Stay Safe.

Tonight, it is the "Take Responsibility" that concerns me most.  When you, the Board of Supervisors, failed to approve a tax rate of $0.68, you made a very grave error.  Your 11th hour decision was made behind closed doors after a "small group of concerned citizens" persuaded you with their "data" to slash funds from our school budget, despite months of previous planning to the contrary.

Well, please hear me when I say this.  Gathered in this room tonight is another "small group of concerned citizens."  Tonight, I ask you to listen to the data that WE present, that you listen to OUR voice.  Additionally, I hope that you lead by example for our students; that you take responsibility for this grave mistake you have made.  And that you make it right.

Your decision to approve a drastically reduced tax rate will produce a ripple effect in this community, one that may start as a single wave but promises to swell into a full-blown tsunami.

Your decision denies programs to support the marginalized and under-served populations in our community, including illiterate adults; at-risk preschoolers; elderly and disabled folk who rely on JABA and JAUNT.

Your decision denies access to the state-of-the-art high school that finally mirrors the excellence that has been cultivated for years by the administration, teachers, and staff at our high school.

Your decision will force underpaid teachers to work on furlough, teaching in classrooms - or trailers - with increasing class size coupled with decreasing resources and materials.

Your decision undermines every single character trait we hope to cultivate in our students - citizenship; responsibility; kindness; respect; safety.

Your decision is your failure to invest in our schools, our staff, our children.  It is your failure to invest in our future.

Some have suggested "compromises" to the school budget.  This is difficult for me to accept, because as far as I am concerned, there is no compromise when it comes to the education of our students.  You cannot compromise excellence.  You cannot compromise the future of our children.  But your actions are forcing us to do just that.

Therefore, I implore you to take responsibility for your grave mistake, and attempt to repair the problem you have created by reallocating funds in order to implement the plan detailed by our Superintendent earlier this evening.  In doing so, you will demonstrate your commitment to our students, your investment into their future.

From Aidan and Leo to the BOS

May 13, 2012

Dear Board of Supervisors,

Please give us back the money that you said you would give us.  You cannot take away the money that we need because the schools cannot buy what they need.  We are running low on school supplies, like glue sticks. We are in danger because of the money shortage.  Our students don’t have enough safe  places to go to because we have to be in the trailers.  I felt really scared when we had the earthquake and I had to be in a trailer instead of a school.  It is also really scary when we have high wind warnings.  We also don’t have good places to hang our bulletin boards because they keep falling down in the trailers.

I felt really super duper sad when I found out I couldn’t go to Careysbrook Elementary School.  Careysbrook seemed like it was going to be an awesome school. 

The high schoolers won’t have their music room that they always wanted.   

There is no choice for you to not do it.  You have to make sure that adults can learn how to read, so you can’t cut the adult reading program.  Reading is very important! 

What are you going to do with the money, anyway? And why are you taking money away from our schools?  Will you please answer all our questions? 

Sincerely,

Aidan Carter (Class of 2022) and Leo Carter (class of 2025)