Wake of the Flood

The flooding this spring did a number on our house.  Our downstairs rumpus room got flooded three times, and we have had to tear out the carpet because it got so moldy.  It is in a state of constant disarray and clutter as we are going to wait until next spring to see if the landscaping berm will truly hold back the water.  This will help decide the kind of floor to put in.   It's a giant hassle and too boring to write about.  


But there was a hidden gift of this major headache.  A huge box of baby clothing that had to be "saved."  Tiny tie-dyed onesies that I had packed away to save for my grandchildren got soaked and before they could also get moldy I had to wash them all and re-box them.  There's nothing like folding a miniature batik dress to make you stop and get flooded by memories rather than lake water.

All of a sudden I am back to another time and space, holding this little blue dress in my hands. I'm thinking about building a swing set in our back yard, getting our first dog, Jerry (of blessed memory) and my Grandfather, Poppa Ben, who loved it when I brought my kids to visit. And summers at the shore, long car rides when I played "name that tune" to teach them classic rock, and walks with strollers even when the child had outgrown it, just so I'd have a place for my bag, the extra sweatshirts, and the snack bag. 


I have an urge to get out an old photo album, but I know I'll ignore my work, my lesson plans and my dogs.  I never get anything done once I start scanning photos.


If you have been following along, you know I love my work as an educator.  But the most important work I do is as a parent.  I thought about parenting before I became a parent.  I had long talks with my husband about being consistent, and setting a schedule.


Like all parents, we tried not to curse.  I did a lot better than my husband.  I'd like to say I never cursed in front of the kids.  

The van, which we recently retired.
It helped that it was sold to an up and
coming rock band.  

"But Mom, remember that time when the van caught fire on Route 17 and you had to pull over, and we were standing on the highway and you couldn't get the carseat unbuckled, and then the baby started crying, and your cell phone battery died, and then your pocketbook dumped out all over the place?  I think you said 'shit' that time."  Yes, I think I did.


Each age and stage presents new joys and new challenges.  I have heard myself say, for the past 24 years, "THIS is the best age!  Look at my kid!  Isn't it amazing?"  


I am still saying that about all three of my children.  


I have been extremely pleased watching the way my three children have grown.  Their uniqueness has been a joy.  As a parent, I think that is the challenge: to sit back and say "Let's see who you are going to become," rather than try to mold them into who you want them to be.     


I know that the day I give away this box of groovy baby clothing is a long way off.  


For now, they are nice and clean, folded and in a few cases repaired and ironed.  I threw a few precious toys in there too, just in case we have another flood.


No, for now I'll continue to kvell over who my children are still becoming.  I'll share their joys and let them kvetch over their miseries, and whip up chicken soup when they are sick.  I'll still pack a snack bag for a beach trip, and try to coax anyone around to go to the supermarket with me, bribing them with a box of sweet cereal just for their company.


Okay, that's it.  I'm getting out the photo album.

When they were 8 1/2, 5 and 1 1/2.
They are now 24, 21 and 17.
I no longer attempt to make them match.

"Mom, why are you taking a picture of that dress?"
"Juliet, what have you been doing all day, what's with all the photo albums?"
"Bark, bark, bark"




Hey, it's my 10th blog posting.  I think that calls for a little celebration. 

Giant pixy stix anyone?