KAIROS

: an ancient Greek word meaning the right or opportune moment

It often feels like my time is not my own.  I live my life around appointments, lessons, performances and other obligations.  Even summer - a time that has typically held fewer activities and more time for inactivity (aka rest) - has been full.  I wouldn't necessarily change these things.  Our summer schedule has, I believe, been a taste of things to come.  With my children getting older and our city's school system gradually shifting to a year round calendar, summers are not what they used to be.  Even while we are homeschooling, our schedule is set for us in many ways.  Camps must be crammed into an 8 week period.  Opportunities for enrichment with other children are shrinking.  Travel takes valuable white space off the calendar. 

To be honest, I mourn this.  I love summers with my daughters - time to do fun things together, to stay in our pajamas all day, to do anything - or nothing.  I can still have these things - this time - but in smaller doses.  So I am trying to adjust and accept that time does not always move at the pace I would choose.

When my daughters visited their grandparents in Wisconsin earlier this summer, they came home with heirlooms.  A brought home a 1970s ladybug tunic and shorts.  B loves her cut off jean shorts and summer top.  You should see K model her father's old Brewer's jacket.  And they brought something for me: J's kairos cross from a retreat he went on in high school.

The first time I remember seeing this kind of cross was in Washington, DC in 1993 when J and I visited one of his high school friends.  I saw this necklace hanging in his friend's dorm room and asked what it was.  J's friend looked at him in surprise that I hadn't seen it before.  J shrugged while M explained it was a kairos cross.  If he gave me any further explanation all those years ago, it is gone from the mental stores I have available to me.

So when I opened the box with the cross in it, I decided to see if I could find out more about it.  Wikipedia to the rescue:

The ancient Greeks had two words for time, chronos and kairos. While the former refers to chronological or sequential time, the latter signifies a time in between, a moment of indeterminate time in which something special happens. What the special something is depends on who is using the word. While chronos is quantitative, kairos has a qualitative nature.

I don't have a seminary degree.  I don't speak ancient Greek.  But here's what I think: We all live in chronos time, but not all of us live in kairos time.  Time will move on, whether we mark it or not, whether we spend it well or squander it.  That's why it's important to mark the moments of import and notice them. 

I've only had the kairos cross for a few weeks, but I've thus far tried to intentionally wear it when I need to be aware of time.  Not aware of my schedule, but aware of the moments that matter.  I don't know this, but I suspect that if I were better able to see, seize and enjoy kairos time, then chronos time would not feel like the burden it does.

All of these things are more heavily on my mind precisely because my life is so busy.  J and I decided about a week ago that we want to put our house on the market.  Having lived here for ten years, this is no small task.  We aren't exactly pack rats, but we have the blessing/curse of a basement.  The basement is a place best described as the locus of apathy and accumulation.  In all likelihood, there are items in that basement that have been boxed up since we moved here ten years ago.  I can assure you that when I come across said items, they will be discarded.  But it will take lots of work to get there.

I do think this is the right thing for us for now.  This is the time for this task.  But with school starting in ten days, I am feeling pressure to pack fighting a desire to create a quiet space to dream, pray and plan about our school year.  The pressure to pack will almost certainly win, meaning that our school year will start whether I am ready or not - and we will just have to do the best we can to enjoy the Olympics and learn while we enjoy.  (We are starting our year with a unit study of the Olympics, which does relieve some of the pressure to plan right now.)

The last two days have been particularly full.  I told a friend yesterday, "You know I'm overwhelmed when I keep fantasizing about not leaving my house for week.  And that's all I've thought about all morning."

It's unlikely that week will happen any time soon (or ever?).  The best solution I can think of is to remember kairos, to mark my time and pause to enjoy the right and opportune moments when they arise.

LONELY

1 a : being without company : lone

Yesterday, I drove A and B to Kentucky for camp.  This is A's third and B's second year at Barefoot.  I first heard about Barefoot at the church we used to attend.  Each year, they would play a video that showed this fabulous camp with kids of all shapes, sizes and skin colors doing art, sports and learning about God.  It made me cry every time.  I remember thinking, "I can't wait until my daughters are old enough to go there!" 

I blinked and they were suddenly old enough.

Last year, B went with a friend.  But that friend is a grade below B, so she was slated to attend a different session this year.  I tried to find another friend to join her.  I checked with two other families that I thought might enjoy the Barefoot experience, but I couldn't find anyone.  So I signed her up hoping that there would end up being a familiar face or that she would quickly make a friend.

When we arrived yesterday, K and I walked her sisters to their cabins.  We dropped A's stuff off first and then headed over to B's cabin to help B put the sheets on her bed.  B's cabin was mostly full when we arrived - or it seemed so because all of the bunks near the door already had occupants.  The counselor was there and remembered K from Barefoot Day Camp, where she coached K in soccer.  B was very quiet as we made her bed up.  I could almost see her folding in on herself, like a box that folds up when not in use.  When we stepped outside, B looked... I have trouble finding the word for it.  Was she stunned that she really was there without a friend?  Wide-eyed at doing this alone?  Or was my nearly fearless child afraid?

"It's going to be OK," I reassured her quietly.

"But I'm the only white one," she whispered.

"I know," I replied.  "Maybe some other girls will arrive that look more like you.  But E, the girl in the bunk below you, has a very kind face.  Maybe you should try talking to her.

B nodded, unconvinced.  K and I started to leave and B said, "Can I come with you?"

"No," I said.  "We're going to leave now.  I think you should go back into your cabin.  Try to find someone to talk to."

I am not a parent who lets her children get out of their commitments.  But I came oh-so-close to telling B, "Call me if it doesn't get better.  I'll come and get you."  I did not say it aloud, but my heart said it.

On the drive back to Nashville, I was pondering the whole situation.  Should I have sent B a different week?  Was there another friend I could have asked after the first two couldn't go?  I felt like as my heart was breaking, God whispered to me that sometimes the hardest things in my life have been the things I learned the most from.  While this is absolutely true, it was less than comforting to hear this in relation to my child.  As much as I want my children to grow into who God has made them to be, I would love for that to involve less pain, less hurt, less wounding than my own path has held.  Yet mere hours before dropping B off, I wrote her a note that I hid in her suitcase.  It said, in part, "Be who you are this week.  But be open to God showing you more of who you are."  Was he going to show her through loneliness?

It's not unlikely.  The day before taking my girls to camp, I had lunch with the women who were in my spiritual direction group last year.  When we stopped meeting officially in May, we agreed to try to meet monthly for a meal to stay connected.  Over lunch, we were talking about friendships that shifted and changed.  One of the women was talking about a party where some people purposely avoided talking to her.  I told her that my counselor once told me that the more emotionally healthy you are, the more likely you are to be lonely.

"Why is that?" she asked.

When she asked this, I realized that I'd never asked why.  I think I didn't ask why because as soon as I heard it, it rang true in my heart even if I didn't know exactly why.  So I did the best I could and told my friend that what I've experienced is that the more closely I listen to what God is telling me, the more I veer from the prescribed, common path.  This makes me lonely because there are people who don't want to journey with me when I am not going where they want to go.  This loneliness I feel makes me lean in closer to God and listen more closely, which creates this cycle of being closer and closer to God, but perhaps without company on parts of my journey.

B is more self-aware than most ten year old girls.  She knows who she is and who she isn't.  I suspect that some of this emotional health she has does make her lonely at times.  I don't know the right way to parent her through this.  Thus far, I've tried to affirm who she is, give her tips on building friendships when she asks and, above all, love her.  This last one is easy because I think she's an amazing girl - one of God's best creations (alongside her sisters, of course).

And while she may be lonely at times on her journey, I am praying for God to send her people who see how lovely, strong and amazing she is.

REPRIEVE

2: to give relief or deliverance to for a time

I find myself exceptionally grateful today. 

When I looked at my calendar on Sunday, I saw very little white space: an appointment Monday, coffee with a friend Tuesday, orthodontist on Wednesday, another appointment and piano on Thursday, ballet every afternoon and a trip to Wisconsin to end the week.  It stressed me out a little to see it all laid out, but even more than stressed, it saddened me.  I've been longing for time to do what summer is all about (to me): the lake, the zoo, Cheekwood, the park, the pool, the museum.  Basically, a day that features a picnic, friends and a frozen treat is a great summer day.

Combined with my own desire for down time were two girls who wanted friend time.  B's friend C had invited her on a birthday outing that B missed.  A's friend had been out of town.  With K at day camp all week, this seemed like the perfect week for a big girl outing.  So I did what I could: I e-mailed my friend to see if we could reschedule our Tuesday coffee.  I checked with A & B's friends.  I checked the weather. 

And I was granted a reprieve.

My friend was gracious and understanding.  The friends were free to join us.  The weather was delightful.  (If you don't live in Nashville, you might wonder why a high of 90 feels like a reprieve.  If you do live here, you know that a high of 90 feels lovely when it's been 98 for several days.)

So this morning after getting K off to camp, A, B and I packed a picnic.  There were sandwiches, sun chips, watermelon, grapes, even Oreos (a treat around here).  In addition to food, a book, sunscreen and a blanket went into the bag.

The reprieve was relief.  Relief from an overscheduled summer.  Relief from feeling trapped indoors by sweltering heat.  Relief from sibling bickering from too much time together, not enough time with friends.

Friends and Sisters

Yet the day wasn't what I had imagined beforehand.  My girls are so comfortable at Cheekwood that they move freely from tree house to tree house, from pond to pond without feeling the need to tell me.  So while I talked to a friend, they moved on.  And on.  Often by the time I caught up at one tree house, they were ready to move to the next one.  In short, it wasn't a day of mother/daughter exploration.  Instead, it was me catching up with a few friends and lots of playing in the pond, swinging on ropes and walking and talking for my girls.

But as I sat on the picnic blanket after lunch while two girls played in the waterfalls and two girls visited the Oriental garden, I realized this is exactly how it works with tween daughters.  They want room to safely explore the world, with mom nearby (but not too nearby), a friend along for the fun and lots of open road. 

Post-picnic

My daughters needed a reprieve today, too.  They needed a reprieve from the very things that make our summer busy - a chance to be just A the friend, not A the dancer.  And I needed a reprieve from not only the busy schedule, but my own ideas of what summer should be.  I'm thankful not only for our day, but for the clarity with which I saw it.  I'm constantly learning and re-learning how to parent and I'm grateful for the moments when I can be grateful for a reprieve and learn from it.

Aboard the Jolly Roger - Argh!

Seeing in color at The Giver tree house

LAPSE

1 a : a slight error typically due to forgetfulness or inattention

There has been a significantly longer than usual lapse in my blog posting.  While it hasn't been due to forgetfulness, it has been an exceptionally busy month.  Over the course of the last six weekends, I've hosted an Easter lunch and egg hunt, been a single parent while J went to Atlanta, managed volunteers for a dance recital and then a performance of Coppelia, attended a KY Derby party and hosted a prayer and planning day for homeschool moms.  Please stop to breathe now.  Like I said, it's been a bit busy around here.

Blogging hasn't been the only lapse.  There have been laundry pile-ups, lessons pushed from one day to another, prepared foods instead of homemade ones.  This week has brought a bit of breathing room.  Ballet is over (for a few weeks).  A & B's tutorial is over.  We have finished our math book, much to the delight of both teacher and students.  Instead of decimals and fractions, we are spending our time reading a classic book together and planning a family trip to Philadelphia.  The laundry is oh-so-momentarily done.  The weather is lovely and beckoning and I can't wait for summer to arrive with its gifts of time at the lake, sleeping in and Fun Jar activities.

Last week, as I was still feeling rocked by busy-ness, I went to my Wednesday evening Lectio Divina group.  While there, we read and contemplated the Mary and Martha passage in Luke.  I was struck by both my desire to be Mary (who sits at Jesus' feet instead of helping her sister) and my need to be Martha (who gets busy hosting Jesus and his disciples).  At this season in my life, I can't completely forsake either of these parts of myself.  The only wisdom I saw as I prayed was that there is great blessing in listening to my own heart.  It is a gift to myself and my family when I do what needs to be done but stop for rest and rejuvenation.  And the only way to know when one activity should yield to the other is to listen to what my heart is saying and go where it is leading me.

I can't promise there won't be another lapse in blogging - or in my thinking - or in my laundry processing.  In fact, I'm pretty sure those lapses will occur again.  But I hope I'll feel the freedom to stay in the moment and let my knowledge of my lapses slip through my fingers like grains of sand instead of smacking me in the face with shame.  Because we all make errors - we just don't have to let them define us.

FLOW

4 a : to proceed smoothly and readily

What did I do over the last eight days?  I didn't write.  I didn't do a lot of deep thinking.  I didn't read a single blog post.  I didn't look at Facebook or watch TV.  I didn't hear my daughters' voices or see their beautiful faces.  Some of this was intentional, some merely the result of letting the week wash over me and take me where the tide guided.

Here's where the water and breeze of Tobago took me:

to the beach - with a dense, thick sand that didn't stick to my feet, my shins, my hands the way the fine white sand of the Gulf Coast does.

to the pool - where I could dip in and swim and then sit in the shade and read.

to a book - I wrote less because I read more.  I finished one book on the plane trip to Tobago and spent a great deal of the week making my way through a 1,000 page sequel to a book I enjoyed earlier this year.

to the bed - for naps, a bit of reading and some much-needed snuggling with my husband of fifteen years.


to laughter, relaxation and respite.  The friends who traveled with us were a joy to be with.  They make me laugh, know us well and were the perfect companions - happy to share a breakfast table, but equally willing to let the ebb and flow of the week bring us together and send us out in different directions.  I ended the week with gratitude for this friendship of fifteen years and dreams about where to go to celebrate an even two decades of marriage.

I'll be honest.  I could look back over this week and see all that I didn't do and berate or shame myself for not having more to show after a week in a Caribbean haven.  I have no tan, no journal entries, no blog posts, no art.  What I do have is a sense of having taken a deep breath and let it out slowly.  There's much to be said for bringing no agenda to vacation.  God didn't give me what I'd imagined (deep revelations or stories flowing from my pen), but he gave me the gift of rest.  The gift of laying afloat in the water and simply going with the flow.

GIRL

1 a : a female child from birth to adulthood

I spent last weekend in a one bedroom, one bath condo with six other women.  Sound unappealing?  It wasn't.  Not one bit.

After my high school reunion, my friend J decided we should do our own mini-reunion and gather our girlfriends together for a weekend.  Having enjoyed catching up, I was game.  We settled on a weekend.  I booked a one way flight so that I could ride back to Nashville with another friend who happened to be heading this way.  Other friends made similar efforts and in the end, seven out of eight of our close friends gathered in Destin.  I hadn't seen some of these women since graduation, yet they all helped me get there - M and S met me partway between the airport and the condo - C and A took me back - J shared her condo with all of us.

Friday night, my friend S cooked dinner for all of us while we sat around looking at high school pictures, reading old notes, laughing and drinking.  My friend J found some fourth grade love letters that she had torn up in anger at her 10 year old beau.  We pieced them together to read, laughingly recalling paint pens and elementary school crushes.

As we ate dinner, talk drifted to the past - to secrets held for years by this cadre of women.  Some of the secrets I knew, others were a surprise after all these years.  We admitted details that made us blush to retell and recall.  We compared high school experiences and current day experiences.  We laughed until our sides hurt.

Friday Night: S, A, M, J, T and Me (C is behind the camera)

At 11, we decided to head to a bar.  You read that right - we started our night out at 11 - something I haven't done since college.  We paid a $10 cover charge ("It won't be the last $10 I waste in my life," my friend A confessed to me), entered a smoky bar and grabbed a table.  Five of our crew headed for the dance floor as I sat with C.  We attempted some conversation, but gave up before too long, the smoke and our yelling providing a shortcut to sore throats.  As I sat there at that table watching my friends dance, I thought to myself, "Why are these women even friends with me?  I'm so boring and they so clearly are not."

Eventually, A and T joined C and I at an outdoor table and we talked about what we do, what we used to do and more.  Near 1 AM, we collected J, M and S and headed home.  As we settled in for the night - on blow up mattresses, pull out sofas and one bed - the answer to my question from the bar surfaced in my mind.  "These women are my friends simply because they've been my friends for so long.  There's no need to question it.  It's as simple as that."  They are my friends and with a bit of work, some luck and continued blessing, they always will be.

I've known all of these women for at least 24 years, some for more than that.  A's family attended the same church, so I've pretty much known her my entire life.  J and I became friends in fourth grade - over the word "hamburger" mouthed across the room during a spelling test, amongst other things.  I met T in sixth grade and by eighth grade or so, the friendships enjoyed by the eight in our group were sealed.  We had sleepovers, watched football games, dated the same boys, made many of the same mistakes and grew up together, making the transition from girls to women without even realizing it.

As we fell asleep Friday night, I said to my friends, "You are the only six women in the world that I would share a one bedroom condo with. I have some great friends back in Nashville, but I would only do this with all of you."  There's something to be said for shared history.

I wonder whether my own daughters will have this.  They don't have the continuity in their lives that small town life provides.  And while I wouldn't trade the benefits of living in a city for the community that is available (and forced upon you) in a small town, I do wonder what my daughters would choose if it were up to them.  My daughters are the ages I was when I met these women who saw me through the introduction of bras, the arrival of periods, first kisses, first heartbreaks and more.  They taught me what being a friend looks like.  I learned first from them that friends are great blessings, but that those closest to you can also hurt you the most.  (Aren't teenaged girls experts at hurting and being hurt?)  I've never been good at artifice, so these women saw the best and worst of me all along the way.  Yet they chose to be friends with me. 

Saturday as we floated in the Gulf, M found a sand dollar with her toes.  She pulled it up and J immediately said, "A sand dollar!  Give it to Shannon for her girls!"  There was no hesitation, no thought even given to it.  They all live near the water.  Their children are mostly older than my own and, without exception, they've seen sand dollars.  My land-locked Tennessean girls were excited to see these creatures and have their very own. 

While alternately relaxing in the water and keeping a lookout for sharks, I decided to ask my friends a parenting question, "What do you do when your child has a friend and you can't stand the parent?"  Of course, they pressed for details, wanting to know what made me ask.  As I explained, they jumped to my defense.  They've never met this woman, but they took my side without question - and gave me advice in the process.  I left that salty water feeling like these women have my back - if only from afar.

We aren't as close as we used to be.  We scattered to different colleges after high school, seeing each other only intermittently, if at all.  Yet this weekend reminded me of some things and taught me others.  It reminded me that there's a group that I was once a part of.  A group that I am still a part of, in a way.  I can laugh with them, reminisce with them, just be with them and, for a few hours or days, be the girl I once was.

A, C, J, Me, M, T and S

FAVORITE

: one that is treated or regarded with special favor or liking

A Grown-Up's Toy Box

I'm not Oprah, so I'll not be handing out my favorite things to hundreds of strangers.  But I keep thinking that there are some things that make summer just a bit sweeter than other seasons of the year.  This summer, these are some of my favorite things:

So You Think You Can Dance: It's rare for my family to find a show that we all enjoy and can all watch together, but this show fits the bill.  A loves the dancing, B loves the music, K loves the spectacle, J loves the Broadway numbers and I love it all, most especially the way everyone in my family loves it.

Hemingway: I read Hemingway back in middle and high school, but haven't had much to do with him since.  But at the start of this summer, I reread The Old Man and the Sea and loved it.  Every word counted, each one mattered, not one extra thrown in there.  Now I'm reading The Paris Wife for one book club and about to follow it up with A Moveable Feast for another book club.  I don't necessarily love Hemingway the man, but I can see how the words inside him longed to get out and I see how hard he worked to get them out.  And I do love that.

Non-Fiction: In a shocking turn of events, I've read two entire non-fiction books in the span of less than a month.  The Art of Family affirmed me, encouraged me and inspired me while I Thought It Was Just Me made me feel sane, understood and better armed to live the life I want to live.

Mint Chocolate: I love chocolate of all kinds, but this summer I've developed a particular fondness for mint chocolate.  I love the little Ghirardelli squares, I love(d) the truffle ones J and K gave me for mother's day, I love the Breyers mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Yogurt: I've developed a steadfast affection for Trader Joe's European Style Plain Whole Milk Yogurt.  It's not sweetened at all.  In fact, that's exactly what I love about it.  It's sharp.  It's tangy.  It's like Pinkberry, but not frozen and topped with mango and chocolate.  My only complaint?  I have a tough time eating an entire 32 oz. container before it goes bad.  Yet I keep buying it.

A Relaxed Schedule: I love letting my daughters stay up until 8:30 or 9:00, then staying up until 11:00 myself. I can't do this during the school year.  In order to have everyone up and dressed for school, I must be in bed by 10:00.  I'm a girl who needs her sleep.  But this summer I've been able to stay in bed until nearly 8:00, which means I can stay up later.

Reading in Bed: Sure, I always read in bed at night, but the height of luxury (in my opinion) is to read in bed before starting my day.  Those lovely late nights for my girls are yielding a quiet house in the mornings, so I can roll over at 7:30, grab my book and read a chapter or two before emerging from the comfy coziness of my bed.

Sweet Treat Fridays: I inaugurated these in an attempt to limit and direct our eating out this summer.  Each Friday, we have a frozen treat from somewhere - Bobbie's Dairy Dip, Pinkberry, Marble Slab Creamery, you get the idea.  My hope was that by treating ourselves on Fridays, we would pack lunches or eat at home the other days. This has mostly held true and we've all enjoyed sampling various treats from spots around the city.  Next up?  Tasti D-Lite (I'll forgive the atrocious spelling of their name only if their treats taste good.)

What have you fallen in love with this summer?

CAMP

d : a place usually in the country for recreation or instruction often during the summer

Yesterday, I drove A to her very first sleepover camp.  I've known about this camp for years because our former church supports it.  Each year, I would see videos of footage from camp and think, "I can't wait to send my daughters there!"  And then the years flew by.  Last year, I realized A was old enough for this camp.  We discussed sending her, but I decided she just wasn't independent enough to be gone from us for four nights and five days.  She's certainly been gone from home that long (many times), but only at the home of a relative.  I wasn't convinced she could handle sunscreen application and other mundane daily activities without our assistance and reminders.  So we set a few goals to get her ready to attend this year.  She gladly complied (she's willing to be independent if there's a large enough incentive) and we signed her up a few months ago.

A was excited to sign up to attend camp, but has been nervous for the last few weeks as camp drew nearer.  One night, she tearfully shared some of her fears:  "How will I know where the cafeteria is?"  "What about restrooms?"  "What if I'm late for something?"  My little rule follower wanted to know and understand in advance exactly what was expected of her.  J and I patiently explained that none of the campers would know these things, so everyone would be told when they arrived.  And we reminded her that one of her friends from school would be in her cabin with her.  They had intentionally signed up for the same session so that they would each have a friend there.  That calmed her a bit, but she continued to be nervous leading up to camp.

Then, the night before camp, the mom of A's friend mentioned in an e-mail that she'd had a call the week prior from a camp staff person.  I received no such call.  This ignited all of my own fears: "What if they don't have her registration? (Never mind that they gladly accepted our payment.)"  "What time am I supposed to arrive?  I can't find it anywhere on the website!"  "What if she has a horrible time?"  So I did what any sane person would do: I stayed awake until well after midnight reading a book to distract myself.  This seemed like a good coping mechanism at the time, but certainly contributed to my fatigue yesterday after driving three hours to camp and back.

On the drive through scenic Kentucky, I admitted to A that I was nervous, too.  B had been telling A that it was clear she was nervous because she kept laughing.  (Aren't sisters great?)  So I wanted A to know she wasn't alone.  Interestingly, once I admitted my own nervousness, A started comforting me.  She reminded me that she's been away from home before.  She reminded me that this is a camp we can trust.  Things that I needed to hear, even if I stayed nervous for the remainder of the ride.

Drop off at camp went fine.  When we pulled up, an acquaintance was arriving with his daughters and two campers from the ministry where he works.  Turns out he's the pastor for the week.  He introduced his daughter to mine.  A's friend arrived almost exactly when we did.  We got them checked in.  A counselor walked us to their cabin.  And A was fine.  We got her settled in.  B got jealous and wanted to stay.  K didn't want to leave A's upper bunk.  A said it was OK for us to go.  I snapped two quick pics of her and we were off.

Our family wrote letters to A for her to open each day while she's at camp.  In one my letters to her, I told her how proud I am of her.  I am proud of her, but also in awe that she is old enough to go to camp all alone for five days.  I hope she's having a great time.  Our family misses her: K said tonight, "Poor A.  She's not living with our family this week."  But I suppose it's just a foretaste of many moments to come:  future camps, college, marriage.  I'm not ready for any of those things.  But I suppose that's why God gives us grace for the moment.  Because A will be ready for all of those things in due time.  And she'll pull me along with her, proud of her, awed by her, sad to watch her go.

LUGE

: a small sled that is ridden in a supine position and used especially in competition; also : the competition itself

A scene from our lives:  It's been a long day. Our plans for the day fell through, so when the girls asked for a day at the lake, I agreed.  It was steamy hot outside with temps in the high 90s and high humidity.  A day near the water sounded like a great idea.  I packed lunch, brought along my book and while they played, I read.  After a few hours, we dried off, packed up and headed to a friend's house for dinner.  She'd offered to have us over for dinner in the final days of our kitchen renovation. 

Dinner was lovely: marinated chicken, grilled to perfection, fresh corn on the cob, broccoli, sliced homegrown tomatoes.  All of this followed by my friend's excellent berry cobbler.  But I was tired.  It was time to pack up and get home while I still had the energy to drive us.

Me: "Girls, we're leaving in about ten minutes."
A, B and K: "Awww. OK."
E: "OK.  Hey!  Have you guys heard of the luge?"

I hear E's response from the kitchen and think I must have heard wrong.  It's Nashville.  In the summer.  It's nearly 7 pm and the temperatures outside are still well above 90.  Luge?  What could have prompted her to suddenly ask about a sport that is raced in the dead of winter?  Maybe she said something else?

I continue to help my friend clean up her kitchen, chatting as we clear plates and wipe down the table.  Roughly the allotted ten minutes later, I walk to the bottom of the stairs, intending to call for my girls.  To my surprise, I see E and A sliding down the stairs in a sleeping bag, laughing the whole way.  "She did say luge," I think to myself with surprise.

B: "Mom... we haven't all had a turn.  Can we all have a turn before we go?"  She says this from near the top of the stairs as she waits with jittering excitement for E to drag the sleeping bag back up the stairs.
Me: "Sure."  I say from my vantage point just to the right of the bottom of the stairs.  I'm not heading back to the kitchen now.  Not when I can watch this instead.

From this spot, I see a purple sleeping bag with a princess on it populated first with an experienced stair luger:  She climbs in, puts her arms inside the sleeping bag, lays her head down like an Olympic athlete and takes off down the stairs.  My daughters watch in amazement, fascination and anticipation.

B follows, then A.  Neither are as experienced as E, but B is fearless and still flies down the stairs with as much speed as she can muster.

Then, a cute sight:  close your eyes (OK, I realize you can't read with your eyes closed - read this and then close your eyes to picture it).  Two tiny girls - six and nearly six, both small for their age - climb together into the sleeping bag.  Even when they are both inside, you could fit another child or so in their with them.  With wide eyes, smiles that split open their faces and giggles galore, they head down the stairs, laughing all the way down as they are jostled to and fro.

The very picture of summer: a lazy day in the water, time with friends and unexpected surprises.  It just doesn't get any better than this. 

POOL

1 a (1) : a small and rather deep body of usually fresh water (2) : a quiet place in a stream (3) : a body of water forming above a dam
4 : swimming pool: a pool suitable for swimming

What images does the word pool conjure for you? A calm, quiet area in a river bed complete with slick rocks nearby for lounging? Ice blue, crisp, cold water surrounded by concrete, folding chairs and tanning bodies reclining with the latest novel? An oasis, almost mirage-like in its difference from its hot, urbanized surroundings?

My thoughts on and experiences of pools are remarkably complicated. Nearly daily, my daughters bemoan our lack of a neighborhood pool, a YMCA membership or a backyard pool. I've tried buying an inflatable pool for them to use to at least cool off - nope, not doing it for them. I've tried to explain the reasons we don't have these things they want (we live in the city, not the suburbs - there are no neighborhood pools!). I've tried to engage them in other ways - we've do a Fun Jar every summer for the past seven years, for goodness' sake! But what they want is more pool time. And I am incredibly ambivalent about this.

I don't want to spend three or four days each week at the pool. I have friends who do this - and they're great people. I even considered buying a summer Y membership, but decided against it, partly due to sending every spare dime to the kitchen renovation budget, partly because I'm just not sure how I would handle it.

"Handle it?" You might be thinking. What's to be handled about laying in the sun, reading poolside or lounging in some cool clean water? The problem with that line of thought is that it is rational. And my thoughts on and feelings about pools aren't entirely rational. I get nervous at the thought of having a Y membership that needs to be used. Would I have to talk to the people in the chairs near ours? Would the other children play with my daughters? Are my daughters' swimming skills too far behind their peers? Would they be ridiculed? What if I don't know anyone? Even worse, what if I do know some of the people? This isn't so much about body image as a fear of/desire for community. Because pools inevitably seem to conjure inclusion and exclusion for me.

If you have a membership or live in the right place, you're in. Otherwise, you're not. Even once I'm physically at the pool, I still feel out of place. Yesterday the girls and I went swimming at my brother-in-law's neighborhood pool. No one looked askance at us or visibly seemed to wonder what we were doing there. But the camaraderie between most of the people there was evident. They were neighbors, after all. And they clearly spent a lot of time at the pool. As I listened to them, I pondered whether I would want a neighborhood pool as a meeting spot. But it's crazy to even try to imagine that. Who would go there? Only three people on my street have kids, so it wouldn't be full of families. Maybe I'd meet some hung-over wannabe musicians, a recent college grad or two, the odd man who lives across the street but whom we only see when he opens his gate to enter or exit. Nah, he'd never show up, even if we had a pool.

What about the neighborhood Y? It's not an intimidating place. It's filled with middle of the road people who live around here, like me. But my fear is that they would all know each other and I'd sit there counting the minutes until I could tell my daughters it was time to go. Crazy? Perhaps. OK, probably. And the craziest part of it is that my own childhood summers were spent largely at the pool. I swam nearly every day. And loved every minute of it. But I have this fear that if I let my daughters spend their days that way, they will morph into empty-headed bimbos who live for pool time and have no idea how to entertain themselves and engage their brains when the scent of chlorine isn't nearby. As a good friend pointed out, this is a pretty silly fear since I spent countless hours at the pool growing up and I wouldn't describe myself this way. Again, rational thoughts just don't seem to help me when it comes to my feelings on the pool.

A part of me is also sad and hurt that the summer experience I provide for my girls isn't enough for them. Instead of trips to the museum, visiting parks all around town, walking through the botanical gardens or picking berries, they want to be at the pool. They want what I don't want, what I'm afraid of. I guess I should be thankful that they don't share my fear, my anxiety, my insecurity. So I'm trying to work out why I feel such a bizarre mix of emotions over a little thing like the pool. And in the meantime? We're joining a friend at her neighborhood pool on Thursday. My daughters will be thrilled. Your prayers for me are welcomed.