Explorers' Club: An Update

It’s been awhile since I’ve written about our Explorers' Club, so let me recap. It’s not an official club or anything — it’s some variation of my family members who enjoy going out into the world and trying to discover something wonderful about it. 

I say some variation of family members because while it started as a family endeavor, sometimes it’s just Claire and I. Or just the girls and I. Or sometimes it’s all five of us. It all depends on availability and willingness (more on this later). 

The club first started when the girls were about three or four, and we found a little-known trail that crossed a creek and under a bridge and through a tunnel of trees. (Turns out it’s a relatively well-known trail — maybe the most well-known trail in town — but seven years ago, it was new to us.) This adventure sparked a desire to find more special places and see things we never knew existed in our little city.  

So, between all of us, we’ve explored nearly all of the public trails and parks. And while these adventures used to be highly anticipated, my 9-year-old (going on 13), has recently been resisting. “Ugh, are we just going to like walk again??” She said the word “walk” like it’s the most boring and dull thing she could imagine. 

It was this same attitude that she brought with her on a recent trip to a new trail. She complained in the car, after she got out of the car and for the entire first 10 minutes of the adventure. Then, we hit the area of the trail that runs along water. There were rocks to be thrown, a couple of small waterfalls, dead fish lying about, froglets hopping — and her bad mood suddenly disappeared. 

For the next 45 minutes, I had my explorers' club back. It. Was. Awesome. I know it won’t always end like that — some of the adventures will be “like just a walk.” But my hope is that when they’re grown, they’ll discover the seeds I planted when they were young. There is joy and excitement around you all the time — sometimes where you least expect it. If you’re looking for it and being grateful for the wonders of the world (both big and small), you’ll always find happiness. 

Crushin' the Patriarchy

A week or so ago, Claire comes home from school and starts telling me about her day. After a few minutes of the regular stuff, she casually says “Oh, and I crushed the patriarchy today.” 

Ya know, as one does. 

A little backstory: I have a passionate desire for equality. I purposefully shopped in the boys section when the girls were little because they didn’t have any blue onesies in the girls section. When the McDonalds employee asked, “do you want a boy toy or a girl toy?” I respond with “my daughters would love the toy car.” And my greatest and most real contribution to the cause of gender equality: I have been educating my girls on just how pervasive the inequality is (Henry will get a similar education + added bonus of how boys can help further the cause). 

They learned at a young age that marketers determined that pink was a girl color — that there is no such thing as a girl color or a boy color. They learned that girls come in all varieties — ones that like lace and ones that like mud and shockingly — ones that like both lace and mud. (And while we’re at it … ones that like neither lace nor mud.) I detest the boxes that society tries to put us in and wanted the girls to know that they are complex and beautiful humans and can be whomever they want to be. 

I still think it’s important to be clued in to the ways society shapes how we think — like the ridiculous idea that strong, tough boys can’t like butterflies or My Little Pony. But these past few months, I’ve upped the education. I’ve talked about the more serious and harmful ways that a male-dominated world impacts us, specifically regarding politics and economics. When I told the girls about the gender pay-gap, they were floored at the injustice. 

And to really hammer home the idea and make it memorable, I often shout “smash the patriarchy” after one of our discussions. I complete it by punching the air with my fist. 

So, that’s the backstory. Back to the present. 

Apparently, a couple of boys at school told Claire that girls can’t dribble basketballs. Then, they mockingly dribbled the ball "like a girl" and bobbled it all around. Claire was quick to let them know that girls absolutely can dribble the ball and showed them her sweet moves. 

She told me this story and said “so, I crushed the patriarchy. And I told a few other girls about the patriarchy and they are going to crush it, too.” 

Sky’s the limit, girls. Don’t let anyone hold you back. 

I Got This

When the girls were babies, I was the stereotypical first-time mom: overly protective, overly cautious, overly helpful. I had two miscarriages before getting pregnant with them and then they were born a month early and spent 10 days in the NICU. Their fragility combined with my nurturing nature was a perfect formula for me doing everything “overly.” I tied their shoes and zipped their coats for too many years. I was too quick to jump in and help them solve their challenge. It all came from the best possible place, but I didn’t give them enough opportunities to succeed or fail on their own. Of course, I didn’t know any of that in the moment. 

But after I watched them grow into these capable, strong, resilient children, I realized they don’t need me to do so much. In fact, what they really needed was for me to do less. Being the first kid(s) comes with with plenty of perks, but the price of that are parents who are learning how to parent for the first time. It’s not better or worse than middle kids or last kids — just like the other sibling positions, it has both benefits and disadvantages. And I can say confidently that nine years later, they are totally fine! Yes, they were babied more and for longer than Henry will be, but they know how to tie their shoes and zip their jackets. They desire their independence and often tell me “Mom, I don’t need help.” 

Which brings us here. 

The second time around, taking what I learned from my sweet girls, I realized that Henry needs plenty of opportunities to fail or succeed on his own. I still baby him plenty, because it’s just who I am — I’ll baby them for as long as I can because someday they’ll ask me to leave and “please shut the door behind you.” But I also give him space. And whether it’s that space or his own determined personality (or a combination of both), he has this confidence and determination that is inspiring. When I default to doing something for him, he shoos my hand away and says “Mom, I got this.” I take a step back, give him my patience as he struggles to get that sock over his heel. I resist the urge to lean back down and instead, I let him take it off and start over three or four times before he finally gets it and says, “See, Mom? I told you.” 

And while my problems are no longer getting that sock over my heel, I have found myself repeating his mantra when I’m in a difficult spot. Whether I’m nervous about doing something unfamiliar or having a rough emotional day, I whisper, “I got this” and I picture that pride he feels when he finally succeeds. 

You Go, Girl

This past weekend the family got together to watch Grace live her best dream — performing on stage in front of hundreds of her adoring fans. Okay, so only eight of them were technically there for her, but that's not relevant. 

She’s been dancing since she was three and it is still, by far, her favorite activity. Every spring, the dance studio puts on a recital to showcase everything they have learned since the beginning of school and it’s always such a delight to see these tiny dancers pouring their hearts out for the hundreds of proud family members. 

This year, though, things were a bit different for Grace. She was her normal level of excited beforehand, but when I saw her after the show, she could not contain her pride. It was spilling out of her, especially from the smile that stretched from ear to ear. She ran — RAN — to me when she saw me and gave me a huge hug. A rarity these days. Usually, she maintains this “too cool for school” attitude with shoulder shrugs, sarcastic retorts and definitely no PDA with mom. But in the minutes after the finale, she was completely uninhibited and so proud of her hard work. 

I was, too.

When I watched her at dress rehearsal — my first time getting to see the dance — the tears just rolled down my face. You could tell something had changed this year. She was more focused, more serious, more confident than previous years. 

And watching that combination of focus + hard work = pride is one of those milestones that I didn’t know was waiting for me. The first steps, first words, first lost tooth, first day of kindergarten — I expected all of those. But I wasn’t prepared for how emotional it would be to watch my girl overcome her challenges with courage and persistence and know that she determined her own destiny.

Chapter 37

Today I turned 37 years old. 

It was one of the best birthdays I’ve ever had. 

Given the loss of my Dad a year ago and the deep, deep sorrow that followed, I would never have predicted #37 to be one of the best. But that deep sorrow is what made me so damn grateful to be here today. 

I have learned so much this year. (Okay, that’s an understatement.) My understanding of this life was completely cracked open, ripped inside out and flipped upside down. I spent most of #36 feeling completely lost. I learned that to feel deep sorrow means you felt deep love. I learned that nothing in life matters except kindness. I discovered myself in ways I didn’t even know needed to be discovered. I found what brings me peace. I found what brings me joy. I found what heals the wounds in my soul. 

My journey took me down a dark, scary path, but it also brought me into the light. I imagine it like walking in a forest and getting so deep in that the sunlight doesn’t penetrate. You keep walking, but you aren’t even sure you’re on the trail anymore. The bushes and branches are scraping at your face and arms. The dark is overwhelming. The noises are scary. You aren’t sure you’ll ever find your way out. But you just keep going. Until one day, you see a beam of light up ahead. You keep fighting your way through the darkness and eventually you step into the light. 

The truths I discovered about life and myself while I was walking in the darkness were my Dad’s last gift to me — the last lesson from my lifelong teacher. To be honest, I’d trade all this enlightenment in a heartbeat if it meant getting him back. But without that as an option, the next best thing is to wrap myself in these truths, knowing that without my Dad, I’d never have them. Thank you, Dad. 

After I fought my way out of the darkness this year, I gained this deep gratitude for what I do have. I’m grateful for every step I take on my walks, getting to watch the earth come back to life as the seasons change, watching my kids grow and laugh (and fight and cry), walking through this life with Scott, getting the best hugs from my Mom, hanging out with my sisters and brothers and watching our kids become best friends. I’m grateful for Scott’s parents, who love and support me just as much as my parents. I’m grateful for all of my friends, from the ones who I’ve known for 30 years to the ones that are brand new (and everyone in between). I’m grateful for the kindness and wisdom of strangers. I’m grateful to be 37. 

My book will end someday. It may be 60 years from now or it may be tomorrow. I know I will feel the darkness again — it’s the price of love — but until then, I’ll be over here soaking up as much joy and gratitude for as many chapters as I can.