Nathan on a raft of noodles, July 2010Last week Nathan watched a library DVD of Wow, Wow Wubzy approximately 75 times. While I don't entirely understand the appeal of an ambiguous animal and his/her friends repeatedly saying "wow, wow," something good did come out of this particular DVD. On one episode, Wubzy and friends went to the beach, which led Nathan to repeatedly beg me to go to the beach every single day.
Well, twist my arm.
We went last Friday. We only had about two hours to go before Nathan had to get back for his toddler enrichment activity du jour, and I almost think the limited time contributed to making this one of the most magical days at the beach we have ever had.
We got there at 10, which at California beaches would mean that the beach would already be crowded and the parking lots would have filled up hours earlier. But that's with the overly-ambitious, wheatgrass shake-drinking Californians. Here in the Midwest, people apparently approach beach trips at a more leisurely pace, which means that when we got there at 10, we got parking in the front row of the lot and only had to share the beach with a couple of other groups. It was so peaceful. By the time we left around noon, the beach had filled and boats had arrived, making the beach quite festive, which was actually fun too.
Anyway, we brought along a raft I purchased at the grocery store about a month ago. I just love to float on a raft, I tell you. Now, let me say that when you're alone with a toddler, there is not a lot of leisurely floating time, so you have to appreciate what little you get.
But no matter how much time you get, there is always that moment when you're floating and you can just feel all the energy draining out of you. You realize you are no longer in control. The water is in control. You have to just go with the flow, as it were.
You might as well just check all that pointless, nervous energy at the door (shore?) , because it doesn't do you any good while you're on a raft. Your only job is to just stare up at the gorgeous blue sky with the puffy white clouds and try to think of ways that you can hold onto this moment when you're shoveling four inches of snow off your driveway in January.
I'm hesitant to go all "this is a metaphor for life" on you, but I have been trying to think of ways that I can be a little more floaty in my everyday life. You know, like ways I can just let it go and give trying to control everything? And to accept that worrying about everything isn't going to do any good?
I think people with strong religious faiths have an easier time giving up control. My brother, the priest, talks about being a sheep in Christ's flock, and how the sheep don't need to be in control, because the shepherd is in control. I am not a good sheep.
I worry about everything. Nathan's preschool. My weight. Will we ever have another baby? Do I have a good marriage? Do I spoil my child? Is he being raised with an appropriate amount of stimulation, but not so much that he can't entertain himself? Do I do enough crafts with him? What about music? Is that other kid better than Nathan at talking/sleeping/behaving/swimming/identifying letters? Why is my basement so disorganized, and why does my yard have so many weeds? Why don't I go to the gym more? Why do I spend so much money? What if Nathan gets hit by a car/kidnapped/[insert horrible fate here]?
And so, when I get bogged down in my own thoughts, which usually happens about 2 minutes after I become conscious each day, I remind myself to just float. Point my raft in the right direction, then put my hands up and give up a little control. If I'm heading into a speedboat, I'll put my arms in the water and paddle. Because, in the immortal words of P!nk:
Well, twist my arm.
We went last Friday. We only had about two hours to go before Nathan had to get back for his toddler enrichment activity du jour, and I almost think the limited time contributed to making this one of the most magical days at the beach we have ever had.
We got there at 10, which at California beaches would mean that the beach would already be crowded and the parking lots would have filled up hours earlier. But that's with the overly-ambitious, wheatgrass shake-drinking Californians. Here in the Midwest, people apparently approach beach trips at a more leisurely pace, which means that when we got there at 10, we got parking in the front row of the lot and only had to share the beach with a couple of other groups. It was so peaceful. By the time we left around noon, the beach had filled and boats had arrived, making the beach quite festive, which was actually fun too.
Anyway, we brought along a raft I purchased at the grocery store about a month ago. I just love to float on a raft, I tell you. Now, let me say that when you're alone with a toddler, there is not a lot of leisurely floating time, so you have to appreciate what little you get.
But no matter how much time you get, there is always that moment when you're floating and you can just feel all the energy draining out of you. You realize you are no longer in control. The water is in control. You have to just go with the flow, as it were.
You might as well just check all that pointless, nervous energy at the door (shore?) , because it doesn't do you any good while you're on a raft. Your only job is to just stare up at the gorgeous blue sky with the puffy white clouds and try to think of ways that you can hold onto this moment when you're shoveling four inches of snow off your driveway in January.
I'm hesitant to go all "this is a metaphor for life" on you, but I have been trying to think of ways that I can be a little more floaty in my everyday life. You know, like ways I can just let it go and give trying to control everything? And to accept that worrying about everything isn't going to do any good?
I think people with strong religious faiths have an easier time giving up control. My brother, the priest, talks about being a sheep in Christ's flock, and how the sheep don't need to be in control, because the shepherd is in control. I am not a good sheep.
I worry about everything. Nathan's preschool. My weight. Will we ever have another baby? Do I have a good marriage? Do I spoil my child? Is he being raised with an appropriate amount of stimulation, but not so much that he can't entertain himself? Do I do enough crafts with him? What about music? Is that other kid better than Nathan at talking/sleeping/behaving/swimming/identifying letters? Why is my basement so disorganized, and why does my yard have so many weeds? Why don't I go to the gym more? Why do I spend so much money? What if Nathan gets hit by a car/kidnapped/[insert horrible fate here]?
And so, when I get bogged down in my own thoughts, which usually happens about 2 minutes after I become conscious each day, I remind myself to just float. Point my raft in the right direction, then put my hands up and give up a little control. If I'm heading into a speedboat, I'll put my arms in the water and paddle. Because, in the immortal words of P!nk:
I'm not dead, just floating.
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