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Eulogy for my jogging stroller

Yesterday morning M (our part time nanny) was going to take the kids down to the park to play when she discovered the jogging stroller was missing. The jogging stroller was one of my favorite things of all time. It was far and away my favorite piece of gear. And some jackass stole it out of our garage on Wednesday afternoon. In broad daylight. While we were all at home.

So, I am left with this mess of feelings: the terrible sense of violation that comes with getting robbed; guilt over leaving the garage open; and my awkward and extreme discomfort over L's incessant questions,"Why would somebody take it from us?" "When will they bring it back?" I have no answers for her. Other than, "I just don't know, honey." Also, I am just plain sad. Sad that someone would steal from me, from my family. Sad that the stroller is gone and we can't afford another one.

I've been pushing the kids around the lake in that stroller since Julian could hold up his head. It has carried my kids while they were crying, fussy, happy, fighting, playing, hunting for ducks, counting dogs, and eating ice cream. We bought it when I was pregnant with J and determined to figure out a way to keep running even with two kids. And, the stroller made that possible. Even fun. It was comfortable, provided the kids with shade from the sun and wind, and it was super-light. Plus, it rolled straight and fast and turned on a dime. Granted, I'm not packing on the miles like I used to, and it is still really, really hard for me to get out more than a few times a week (despite the impending half-marathon I'm supposed to run), but it was always there for me. Waiting, providing the possibility of running. I'd load it up with snacks, exciting toys, sunhats, water, and whatever else the kids wanted, anything to keep them happy for a half-hour or 45-minute trip while I reconnected with myself.

Then there were the neighborhood walks. I can't count the number of times D and I have taken the thing around the neighborhood after dinner while J and L walked on their own, checking out the gardens and cats along the way. We always brought the stroller and it was a welcome place for the kids to hang out when they inevitably became "too tired to walk" back to the house for bed.

I am so sad that the stroller is gone. Underneath it all, of course, is this terrible guilt and disappointment. And I don't know how to explain it to the kids. How do I explain that no one is going to steal our car, their wagon, their toys from the back yard? (I don't even know that that is the case!) How do explain that we are in fact safe, when right now, I don't feel safe? I feel violated and crappy. Yesterday I made myself a half hour late for a meeting because halfway there I got nervous and raced home to close and lock all the windows.

I wish I had closed the garage on Wednesday afternoon.

bugged

Today was "take your kids to work day" (for me)--and Lucky Me--I got to "work" at the Peace Garden....my favorite place in all the city. The kids and I headed down there to kick off the "Come Out and Play" nature club that I'm starting up with Minneapolis Parks. Great idea: get kids outside in nature, no structure, no theme, just pure, free time in nature to play, follow butterflies, pick grass, watch clouds, whatever.


This is not a new idea. Nor is it really all that innovative. But study after study shows the benefits of playing in nature. Children are healthier overall, have better mental and emotional functioning, and less aggression. And, of course, there's the environmental benefit. Most people who grow up loving nature will you that it was frequent and early exposure to natural areas that made all the difference.



It made a difference for me: I've been a naturalist and environmental educator for 16 years. I'm thrilled to have the chance to now "use" my kids as guinea pigs--to provide these early and frequent exposures to nature. I want to immerse them in nature, get them outside every day--offer them chances to see and feel the changing of the seasons and the little differences each day makes. Let them learn language of nature-the singing of birds, the sighing of the breezes, the whispers of leaves.

We climbed on the boulders, rolled in the grass, collected rocks and put them in our bucket to dump in the dry streambed that meanders through the garden. We watched grackles sail through the blue sky and perch on the tippy-tops of the "pine needle trees." We made a fort under a spruce tree's low, spreading branches. The kids climbed up and down the big rocks, balancing on one foot, then the other. We collected tossable rocks in our pockets and made our way to the little waterfall. After a long time throwing rocks and flirting with our reflections in the water, it was off to another grassy area for more lollygagging. J pointed out each and every robin he saw. L collected sticks and pinecones, which we used as puppets. Hours passed. We munched on warm cheese sticks, raisins, elmo crackers. Hours passed. We forgot to be hungry for lunch. The sunshine drenching everything, the smell of crabapple blossoms--it was positively intoxicating. For all of us.

Until.

A small bee was spotted, minding its own business of course, crawling on the top of a rock, then making a slow, low glide through the air to another one. J was fascinated, looking like a little old man: hands folded across his paunchy little tummy as he leaned back against a rock, watching the bee intently. L, on the other hand, freaked. She screamed, she cried. She howled. "Get it away from me!" I tried to reason with her: "it won't hurt you honey, that bee is just minding her own business and checking out the rocks." No effect. I tried to pique her curiousity, "Watch the bee, sweetie. See if you can tell what it's doing." Nothing. She was desperately afraid. I told her she was safe, held her close and squatted down for a closer look. She buried her face in my neck.

I tried one last thing: "Hey, L, you can talk to the bee, you know. Ask it to go away and leave you alone." Very boldly, she did just that. No more than a second later, the bee flew straight up, hovered for a second right in front of her face (as if to say, "well alright then, goodbye!") and flew off. I was thrilled. L screamed even louder and begged me to hold her. "It did just what you asked, honey. It was just saying goodbye! Isn't that great?!"

"I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home!" Maybe it was the lack of any "real food," maybe the fact that it was way past nap time, maybe it was the heat of the sun. Whatever it was, the girl was done with this day.

Although she cried all the way home, after she had a short nap she agreed we had had an absolutely heavenly day. That evening when I said, "I just love springtime!" she agreed, with one caveat: "I like to stay inside, where there are no bugs."

We'll work on that.

the irony of my blog title is not lost on me. I assure you.

Today was a near-perfect day, as far as I 'm concerned. A light breeze, cotton-candy clouds, and sky so deliciously blue...

We spent the better part of the morning out back, playing in the sandbox and refilling the bird feeders. L was burying her "fat kitty" in the sand when their Grandma showed up. As if that weren't exciting enough she had presents! I hated to leave this afternoon. She and the kids spent all day playing while I went to yet another meeting. This week I've been to so many meetings I can't even count them. At night, I've been turning on the computer the minute the kids are in bed, responding to emails, working, and trying to keep at bay this vague uneasiness that something is falling through the cracks.

I can not, can not maintain this frantic pace. I'm overcommitted. I have too much on my plate. This level of activity is just not sustainable. I have a feeling that the stress and anxiety of my long list of "to-do" is why I get so crabby and huffy and agitated. (Well, maybe.) I've been trying to think of how I can creatively trim my schedule so that I am more relaxed and more effective at the stuff I choose to keep doing. (like parenting, for example)...but to cut some of these activities? Yikes.

My problem is that I love each and every one of them. Take any one of my four jobs, for example. I would hate to let any of them go. They're all important, wonderful, stimulating. Stuff I love. Causes I'm passionate about. Areas where I feel I have something to contribute, professionally.

And then there are the volunteer commitments. There are four of those as well: the neighborhood association, an environmental advisory committee for the city of Minneapolis, and "helping out here and there" at L's school. (How could I say no? They're trying to "green" the school and the grounds...clearly, they need me) You see.....this is a problem.

Today's meeting was the state environmental education advisory task force (a mouthful!)...my subcommittee role is to help develop a statewide climate change curriculum for a variety of audiences. How could I give that up? I'm thrilled to be a part of that process. Excited to contribute to something so far-reaching.

These things are all meaningful and really important to me. I don't know what I would possibly cut from my schedule. If there were things I didn't enjoy, that'd be one thing....but that's so not the case.

I know, I know....simplifying for sanity and all of that. The title started out as a reference to the Stuff in our lives. How did I accumulate so many commitments? How do I clear the clutter, so to speak, when none of it really feels like clutter? It all feels important to me. I value it all.

hello again

I'm doubtful anyone but me will be reading this today. But, i think it's good to be back!

Last night I was lying in bed wailing to Dominic about what a rotten mother I am. Again. Because I lost patience with the kids. Again. And yelled. Again. I always, always come up short of my expecations. During the day I told L how sorry I am and that I'm still learning not to get so mad and yell. She told me she gets scared when I yell. Which I suppose I knew, but made me feel just sick to hear it.

I asked Dominic, are there people who actually get to the end of the day and don't make a mental review of their failings? Who think "well, i'm not perfect, but I'm doing the best I can."

I wish I could be one of those people. Just for one day. That's my wish for today.

I'm thinking about how violent it is to engage in this self-loathing. I make mistakes. I don't hurt my children (God, no!) but I do lose patience and yell. Last week I threw a sippy cup into a basket of unfolded laundry. And for hours-literally, hours, I was sick with self-loathing. HOw could I do this? How can I scare my children like this? What's wrong with me? Why can't I get my shit together?

So, it's violent to engage in this self-hatred when I make mistakes. On some level, it probably teaches my kids that there is little tolerance for mistakes (those made by me) in my world. That can't be good. But I find it so hard to forgive myself. I don't know why.