full immersion

Mother's can always second guess themselves.  Children throw fits, melt-down, refuse to eat anything green.  You don't floss their teeth enough, their lunches don't have enough variety, you let them watch TV so you can have a break.  I constantly see the many ways, daily, that I can improve myself so that my children can somehow be better.  It's a bit exhausting, the continuous need to do more, do different. 

That said, there are a few sure-fire successes in my family that I can rely on and be a bit proud of.  We will always enjoy a good burrito.  We are well-hydrated and drink lots of water.  And we spend a lot of really swell time together outside in the wild.

Gorgeous September temperatures lead us down the Bitteroot Valley, to an old, faithful spot.  From the minute we hit the trail, the whining stopped, the imaginations and conversations kicked in hard, and the exploring exploded.  My children are fearless outdoors.  Usually the first ten or so minutes at any creek side spot is my settling in time -- settling into the wet and slippery rocks, settling into the anxiety of my child who can't swim as he hurls himself through the freezing water, moves like a monkey across branches and boulders, his bravado and extreme confidence in potentially treacherous conditions.  Eliana just sort of takes off, singing her show tunes, taking dare after dare from her dad.  I'm really, really lucky that Jeff is the father to my children.  They have his confidence outdoors, in their bodies, his crazy zest for all things that push the limit, just a little bit. 

I feel so ridiculously thankful that I am their mom.  That I have been given the gift of fretting over them in such a beauteous space.  That I love more than anything to be outside where it is quiet and calm and open.  The only better thing is doing that with them.  So I have to tell myself to relax and be present.  If Soli is doing something truly dangerous, we will stop him.  I can't not let them explore -- his little victory dance as the rock he throws ricochets down the creek, his insistence on bouldering with a plastic sword in his hand.  And the lady.  And the way she asked me all sorts of questions as we wandered together on the trail.  What musicals was I in.  Was I ever a main character.  Tell her again about how I used to ice-skate or my dance recitals.  She scored her first goal today.  She looked at me in utter disbelief and then broke into a huge smile.  Jeff and I yelled just a bit. 

Sometimes it feels impossible that I live where I live.  This weekend was a flood of gratitude for the sunshine and trails, the clean water and open sky.  The man and his strong mind and open heart, the girl and her zest and the boy and his wild ways. 

In Kootenai, the canyon walls hold us safe,
gray slate leading to the sky,
boulders house fairies and bees,
mosses and red leaves,
turning right now, right before us,
this precipice of change.

The children move fast, want to
climb every rock,
stop at each new
pool,  slip and slide and
up and down,
shimmy and hold and scream --
the water is cold,
the sun is warm,
we lay like lizards.
we wander like conquistadors,
the discovery of a new land,
the dirt flies behind us.