lest you be misguided by yesterday’s blissful notes on camp, i must add the following observation about traveling with small children:

vacations are not really vacations. they are simply the act of schlepping all of one’s stuff, one’s kids, their stuff, and all of the responsibilities related thereto, to an alternate location of one’s choice. kids still hit each other, wake up in the middle of the night, refuse to eat growing foods, and stack chairs in the kitchen in pursuit of chocolate. it’s just that on vacation, parents have the pleasure of looking at the mountains or the beach while they are dealing with the aforementioned issues.

however, july in montreat offers a bit of a vacation from the vacation in the form of “clubs,” a kids’ day camp that meets on weekdays from 8:30 to noon and 2:00 – 4:00 in the afternoon. this is the first year that both of my children have attended both morning and afternoon clubs, which officially makes july of 2011 the most time i’ve had away from my children since they were born. i was musing to my friend, anne, about how this absence was affecting  me, and she (the mother of two grown children and three grandchildren) summed it up well.

it’s all about energy. the more energy we have, the better parents we are. when we don’t have energy, we are simply muddling through.

having my children in other people’s care gave me more energy for the times that i was with them. for example, on the saturday when the bird tee-teed all over the dining table and the monkey promptly covered the rest of the table in glue, i reacted with an uncharacteristic sense of calm likened to that of the dalai lama.

when the bird spent thirteen solid days clamoring for his daddy, who was in memphis, i was able to laugh and not get my feelings hurt as i usually do.

the kids did eventually wear me down though. by the end of the trip, even with the added childcare, i was muddling through. the grand finale, marked by two sleepless nights hovered over a croup-plagued bird, returned me to my familiar listless state.

if only there were a couple of extra hours in the day for sleeping or a couple of extra parents in the household for trouble shooting! in the absence of these wish list items, i can offer you only this: my recipe for muddling through in style (adapted from design sponge):

summer elderflower cocktail

ingredients

• st. germain licour
• club soda
• lime
• mint
• gin

directions:

• muddle mint and juice from half of lime in the bottom of a low-ball glass.
• add ice and throw in the squeezed lime.
• add the desired amount of alcohol (about half st. germain and half gin).
• top with soda and stir.

you might want to purchase one of these.

every muddler needs a muddler.

for four years and four months, my world has constantly expanded.

motherhood has brought new and interesting people into my life. the day we brought the monkey home from the hospital, i became a member of a diverse group of fellow moms who share something so basic that there is potential for meaningful conversation even in the checkout line at target.

motherhood has broadened my realm of experiences. i’m not just a woman in my thirties. i’m a little boy in the terrible twos. i’m eating ice-cream for the first time. i am wrapping my four-year-old mind around the concept of death. i’m testing limits, drawing on walls, and climbing on counter tops. i am getting my first bicycle with training wheels for christmas.

on the other hand, for four years and four months, my world has constantly contracted.

motherhood has zapped my energy supply. never before have i had the level of connection with friends that i do now. the paradox is that i no longer have the get-up-and-go to make these connections happen regularly. 

motherhood has narrowed my realm of experiences. there are mind-blowing heights and depths in my every day. but most of these events take place within the four walls of my home.

the female body is not the only part that expands and contracts in the process of ushering in and supporting new life. long after the pregnancy is over there is a new largess and a new kind of narrowing with which to contend. the simultaneous awe and discomfort of pregnancy take up residence in the mind for how long? four years and four months? eighteen years? from now on?