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.

a few years ago, ira glass dedicated an entire episode of “this american life” to exploring the phenomenon of camp. in his words,

no one back home understands it, none of their friends, nobody. there is just a gap between camp people and non-camp people.

when glass interviews a teen-aged girl camper at an upscale camp in the northeast, she confirms his assertion:

…it’s also like little stories you tell, and you think they’re so funny, and everyone in your cabin understands them, and then you tell them to your friends back home, and they’re like, “that’s stupid.”

our family does camp a little differently than most in that we allgo to camp for a month. the week-long church retreats andy and i attended as teenagers apparently did not satisfy our desires to be part of a small sub-culture of nature-loving people. but though our camp model isn’t traditional, some of the universal camp themes apply.

first, there are bizarre traditions at montreatthat make perfect sense to those who have been part of them since they were in diapers. my children, for example, will probably never question the normalcy of the greased pole competition on the fourth of july, wherein a smooth 20+ foot wooden rounded plank is cemented into the ground, adorned with u.s. currency of various values, thoroughly greased, and scaled all day long by daring contestants as an emcee narrates the events to spectators scattered on picnic blankets all around.

and then there is the fourth of july parade, complete with bagpipes, makeshift family floats, and saved seats along the route for onlookers, whose families have occupied those particular patches of bag-chair-real estate since before bag chairs were invented.

these are the kinds of things that carry a certain meaning that can only be adequately translated by virtue of experience.

the monkey and the bird attend a day camp at montreat called “clubs,” which entails morning and afternoon activities led by college-aged counselors, who bring a necessary coolness to the imparting of silly songs, dances, and story telling that goes on there. the monkey would return to our rental house during lunch and, with eyes dancing, relay tales of how his counselor, ryan, wrestled a troll in the deep end of the pool at the conclusion of a treasure hunt. this event, by some sort of camp logic, resulted in the distribution of stickers to all of the campers. all of this made perfect sense to the monkey and the rest of the “blues,” as his group was called. even at age four-and-three-quarters, the monkey is already what glass calls “a camp person.”

both children look forward to the friday night circle mountain dancing and are committed to mastering the motions to novelty dances such as “the hampster dance” and “agadoo.”

the bird has chosen the car as the ideal place to practice the verses of “i’m bringing home a baby bumble bee,” a song that his older brother helps him with when he forgets the words.

about this kind of camp vocabulary, glass remarks

the special songs and ceremonies are part of so many american camps… these traditions bring kids back year after year….you let them know about all the extra rights and privileges the kids are going to get if they return as older campers. it is using all of the stage craft that all of the world’s religions have always used. the ceremonies, the chanting, the repeated words, the official honors and offices, but for an entirely different reason: to thrill children, to make them feel a part of something big and special.

i’m not going to lie. our annual sojourn to montreat is not just for the kids. i enjoy being part of an alternative, smaller world. my children are in someone else’s care from 8:30 – noon and 2-4 on weekdays. and like an older kid at traditional camp, i have the freedom to choose my own activities. i spent many hours last month in the pottery studio and hiking my favorite mountain.

but my favorite part about julys in montreat really is as glass describes. i love that my children are thrilled. it means the world to me that they get to be a part of something big and special… even if they will never be fully able to convey the meaning of it to their friends back at home.

there are good things about returning home after a month in the western north carolina mountains. chief among them are things like air-conditioning and laurelwood pediatrics.

but mostly, i am sad that our montreat month is over. below is a little preview of the blog inspiration i’ve got up my sleeves for the coming days. but who am i kidding? i don’t have on sleeves. it’s too hot. the ideas are stuck to me like sweaty toddler legs grip a vinyl seat. nevertheless, here is the “amuse-bouche” as they say…

hiking

ridiculously good food and drink

barn dances, cloggers, and the fabulous red june band

a variety of textiles

stay tuned!

my list of quickly abandoned new year’s resolutions is impressive in length. it seems that i am not genetically wired to do yoga every single day, stop gossiping, or read more than ten or twelve books in one year.

this is why andy and i do not make new year’s resolutions anymore. instead, we each set big-picture intentions for ourselves by naming our years. the years have unfurled somewhat successfully with names such as “the year of balance,” or “the year of creativity,” or “the year of efficiency.” but the intentions i set on new year’s eve of 2009 win all contests of longevity and effectiveness. the year 2010, for me, was the year of rearranging.

prior to making this pronouncement, i had the sobering realization that doing the things i had to do prevented me from doing the things i wanted to do… almost all the time. all in the name of the year of rearranging i stopped preaching on a regular basis, started this blog, dropped a regular weekly work commitment, joined a running group, took on some new household responsibilities, organized several rooms of my home, and starting having people over for dinner. keep in mind that all of this movement was accompanied by my own tiresome process of self-analysis and took place at the pace of a turtle.

as late as october and november, i still felt that more shifting needed to occur. i was asked to speak at two private all-girls’ schools in town, and though i had already given up preaching (for the most part) i was excited and flattered enough to accept these invitations. when i walked into both of those schools, i was completely energized. it had been five years since i worked in college chaplaincy, and i had forgotten how at home i feel in places where people are expanding their minds, grappling with big questions, looking hopefully toward the future, and trying on every new fashion trend and turn of phrase in the process. i returned from both of these speaking engagements with a new and much-needed sense of clarity about my vocation. as andy and were cooking dinner one night in november i waved my hands to the powers that be and said,

“i’m putting it out there in the universe: i want to work with students.”

right before christmas, thanks to god or the universe or a divine twist of fate, i was offered a position as presbyterian campus minister at the university of memphis.

it’s a quarter-time job, and one that has excited me enough to enroll the bird in the parents-day-out program at the monkey’s school. the first order of business in my new job was to attend the montreat college conference  in my favorite north carolina mountains. there, as i talked with other chaplains and campus ministers (many of whom i already knew from my previous work in chaplaincy), i was heartened to learn that my thoughts and experiences about working with college students still seem to be on target and relevant.

yet, as i look forward to the challenges of 2011, i am a bit overwhelmed! i must learn a new environment and make up for a semester’s lapse in programming since my predecessor resigned. the job seems as if it could easily be full-time, yet i can only spend ten hours a week on it.

last saturday night, andy and i had dinner with old friends, and, as is customary with this group during this time of year, we went around the table and revealed the names of our years. still so involved in the process of rearranging, i confessed that my 2011 was going nameless for the time being.

but as the students are preparing for their return to the university and my excitement borders on anxiety, i am beginning to know what 2011 should be called. the goals at hand are huge, and potentially paralyzing. so this year, for me, will be the year of small tasks.

maybe, by doing a lot of small things, i will end up doing something big.

the monkey fully embraced life in the mountains. he spent the month clad in silly bands, lanyard necklaces, shoes that were perpetually wet from creek walking, and a wide, sticky, ice-creamy grin. nothing spells camp like tight sweaty ringlets, the constant talk of  counselors and fellow campers, and a slew of silly songs playing on repeat inside an almost-four-year-old head.

meanwhile, the bird picked up his new favorite hobby: throwing rocks in the creek. he replaced his barely distinguishable babble with real words that actually made sense in context, and thereby joined fellow toddlers throughout time and space in demonstrating for their elders what a miracle the human grasp of language really is. he had his own pair of perpetually wet shoes and his own allotment of silly bands (thanks to the monkey). like his brother, he waltzed into clubs every day to a chorus of counselors’ welcomes.

is is possible that my children did an entire years’ worth of growing up in one month? from certain angles i took in their shaggy hair and occasional nonchalance and imagined their impending teenage years. i saw that what my friend steve says is true: “with parenting, the days go by slowly but the years go by quickly.”

or perhaps it was my own relaxed, campy persona that gave me pause to take a broader view of my children and their progress. with both children in childcare for the first time, i found myself hiking on mountain trails, practicing yoga in a local studio, and sipping coffee on the porch. this time afforded me a glimpse into a future stage, with increased spare time and possibilities.

parenting’s relentless onslaught of joy and duty seems to evoke a delayed sort of processing. there is no time to sift through the realities of one stage until the next stage is dawning. i have been a parent for almost four years now, but this recent preview of the future is the first real glimpse i have gotten of life beyond babyhood. i was able to remember what i liked to do before i had kids and imagine a life that will return me to those things someday.

but for now i am content to re-enter our memphis routine — the onslaught of  joy and duty. however, i do this with the new knowledge that though the days go by slowly, the years truly do fly by, carrying the sweet sounds of baby babble with them.

one of the best parts about spending the month in western north carolina is getting to spend time with my brother, who lives in asheville. and one of the best things about his status here as a local is that he takes us on adventures that cannot be found on trail maps and in guidebooks. who knew that there are hidden trail heads on exit ramps and places on earth where poison ivy and private property give way to scenes like this?

the monkey and bird were experiencing  their first day of clubs, a day camp at montreat, while the adults were embarking upon waterfall hike. but i could not help but be distracted by daydreams of a future time, when my little boys will be big boys, old enough and eager to climb the rocks and dunk their heads under the rushing water. sometimes there is so much promise in the future that it is difficult to stay in the present.

in our current stage of toddlerhood, afternoon naps, and the boys’ almost constant need for assistance, it is so easy to get swept away by far off notions that someday, adult conversation and uninterrupted sleep will re-enter our lives. and then i catch myself forgetting that this time of sloppy nose-kisses, uninhibited delight, the honest articulation of fears, sweet sweaty ringlets, triumph over small accomplishments, and the natural wisdom of innocence is fleeting and precious.  i know i will long for this stage when it is gone.

when we were on our way to the mountains on friday, i received an email from the rental company pressuring us to decide upon our rental plans for next year. never mind that we had not even begun our mountain adventure for the current year. never mind that we were, at the time, simply trying to make a bag of pipe cleaners last for the remainder of our trek down I-40.

the world will lure us prematurely into the future if we haven’t already wandered there ourselves. for me, being fully present in the moment is something i talk about and value, though i find it almost impossible to do! apparently, as i learned on our hike, wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with the words, “BE PRESENT” does not automatically calm the multi-tasking mind.

funny how this does, though:

i take solace in the fact that there are moments scattered here and there that seem to stand outside of time. thank goodness for a spontaneous plunge into frigid water; the surrender of the bird, who stops resisting his nap long enough to rest his head on my chest; and the first cup of coffee enjoyed on a tree-top porch.

speaking of coffee, let us not underestimate its importance when it comes to living in the present and parenting small children.

i’m new to this blogging thing, and most days i feel like i’m still in that sparkly-eyed freshman daze. it’s kind of like navigating a new campus without key knowledge, such as how to make the best use of short-cuts and how to make “rice krispy treats” in the refectory out of the breakfast cereals, the grain station butter, and the sundae station  marshmallows. this is important stuff, my friends!

my new friend kate of my mommy monolgues, also a blogging newbie, is one of those girls on the hall who (metaphorically speaking of course) has declared a major, landed a boyfriend, and organized a spring break trip all within minutes of moving in. a good friend to have, eh?

kate recently gave me this “award” on her blog:

i am to list ten things that make me happy and pass the award along to a few friends. so, here goes! (note, i’m truly going to list things, not people, since this isn’t an academy awards speech.)

1. the britches and bloomers sewing pattern, which has allowed me to go crazy making “crazy pants” for my boys.
2. books i’ve read lately: the help, the elegance of the hedgehog, and until i find you.
3. la croix water. i’m addicted.
4. this envelope template kit from the paper source, that allows me to make funky envelopes out of recycled paper.
5. screw kappa napa chardonnay
6. spending the month of july in montreat, nc
7. bluegrass music
8. marimekko fabric, clothes, and household items.
9. the home practice yoga sequences in yoga journal — a tremendous help when i can’t get to the studio but still want someone else to direct my practice.
10. chuck taylors

and now, i hereby award/tag four friends:

1. http://nursegolfdiva.blogspot.com/ honest (and funny!) accounts of parenting and nursing (RN) from my beloved college room mate and friend.
2. http://katy-uncooked.blogspot.com/ a raw and inspiring narrative about how my divinity school friend, katy, took charge of her life and her health.
3. http://stuffparentsneed.blogspot.com/ giveaways, recipes, and musings from a favorite fellow mom and former co-worker.
4. http://reverendartistmother.blogspot.com/ inspiration from suzanne, an artist, minister, mom, and soul friend.

gotta go. we’re streaking the quad!

happy 101 rules:

1. copy and paste the award on your blog.
2. list who gave the award to you and use a link to her/his blog (or hyperlink).
3. list 10 things that make you happy.
4. pass the award on to other bloggers and visit their blog to let them know about the award.