month 60

tribe love, from all corners of the world

jamin,

when I think about it in months, it doesn't seem that long.  I guess because I can remember month one (sort of, through the haze of your newness) and I remember month 25 when you finally started getting some hair.  sixty months just seem like little tick marks of victories, a nice tempo for you becoming yourself a little bit at a time.  but five whole years?  that is where I get a little wobbly-feeling.  I remember things about being five.  that means we are doing things now that you will tell your family about later.  we are living stories you will tell to someone you are falling in love with, to your own children as you try to entertain them on long trips, to your therapist as you reflect on how amazing your childhood really was.

pirate shirt, pirate puzzle, pirate face.

and what a story we are living.  watching you this summer has been by far the best part of this adventure for me.  I can hardly believe I was so worried about you in the months before we left brevard, so concerned that living far away might be too much for you, that you might find camp overwhelming, that getting you plugged into daycamp would be a daily challenge.  you love life here.  you love day camp: the silly songs, your enthusiastic counselors, your new friends.  you love camp life: you beg to eat every meal in the dining hall, you wish we had campfires every night, you think the skits the kids do every friday are hilarious.  you have fully embraced this entire experience with a sense of adventure I didn't know you had.  it has been an important lesson for me to learn, and I am working hard not to box you in or shelter you too much, but instead to follow your lead in a lot of ways and assume you'll be just fine. I think it is a lesson I'll be learning your whole life, so I am glad I am getting good practice in now.

five is a pretty great age, I think.  you can do a good bit on your own, but you still really like holding hands.  you are old enough that we can snuggle and read chapter books (books I've been waiting my whole life to share with you) for an hour at a time, easy.  learning is something you find exciting and entertaining, a trait that makes me feel much more settled about home schooling.  you love "homework books" and have no trouble completing an entire workbook in a single session.  we made some sight word cards together and I find you practicing them on your own sometimes.  when we are walking together or riding in the car you'll say "somebody give me some numbers!" which is an open invitation to quiz you on some addition or subtraction.  you get them right fairly consistently, even when cora strings four or five numbers together.  it is cute to watch you concentrating on however you see numbers in your head.  I often wonder what the number line looks like to you inside your noggin.

we celebrated your birthday at your pace, which was pretty fantastic.  you woke and let papa and me snuggle you and tell you the story of the day you were born.  you love that story and your favorite part is when papa says "if we're having a baby today, I'd better go mow the grass!"  we piled all your packages and cards around you, and then we could barely see you under them all.  your tribe comes correct, something I hope holds true for your entire life.  you are surrounded by people who love and value almost as much as we do, people that are not afraid to show that love when we need it most.  after  you opened all your loot, we sent papa and cora out to fetch bagels while you and I read and colored and played pirates at home.  we had mac and cheese for lunch, then met a new daycamp friend at the tuck shop for ice cream.  we headed over to lauren and ralph's for a cookout.  you were so excited to have a hotdog.  we could tell after about two bites that it was not as wonderful as you had envisioned, so you struggled through a few more bites, then left the rest for papa.  we fed you cherry pie to keep you going while we waited for the shelter island fireworks display.  it was hazy and almost rainy, but not everyone gets fireworks on his birthday.  you made it about ten minutes into the show before saying, "I'm tired.  let's go home."  you were asleep within six minutes.

cora took this one.

you are loved.  you are treasured and enjoyed.  you are part of a wonderful story, an adventure story at that, and I hope all of that is what sticks when you look back on being five.  keep surprising me, j-mo.  you are my best thing.

love one hundred and eighty million,

mama

plunging for patience

First day of day camp, aka "love bugs."

we haven't posted much because we are too busy living the stories we want to blog about later.  does that work as an excuse for a lack of posts?  I sure hope so.  we are certainly taking lots of pictures (well, lots for us anyway.  we don't have iphones, so it takes a little more effort than everyone else, right?)

 

Cora donning her red white and blue attire

jamin and cora started day camp last week, and they totally love it.  they come home singing the silliest songs; the current favorite is about how their father does not wear socks.  they have had amazing, passionate, enthusiastic counselors, and I am so very grateful for that.  some days they are exhausted by lunch time, so we bring them home for a nap and they are ready to go again by supper.  these kids, jamin especially, LOVE to eat in the dining hall.  it's a huge motivator.  lucky for us, there are plenty of vegetarians (and even a vegan!!!) on staff, so the chef whips up some veggie goodness on the regular.  last night was portobello mushroom caps stuffed with lentils and peppers.  um, yum.

there has been some soul-searching going on this summer as we enjoy our adventure and learn what feeds our family best.  one night we hopped on the ferry to go to greenport  for supper.  we tried to meet up with some friends, but plans just weren't quite coming together.  we didn't have reservations anywhere and apparently when you live in a town with classy people, reservations are a must.  overly hungry and tired, we stumbled into a little burrito shop.  we had sat outside this shop for a bit earlier in the evening and every family that came out was snappy and short with each other.  once we were seated inside, we could see why.  it was HOT.  too hot.  and there was only one waitress for the whole restaurant.  but we were too hungry to try for anything else, so we sat and sweated and waited and tried not to be snappy with each other.  we had been talking earlier in the day about the delicate balance (specifically when one is soul-searching) between taking the plunge and having patience.  I'm a plunger.  eric does much better with the patience.  but this night, sweaty and annoyed, eric plunged.  he pulled a sprig of lavender from behind his ear (because farmers always have a sprig to spare) and presented it kindly to our waitress.  "you look like you could use this," he told her.  "you can wear it in your hair."  she stopped and smiled and asked him where he'd found the lavender.  he told her about his work on the farm, she told him about her summer job on another farm on long island.  they swapped gardening tales, and eric took notes on the farm she mentioned so he could plan a visit.  "what's your name?" he asked before she went away to the next table.  "patience," she answered.

we raised our eyebrows at each other.  maybe it isn't an either/or sort of thing.  maybe we can plunge and be patient all at the same time.  I'll let you know how it goes.