Your Story Starts Here

I made her bed in the Red Wagon. I put the framed photos of us on the shelves. I applied the last bit of sunscreen to her already too-tanned self. I gave her a laminated Kissing Hand to remind her of me. I gave her the last hug/kiss/high-five of the week. I left her in the care of dear Liz and the best organization I know of for bringing up amazing girls. And I did all this without crying. Until I went to Circle B, the first cabin I stayed in at Rocky River. The cabin is amazingly redone and different — Liz said she wanted it to be like Pippy Longstocking's house, and it's a pretty fantasy of uneven shingles and cedar siding and sideways bunks. Yet somehow it's even more like itself. Over the fireplace library in Circle B Down, Liz made fabric confection that is embroidered "Your story starts here."

That's when I started crying. Because Lucy's story does start here. At least, the one she writes for herself.

P.S. She's a Cowpoke.

Amateur Hour

Tomorrow is Lu's first day of Camp. Capital C camp, Rocky River Ranch, sacred space, most formative place of my youth. You know, no big. She is excited and nervous. I am excited and nervous. We acted out the little melodrama of our shared nerves over another vigorous argument about whether or not vampires are real (damn you, Twilight and your hold on the zeitgeist).

She is asleep with a head of garlic under her pillow. As I gave it to her, I said, "Vampires are just in stories, and as we've discussed, they are not real. But people in stories with vampires think garlic keeps them away, so if it helps you use your imagination to feel better, then here's some garlic." Oh, and I climbed onto her bed (breaking the weight limit by about 80 pounds) to lie with her for a while (breaking every bedtime rule we've ever had).

Amateur hour. That's what Sugawa calls it when I show my weakness as a parent. So be it. When you are packing a suitcase for your child that SHE COULD FIT IN HERSELF, you are struck by her tininess, her unreadiness to go have a five-day-long life experience apart from the person who pushed her into being. And you are willing to sink below the pro-am level to soothe her the night before this happens.

I have had some pretty frantic correspondence with Liz, who always makes me feel better, and is the only person who can rescue my tiny girl from vampires, floods, homesickness and other scary stuff at camp. It's going to be okay, I think.

Adult Supervision Part 2

Thirty seven doesn't sound as old to me as it used to. Yet it is a decidedly adult age. This birthday has brought a new awareness that people more less my age are running things, with no adult supervision. The president is a mere 12 years older than I am. Barack Obama is barely old enough to have been my babysitter? And he runs the country?

The founders of Google are a year younger than me. And they pretty much run everything else.

Again, trying not to panic.

Adult Supervision, Part 1

I spent my birthday weekend at the Cleaves compound in Wimberley. On Saturday, we attended splendid Major family reunion put on by Peggy, probably the first time in 25 years all those Majors have gathered in one place. We lost the last of a generation when Aunt Patricia died in the spring, so it was amazing to see so many cousins together. On Sunday, we had a quiet day at the creek. The only real excitement was when Ted seemed close to setting his arm on fire while cooking steaks over open flames, and Willow wailed over being separated from Lucy for the week before they go to camp. As the day wound down, Peggy and Ted left with Willow, leaving only our generation to cook, clean, organize and generally fend for ourselves (with help from Bonnie, a blessed token from the grandparent set).

My cousin Lauren made us dinner, while I half-helped but mostly just chatted and drank wine. Lauren: a cousin whom I hadn't seen in 20 years and last remembered as dark-haired cherub. She's now the mother of a dark-haired cherub of her own. I leaned against the pantry for a moment watching this girl-woman stir her gourmet chili, while David made an elaborate salad of his own garden tomatoes. It hit me: she is an adult, he is an adult, I am an adult. We are the grown-ups.

I decided not to panic.

Little Sick Bird

Lucy has strep throat. I went to retrieve her today at Dougherty Arts Camp and found her in a little heap sucking her thumb, a collage clutched in her hand instead of Duck. She wanted to sit on my lap in the exam room at the doctor's office because she was cold. The doctor was running late, so we had plenty of time to sing songs about birds: Three Little Birds, Blackbird, Little Bird, Up in the Air Junior Birdmen (not strictly about birds, but hey).

Sickness sucks, but it does slow life down in a pretty special way. And a blueberry-peach-mango-yogurt-ice-cream smoothie certainly enhances the moment.

Overheard

Lucy: Dad, can we watch The Aristocats? Jason: No, the rental expired.

Lucy: What?

Jason: We rented it. We paid money to borrow it. Like you borrow a book from the library.

Lucy: But what did we rent?

Jason: The movie.

Lucy: No, but when you go to the library, it's a book, there's a thing. There's no thing.

Jason: Well, there is a thing, but it's in iTunes.

Lucy: But where is it?

I had to stop listening. She really could have asked about God and Jason would have had an easier time explaining it to her.

Milostone: 9 months

Yes, I realize the little animal is now 9.5 months. What can I say about him, when I've already told you he's the best, sweetest, most charming baby ever? To help you get to know him better, here's a little questionnaire I filled out on his behalf: Vitals: 17 pounds (sadly, only 8th percentile, because apparently Mom has been giving my milk away. We're working on this), 26 inches, blonde hair (lots), 5 teeth. Hobbies: Eating mail. Banging blocks together. Finding electrical outlets and expensive technology. Shutting doors. Likes: Bananas, egg yolks, my older sister, Frog, anyone who smiles at me. Dislikes: The phrase "not for Milo." The carseat. Being ignored. Future plans: Translating my love of opening and closing doors into a career in architecture. Learning to scoot around the house while holding onto furniture. Oh, and I have another tooth coming in.

Counselors

Lucy's summer schedule is a patchwork of different camps and trips. Right now she's at a nearby day camp, which she seems to be enjoying. I hesitated slightly before putting her into it, because Emily reminded me that in college and she our friend Tiffany were counselors there and they spent a lot of time "hungover and wishing for a cigarette." I have not inspected Lu's counselors terribly closely, but I do know a couple of things about them... 1) They are charming. Lu has  a crush on a counselor named Matthew. For the third day in a row, she has written him a message on her lunchbag: "Mr. Matthew cannot touch because he's silly. P.S. I'm serees." See photo below.

2) They are enterprising. Last Thursday, one of the counselors had the bright idea that instead of water playtime, they should just have the campers wash her car. Which they did, and loved.

Hilarious? Alarming?

Kindergarten: Done.

Her first year of school slipped away from me. I wish I could gather it back up to remember better. She had a great year, got everything she needed out of school, namely a love of learning and an enthusiasm for school.

She was lucky to have Ms. P this year, a teacher who really seemed to understand and appreciate Lu, despite the challenges she presented in the classroom (constant talking and singing, persistent pushing of her own agenda, disruption of others). We got her final report card, which said (brag warning): "The breadth and depth of Lucy's knowledge are remarkable. Couple that with her curiosity — great things lie ahead. Because she is a great reader and she picks up math concepts easily, I would focus on helping her develop her writing skills. I can see her writing plays and using her creativity to bring those plays into production with music, costumes, scenery...She will be a strong student in the first grade."

We can't make our children anyone other than who they are. Lu proves this to me every day. But "curious" and "creative" are the two qualities I would hand pick for any child of mine to have. Lucky us.

Pavlov's Frog

You would think, after having gone into a dumpster to look for Duck, I would know better than to give Milo a lovey. And yet, the sweetness of a baby's attachment to his transitional object. Sigh. I give him Frog and instinctively, he buries his face in it and starts to suck his thumb. He even twirls and waves it like a pizza when he's eating or trying to fall asleep (exactly like Lu). This time around, I'm wiser: he already has two of them, I can get more at Target and they've been around for a while (I believe this is the same model of Frog that our little friend Niall uses as his lovey and that he set on fire at Christmas).