Just like that

Not every day can be perfect. There are, in fact, whole weeks that go by that seem to take my patience and sense of well being right along with them. My communing with the mama robin yesterday was a way of reminding myself of the promises I made when we chose to embark on the journey of parenthood and, later, homeschooling. Some weeks those promises—like not to yell, to give space, to be patient, to go with the flow—are easier to remember, and to keep, than others. But the rough days don't last, and neither does the headache that goes with them. I fully expect days when things like lack of sleep and an overheated house will drive everyone in the family over the edge, and a child's need to test boundaries is also to be expected. And when all of those things happen at once it's just time to take a step back and breath for a moment and replenish the well.

There is a bigger picture. This week may have been about butting heads and arguing for the sake of hearing one's own voice, but the bigger picture has always been dominated by love and respect and pure unadulterated joy, and a few rough days can't diminish that. It always comes back.

Just like that.

Room to err

This morning as I sat in my usual chair drinking my usual coffee I heard a most unusual flapping and splashing. Last night we had watched as one of the baby robins left the nest under our deck and tried his wings rather clumsily in the wide outer world and I thought to myself at the time what a good thing it was that he had not fallen in the kiddie pool just outside the window, but I didn't empty the pool, so when I heard the quiet splashing this morning I knew what had happened and the words that escaped my lips as I dashed out the back door are probably not to be repeated in kind company.

Rescuing that precious baby was not as hard as I thought. The pool being close to the wood pile I just reached over for a board, gently pushed it under his struggling feet, and lifted him safely out onto the ground. I left him in the sunshine and watched him from the window, at first shivering, then eventually calling to his parents, who showed up with breakfast. Calvin had watched the rescue from the window, and we both went through the day with a feeling of exuberance over this deed done for babies (our babies because they have lived under our deck, after all).

I didn't bother the baby with the camera at the time of the incident—enough trauma is enough—but he returned to the deck later in the evening. As soon as he'd hopped off this morning I'd emptied the pool, so drowning was no longer a concern, but the parents were now worried about our physical presence and as we rounded up toys from the yard she sat on our feeder hook and chipped at us to let us know she meant about as much business as a mama robin can mean.

Mothering is a tough job. From the moment children are born, be they robins or humans, they are preparing to leave the nest. You feed them and clothe them and try to keep them safe, but your job is to keep strangers at bay while they learn to fly, and fail, and try again; Your job is to bandage the knees, not to stop them from falling while they learn to run or ride a bike. That mother robin knew that. She knew that her job was to trust her baby to learn. It's part of her instinct.

Tonight we took a family walk and stopped by the park. Following the rain that finally relieved our parched grounds the air was cooler and less oppressive, and the sun was just peaking from around the retreating storm clouds. In the park Calvin gained the new skill of sliding down the fire pole without assistance. Watching from the sidelines is hard. Jon was there to help, but from a respectful two steps away, and I could see his arm muscles flex every time Calvin's feet left the structure and swung out into space to grab the pole (and my own arms jumped each time, too). Jon was ready to help if needed, but he was trusting the boy to know his own limitations, to learn the skill on his own. I think he is so much better at stepping back than I am. 

Jon and I have always tried to base our parenting and teaching philosophy on trust. We give Calvin choices and allow him to make decisions, giving him room to celebrate the good ones and learn from the bad ones. But it's not always easy. Assessing physical situations or dangers and providing appropriate support is one thing, but non-physical situations are more difficult to judge. Lately I feel like, when I give him choices, I end up pressuring him toward the one that I think is clearly right, and that is not environment I want to create for him. I need to provide support from one more step back, giving him room to err or to triumph and the space in which to assess things for himself. Like the mother robin I need to trust that learning and growing is entirely natural, and so are mistakes.

A little bit of weekend nature

Great Spangled Fritillary in our garden

Baby robins under the deck Saturday...

...and then on the deck Sunday

Someone ate the tops off all the bean plants (and left us the beans)

But the tomatoes are coming in

And all the lillies are in full bloom

Rolling Sculptures Auto Show

It's that time of year again. Jon and I have been feeling a little out of sorts; besides the strange weather throwing things off, we are missing out on three summer staples this year—Top of the Park, The Townie Party, and the first day of Art Fair—and that leaves a big hole in the middle of our season. There are still other events to be had, of course—we'll be catching a Friday Nights in Dexter one of these days, and last night was the Rolling Sculptures Auto Show in Ann Arbor.

It was warm, but not a bad night to be downtown. Calvin had asked for a redo of the scavenger hunt we took to the NAI Auto Show in January so we worked that out together and he looked for things like pink cars, glittery cars, a variety of engine make-ups, and even a rumble seat. I was disappointed that the old fire truck was not there this year (someone else is missing their summer staples, I see) but the fairy car was there to serve as an alternative fueled vehicle (because nothing is a more alternative fuel than Vernors).

We enjoyed shakes at Frita Batidos, and later had dinner at Grizzly Peak—some old stomping grounds and some new. We went with Gram and Grampa, we ran into some friends, and we got a call from Jon, who had been in New York for two days, saying that he'd been put on a different flight and would be home before bedtime, and that equals a good day.

The future is electric!

Austin-Healey, the happy car

Being the car...

Isetta, the other happy car

Discussing the oddities of the Isetta

Smart selling, at my favorite book store

Nature Thursdays—Wildlife detectives at Rolling Hills

Back on the trails again. Today's Thursday program with our county parks and recreation was a bigger hike than usual, and maybe it was the half hour drive that scared away the rest of the regulars, but Calvin and I were actually the only ones there. Funny, because turtles are cool, and logs are cool, but I really thought the "detective" part of today's program title would bring kids out of the woodwork.

A private class was okay with us, though, because when you're out scanning the ground for tracks and other signs of animals, and when you have to talk about things like scat and owl pellets, the smaller the crowd the better (and the larger the crowd, the more "ewwwwws" there are to be had). Calvin is comfortable with both scat and owl pellets, but we found only the former, and mostly from deer. Really the class was a bit like preaching to the choir. Calvin and I have been hiking our fields looking for exactly these same clues for years now. In fact, of the three of us, he was the one who found and identified the raccoon tracks and the deer scat. I also found mole trails, a couple of snake holes, and lots of duck tracks. We found nests, both bird and squirrel, and some gnawed crab apples and acorns. It was a thoroughly enjoyable private event.

Identifying a mole's trail and hole

Checking out pond scum

After our favorite guide left we ate lunch and took our now customary hike. Jon and I had hiked many of the trails at Rolling Hills about four years ago with Calvin in the Kelty pack, but I haven't been there since and I had forgotten how nice the foot trails are—lots of deep woods and wildflowers and some views of the little pond. We found lots of dragonflies and butterflies, identified a few trees and their lichens, counted fungus groups, and scared more than a few squirrels and birds.

Hitting the trails after lunch

Dragonfly and damselfly

Catbird mewing (they really do mew)

My favorite part of the day was right at the end: as we turned a corner there was a lot of rustling in the ground leaves near us and suddenly the strangest looking, most clumsy flying bird took off and flew right across the path in front of us. I was too dumbfounded to handle the camera properly before he was gone, but it was most assuredly a woodcock, something I have seen only in bird books. Calvin swears he looked just like an overgrown bumble bee, which I think was in reference to its strange, butt-heavy flying—and he laughed about it for the rest of the way back to the car. I was just ecstatic over seeing a new bird. Even a clumsy one.