The best ten minutes of my summer

The sun was hot. I was crabby. I was mad at my husband, just because I was. I was bloated and wearing a really old bathing suit that did not flatter my figure or highlight my midsection the way I imagined it would all these months while depriving myself of Hershey's kisses, picturing me with my friends at the cottage on the lake, where we gather for one day every summer. My boobs and my mood had gone south. It was one of those days when I wonder why he stays married to me, as surly as I can be. Although, without me, there would have been no one to pack the cooler and I'm sure my organizational skills must count for something.

I have been going to this cottage with these friends for at least ten years. It started as a GO GO party (Girls Only Grill Out), back when everyone had boyfriends. Then it became a party for boys and girls. Then boys became husbands and now some of us have kids. I have brought you along every year and with each passing year the car has become a little fuller, I've arrived a little later and have felt more worn out just from the preparation of the day. Kind of like when you've been drinking in the sun all day except it's only noon and I haven't had a drink.

I didn't think you were having fun. Between me watching you and your father watching the dog I felt as if we weren't even at the same party. I started to wonder if we wouldn't be better off just packing everything back up and going home to order a pizza. Before I did though, I wanted to get wet. I wanted to be weightless just for five minutes.

I put your father on duty and grabbed an inner tube. I awkwardly paddled myself out past the pier. I waved to you, hoping you'd see me and change your mind. Maybe you would agree to at least try to let the water touch your toes. You couldn't see me, you were busy with sticks and rocks and things.

Floating, I tilted my head back and closed my eyes. I waited at least five minutes before I opened them again. When I did, I was able to appreciate the beauty around me. The cool lilt of the water as it rippled across my back. The abundance of the green leaves. The sound of the breeze through the trees. Laughter of friends I don't see very often. I saw you standing on the shore. Mama! Mama! You called. 

I paddled furiously to get to you, pleading all the way. Please. I begged you. Please come out here with me. I'll hold you really tight. You won't even get wet. I promise. Please. Just once. Just try. One time, with mama. Please. If you don't like it I'll bring you right back.

Magically, you agreed to strap on your scooby-doo life jacket. I scooted my raft up onto the sandy edge of the water and your father lifted you in, placing you in my lap. With one arm wrapped around you, I used the other to paddle us out slowly, gently, so as not to rock your decision to do this, to try. Lean your head back, I instructed, relax. Your stiff limbs softened. Your head was on my shoulder, your long legs dangled over mine. I could only see you out of the corner of my eye. Your eyes were closed but you were smiling. Open your eyes, babe. This is fun. Look around. And you did.

Mama...GO FAR, You said. YEAH! I said. It was a moment. One of those moments that has made me happy every night since when I have replayed it in my mind, on the edge of sleep, but fighting to stay awake so I could remember how it felt. How we felt. The sun in your gorgeous blond hair. Your eyes more blue than the sky and sparkling, how they sparkled. Your mouth wide open in a smile. I laughed as I watched you with my one eye and my heart was full. You completely let go, something you don't do easily, you trusted me and in turn, my motherly instincts buzzing, I held you with one hand and introduced you to buoyancy with the other. 

In the busy work of our days I lose track sometimes of the magic that is the connection between parent and child. The kind that exists when you share a moment unlike any other you have known before, one that is spontaneous and effortless and unlike many of the responsibilities of parenting, completely without planning or preparation.

You wanted to get out soon, but we stayed at the party for a few more hours. We had homemade apple pie and hot dogs at a picnic table, like you should on a warm summer night. You ran around naked and gave everyone hugs and kisses when we left. Your dad asked me if I had fun on the drive home, when you were sound asleep in the backseat. Yeah, I said wearily, exhausted from the day. Did you? Yeah, he replied. At times it seemed like a lot of work, and I felt myself getting stressed at one point during the day but then I remembered it's all about creating memories and experiences for him. He glanced up to check on you in the rear view mirror, your head bobbing up and down like a rag doll as you slept. After that I had more fun.

I couldn't have agreed with him more. 

Comments

[Mrs. Chicken]

You just earned a July Perfect Post button.

Seriously. I'm wiping my eyes over here.

[In the Trenches of Mommyhood]

I could so relate to this one. Whenever we venture out (b/c by the time we actually do get out the door, I'm already crabby for having had to do everything to get us out the door...)it's hard to actually socialize with others, while keeping an eye on 3 children and attending to their needs. Sometimes I think, "Why bother?" But then seeing the boyz frolic and romp (good words, huh?) with their little friends and having the chance for Hubby and I to interact with other harried parents makes me realize that we're all in the same boat. And each summer it becomes a little easier, a little less high maintenance to actually go places with the 3 of them. So there's a little dim light at the end of the tunnel. I'm starting to see it.

[mayberry]

This reminds me of your wonderful snow post. You're so good at noticing those amazing moments and describing them perfectly.

[whymommy]

What a beautiful post! You have such a way with words. And with moments.

I suppose that's why I keep coming back to read! I can't stay away.

[Lady M]

What a day!

>>it's all about . . . experiences for him

Yes. I have to step back and remind myself of that too.

[Binky]

You and your husband are right on. So is Mrs. Chicken in her assessment.

[slouchingmom]

Beautiful post. Thank you. (I'm over from Mrs. Chicken's place.)

[growingupartists]

Wow, Mrs. Chicken really knows how to call them, that was the perfect post. Not only perfectly true, but your dips and whirls kept taking me for surprise rides. What an incredible writer you are!

[canape]

Beautiful. And perfect.

[Kelly]

Great post, perfect in every way. Congrats!

[aimee/greeblemonkey]

I came over from the July Perfect Posts. That was lovely. Just lovely.

[Kim]

Mrs. Chicken knows how to call'em. This was SO well written! This is my first visit here and I really enjoyed it. I'll be back!

[nonlineargirl]

That is lovely. Those perfect moments with the kids are amazing, and you told it so well.

[TB]

Thanks so much for this. I'm in the middle of new mom craziness and while I love it, it's hard to find the payoff sometimes when you're dealing with a needy infant.
You just reminded me that it's going to get really great and I can't wait for that.

Looking forward to working with you.