surf

Our family follows what I have only recently learned is a fairly gender-typical pattern: Frida and I love the beach; Sam and J. are less excited about it. When we were on Martha's Vineyard in August, we ended up going a few times, and while taking Frida into the water (never with much surf), I realized that going to the beach with Frida showed me something about parenting her more generally: standing with her in the surf is a metaphor for standing with her in the rest of her life. Frida will wade out until the water is past her shoulders, up to her chin, and she will want to do this by herself. As a mild swell comes through, though, and she's standing on her tippytoes with the water suddenly lapping at her mouth, she'll realize she might need a hand-- and if mine is right there, she'll grab it, and smile with something that's not quite relief because she hadn't quite panicked yet, but instead is closer to glee-- that feeling of being just at the edge of what she can comfortably handle. I might have worried that she doesn't know where the edge is, but she always grabbed my hand; I might worry that she won't learn where the edge is if she doesn't move past it, but instead I learned that she always grabs for me right when the water is, in fact, lapping at her chin. She's exploring that edge, and I realized that I want to be able to trust her to do so-- but only if my hand is within easy grabbing distance right at the moment when she needs it. (And, yes, only if the surf is so calm that there won't be a wave that will sweep over her head. So… finding that edge is a lot trickier in most of life's situations, and will only get harder.)

I don't recall feeling this with Sam, this clear awareness of needing to let him feel out his own boundaries. It might be because I was more cautious the first time around, or because Sam is himself more cautious and was, at age 3, less drawn to pushing himself to explore physical limits. Or maybe it was exactly the same, and I just don't remember it. But he's doing it more, now-- climbing trees, climbing up the outside of the tunnel slide, balancing on high walls.

A friend of his recently broke an arm in a fall from a climbing structure, and I'm well aware that a broken arm is not the worst thing that could happen from a fall. But… I also realize that it's a critical thing, to know one's limits, to figure out what one's limits are. I remember climbing wayyy up trees and knowing I had to trust my own grip and balance and judgment; I remember backpacking, years later, and knowing each judgment I made had potentially serious repercussions-- whether or not to purify water now; where to hang my food; whether to camp here or push on through darkness to an actual approved camping spot, hours later than planned due to a map misread. And that feeling of learning to trust oneself, to have an inner voice, a gut feeling, with which one is comfortable and familiar-- that is invaluable.
So, here we go. Keeping my hand where she can reach it, and making sure that the surf she's bobbing in is enough to challenge her, but not enough to threaten her.


I got two compliments on Sam's politeness and emotional articulateness this past week, and I'm still proud… In the second case, he was leaving a post-school play date, and the friend's mom noted that Sam is not just very polite, but also amazingly good at understanding and articulating his emotional needs (e.g. at one point when the boy was playing with his brothers, Sam said-- I'm not sure whether to the mom or to the boys-- that he was feeling a little left out, because they were playing with each other and not with him). We have really prioritized being able to talk about one's feelings, and to express them clearly and respectfully. It's so nice to see that these lessons are sticking...