Yesterday afternoon, I got a tummy ache, of the suddenly doubled over with cramps variety. I’d planned to work out (didn’t happen), roll on the floor (didn’t happen), have dinner with the kids (didn’t happen), put them to bed early (also didn’t happen). Fortunately, I had some help in the late afternoon so I could rest through the worst of it. Equally fortunately, my nearly twelve year-old happened to be upstairs with me doing his homework at the time (that’s a luxury of childcare in my house, it might mean I can hang with just one kid) and he reacted like a mature twelve year-old. He felt my head. He looked worried. He warmed up a lavender-scented rice pillow—that’s got to be the hot twenty-first century water bottle—and brought it to me.
After supper, the kids came upstairs. They were great and by then I felt just better enough to get up for a diaper, for a bottle, and for the toddler’s I-climb-in-my-own-self to the crib ritual.
For the couple of hours I was in the most acute pain I could remind myself that stomach pain subsides; I guess because I’m a grown-up (utterly shocking), I really knew I’d feel better. There wasn’t anything to do, nothing to take. I placed the warm beanbag of a pillow against my belly and my lower back. I took a bath. I rested. I waited.
**
A bit earlier that afternoon, as I headed to the elementary school to pick up the first and sixth grader, I’d been thinking about how one of the real perks to this fourth toddler child—and our very scenic route through parenting, scenic, as in twelve-year span between the first and the last—is that I get to re-read picture books my peers (as in, fellow parents of teens) have all but forgotten. One such book* is Ruth Krauss and Crockett Johnson’s The Carrot Seed. Synopsis: little boy plants a carrot seed. He cares for it. No one but the boy believes it’ll come up. Eventually, carrot plant appears.
There really are few better books to introduce these concepts: faith, self-confidence, and gardening.
Spring is so much about all three things. Was it just a minute or so ago we were without leaves, and then with tiny leaves and now we have rustling green canopies? We have shade (and if well-covered and aided by luck after a very cold night, wonderful Town Farm will have arugula and spinach on offer again at Tuesday Market—mmm) and flowers. Not long ago, amidst all those wintry scraps tinged in browns and greys, this whole spring thing seemed well nigh impossible. Coincidentally, as the earth warms and each afternoon stretches longer and the games of wiffleball and kickball and hoop shooting stretch longer, so, too do the kids grow faster; they are weed-like with shaggy hair and lengthening limbs and maturing faces.
Remy, my first grader, a kid who appears to be illuminated with joy at the camaraderie of being a first grader in the thrum of his classroom friends, complains and worries about school a lot. His preoccupation with not wanting to endure his low points consistently overtakes certain mornings. He hasn’t connected easily with writing—and there’s a lot of writing in first grade if you ask him.
Quick aside about writing: I love this moment shared with me by Remy’s student teacher: Remy, at the writing table, says, “Let’s just agree I can’t do this. How much recess will I have to miss?”
Although I do not quite understand what exactly about the reading groups is hard for him this week, many tears have fallen about not getting to read a certain book in a bin reserved for more fluent readers. Whether he’s really certain he can read the books “ahead” or whether he is concerned that he can’t, I don’t know.
I have pretty quickly come to terms with the fact that I’m not necessarily going to understand what’s going on with Remy and reading this week. I am, because it’s a parent’s task sometimes, a tear-wiper-off-er and a listener and I am encouraging of his many talents and reminding him of this critical fact: he’s doing great with reading. Mostly, though, I’m going to Carrot Seed it. I’ll encourage him to look at books at home, offer to read with him, and trust that whatever reading struggle is just beneath the ground will push toward the light. The kid is on track to become a happy reader. My job’s to believe in him—and not worry too much.
Oh, I’m not without my anxieties or my hands-on impulses: I’ve filled in his lovely, capable, wonderfully intuitive teachers about the fact that he’s struggling. Along with all else, his teachers are really terrific at watering the children.
The sixth grader is muddling through some finishing elementary school and anticipating middle school “stuff.” Transitions, for that guy have always been tough and this transition’s a whopper. He’s spent some good portion of the past week furious at us (although I’d been upgraded from I hate you to I love you, you’re just a terrible parent). When his helping hand reflex reached out toward me yesterday, I was reminded how much The Carrot Seed has to offer about parenting. I have to trust that despite the emotional roils, he’s fine and we’re fine.
The project he was researching while he was sitting beside me by the way was about Down syndrome, and he approached the topic with such keen, smart interest and such an open heart I was filled to bursting. He hadn’t gone with me the day before to hear the Whole Children chorus sing with Dan Zanes and our own local kids’ music fave Mister G. A day later I was still carrying the palpability of joy in that room (the concert featured children of all abilities in that chorus, and the event could be summed up in one word besides joyful: triumphant).
**
Before I felt better, I had to attend to the late night emergency diaper and attendant diaper rash crisis and the teenager moaning about terrible allergies or more likely a cold. Oh, the dear husband’s away for a week, did I mention that part? Eventually, we were all sleeping in our very own beds. I woke up feeling almost okay. Soon enough, I’ll feel great again. I’ll remember how fortunate I am to feel so healthy almost all of the time. What about all those anxieties? I’m holding them, and holding the kids experiencing them. And I’m waiting for the plants to come up.
*The corollary to revisiting picture books the fourth time around is getting to add new books to my favorites’ list. How much better, for example, is my life with Mo WIllems’ Pigeon in it? I can tell you it’s a whole lot better! I even follow the Pigeon on Twitter.
