Aquamarine

Luisa is in the water with the kids and I am standing on the beach, watching from the water's edge. Luisa holds Zeca's hand as the waves crash but Miguel doesn't need a hand to steady him. Luisa has taught him when to ride a wave, when to let it break and when to dive underneath it. I've not mastered this which is why I don't always trust myself to take Zeca into the water. I get caught off balance, surprised by the pull of the water or the unexpected crest of a wave. I stumble without grace, falling into the shallows. I grew up in lakes where there were no tides or thunderous waves - the ocean often makes a fool of me. But Miguel and Zeca understand it - they dance about in the water, instinctively retreating when their footing is unsure or the waves too big.

So, I watch the three of them - so comfortable in the water - and I am in awe.

I fix my eyes on Miguel. He is looking for the perfect wave and wades out until the water is at his chest. I think, "There it is..." but he lets that one break and continues to look out over the water. I stop watching the water because I can't predict the waves and I watch his body instead. I see him brace himself, stretch his arms out and I know that this wave is the one. It rises up and he dives into it. It continues to rise and the sun shines through it from behind and - for a brief moment - I see his entire body illuminated in the wave. It is terrifying because I know that he is beyond my reach and it is exhilarating because he looks like he is flying. I hold my breath. The wave breaks and he emerges from the churning water and runs towards me smiling. I breathe deeply and smile back at him.

Parenting requires letting go and it is not always easy. The image of Miguel bathed in aquamarine is still with me days later. I hope to hold onto it tightly so that it can serve as a reminder that sometimes, when you let your children go, you get to watch them fly.

A Simple Girl

There are moments when I know that I am living a charmed life. Some are simple - shared laughter, holding the hand of someone I love, comfortable silence - but others are difficult to explain. I come from a family of hardworking people. Few have gone to college. Few have travelled across an ocean.  I've done both. On the train from Rome to Naples, I watched as the Italian countryside flew by and I couldn't help but consider the path that led me to that particular moment in time.

I could dismiss it as luck but I know better. My parents worked hard, pushed me, wanted more for me than they dared want for themselves. I suppose I worked hard in my own way, though my way ended up being so different than theirs. I've had the support of family and friends along the way and I'm thankful for it even though that support didn't always  take the forms I wanted.

Sometimes, I tell people that I am but a simple girl from Kansas. It can serve as a joke...an excuse...a call for lower expectations. The truth is, however, that I am that simple girl and I marvel at the privilege that I have and all that I have seen. I grew up in the plains of Kansas but have seen Mount Vesuvius and the ruins of Pompeii. Though I can't connect all the points that led me here, I am filled with gratitude.

Having a Ball

As soon as Miguel could crawl, he was pushing a soccer ball around the house.

When he turned one, his birthday cake had a small soccer ball on it and he carried it with him wherever he went for months after that.

When he was in the toddler class at Lake Country, he would walk into the classroom, pick up two plastic balls and spend the rest of the class walking around holding them tightly in his fat little hands. The other kids would cut bananas or play instruments but he didn't do anything because of those damn balls. One day I asked the teacher, "What's wrong with him?! The only thing he wants to do is walk around carrying those balls?!" She leaned in close to me and said, "Well, Vikki, I imagine that he just really likes balls."

When he was in kindergarten, he asked us every day if he could take his own ball to school and every day we told him that he could if he could provide a note from his teacher saying that it was okay. If you've read this blog for a long time, you'll remember that he did bring home that note - he forged it himself.

This past Sunday, I went to Miguel's soccer tournament. He played goalie in the first half and I watched as he danced around in the goal and directed the defense and caught and kicked the ball. He's grown and changed so much yet he is still the baby and toddler and young child who wanted nothing more than to play ball.

I have never been an athlete. Sure, I played rugby in college but I was more competitive in the drinking games that came after the matches. So, I watch in awe when he plays because he can do things on the soccer field that I have never done nor could ever imagine doing but even more because he is so much himself while doing it.

When I watch him play, I am fully present in the moment. I don't worry that he should be doing something else with his time. I remember toddler class. I remember that he held those plastic balls in his fists every day yet still managed to learn how to cut a banana.

When I watch him play - I fall in love with him all over again.