With our newly rescued dog, who suffers from an uncanny obsession with windshield wipers (she hops like a pogo stick while barking incessantly), I made my way down the street to drop off a sleep-over bag for my older daughter. The fifteen minute walk was just what I needed; the reflection of the sun going down was like a spotlight across the clouds and I welcomed the cold breeze graciously …until I heard the honk, my younger daughter was home early. Thankfully my mom-friend caught my moment and offered to drop Callie at my destination. I picked up my pace.

With a quick drop-off and a scoop up of Callie I said good-night to my oldest daughter just as Callie realized she was now going to walk home. “Ahhhhh, mommmm I don’t want to walk.” “I’m tired.”

My kids love the outdoors and are enthusiastic hikers but the realization that one was walking while the other was playing just didn’t sit right. The tears began to roll as I strategized a distraction: “Look, the clouds are chasing the moon trying to cover it before it reaches the stars.” Callie looked up, tears turned to giggles. “Quick mom, let’s catch the moon before the clouds do and we get all wet.” The wind picked up with our pace and I could sense the rain was only moments away. Taking her lead and with Gracie, aka “Cracie,” we ran.

“I can still see the moon hurry up mom,” she said as the first few drops patted our faces. We raced and raced to the dog’s delight. The end of the path was near, three blocks to go. Callie rounded the corner and shouted: “Catch the moon, Mom. Catch the moon.” As I rounded the corner I could see Callie leaping through the air to catch the moon illuminating from the small cracks left in the clouds.

And then the rain came down like the roar of an audience begging for an encore. Callie stopped at the red light and belted out to the cars with their wipers now swishing swiftly: “The sun will come out tomorrow! Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow there’ll be sun.” I caught up to her and smiled at the passersby not knowing if they were in awe of my little outdoor adventurer or Gracie now hopping like a pogo stick while barking at their wipers. Either way, we skipped the rest of the way home belting out the theme song from Annie while the rain showered down on us and the moon peaked out from behind the curtain of clouds.

Don’t worry about the mess …just warm up some cocoa. Off we go!

So why do we wait for Thanksgiving and the winter holidays to gather everyone at the table? There are plenty of studies telling us that time at the table actually benefits everyone. Working parents let go of the office stress, kids connect with each other and eat healthier, and it establishes a daily ritual which is the foundation for family traditions. The table gives everyone a place to gather: it is a social networking site and that alone should have your kids texting BHS (yes, “be home soon”).

Recently, I read the rounds of mommy blogs bemoaning the lack of time to get everyone to the table for dinner. There was a lot of empathy and sharing of reasons why it’s just so hard today but no real solutions. Dare I jump in? Oh, I dare.

Breakfast! Why hasn’t anyone combined the important ritual of gathering family at the table with the most important meal of the day? Without even realizing it, my daughter and husband started this ritual the day she started preschool. He stayed to have breakfast and wished her a great first day. Then he stayed the next, and next. Now in sixth grade, she’ll get up at 5am in the morning and roll herself to the table for a bowl of Cheerios followed close behind by her younger sister for a “sunnyside up.” We laugh, we wish each other a good day, and then we scramble out the door.

As the winter weather gives us its first wink this week, and with the holidays just around the corner, it’s time to unwrap a tradition long put away with the holiday ornaments from our childhood. Breakfast or dinner, prepared or packaged, make it a resolution to get everyone to the table before the New Year and you’ll really have something to celebrate.

I travel to New York more than a few times a year and, no matter what the occasion; I always take a stroll through Central Park. It amazes me:  lush, natural, an island in a sea of sidewalks and skyscrapers; it is the perfect setting from movies to marriages. Even with mountains just beyond my front door in Marin I always think how lucky New Yorkers are for having Central Park.

Recently I was presenting the Let’s Go Chipper!(tm) series during the New York Green Expo and a father mentioned how living in NY keeps his kids from experiencing nature. He happily purchased every product we had on display to the delight of his four year old flipping through the pages of “Out to Sea with Sally,” a recent book release. I mentioned that he had one of the most amazing open spaces in the country and, in fact, Central Park launched the urban parks movement in the mid 1800’s. Oh, the things that make you go “huh.”

“Central Park is for the tourists,” he replied. Needless to say I was up on my soap box, momentarily, to confirm with this father:  his responsibility to his children included the importance of connecting them with nature. Then I looked down at his daughter and asked if she wanted to see some turtles. She said “yes.” Then I asked had she ever chased squirrels, climbed sparkly rocks, or chased clouds. A shy “no,” was her reply.  Her dad raised a brow and shrugged I was a “tree hugger” but I could tell he was a dad who adored his little daughter.

I mentioned that in less than a New York minute he could go to www.centralparknyc.org and see why Central Park is such a landmark in the big apple. But to his daughter I whispered, “Or you could just tug your daddy’s arm when you leave the building and head left just a few blocks.” She giggled, I smiled, and daddy was on his way.

What's this about life in a New York minute?

Of lunches, backpacks, cleats, and …snacks.

Of classes, schedules, homework, and …play dates.

Of work meetings, teacher meetings, PTA meetings …and doctor’s appointments.

Of shopping lists, my “to do” lists, his “honey-do” lists, and …school supplies.

Of friends nearby, of friends moved away, and classmates …just seeming different.

Of the high points, of the low points, of the transitions life just brings.

Keep track of these moments.

“Just one more dive” … “Just one more cannonball” … “Just one more somersault” …and then the pranks of “oops, I fell back in.” …It was funny until my mom’s lips grew tense, her eyes fixed sternly on us and her voice dropped low but sharp: “Just one more time.”

My five year old is a natural when it comes to pool antics, she manages to pull out all the excuses and “oopsies” and still get away with a trip to the vending machine. It’s hard not to resist when you’re living life and trying to set ground rules yet reminiscing about childhood at the same time. I find myself trying to be stern but turning and cracking up in a towel. I just can’t pull off that low growl my mother could do so well; it still sends shivers up my spine. When I was a child, if you defied the count to three you really did get pulled out of the pool …and by your ponytail, and nobody flinched or “tsked.”

I can feel triumphant that a little one …two …three magic does work when I mention “no mint chocolate chip ice cream if you don’t get out of the pool,” but I have to say I secretly look forward to the giggles and screams of “just one more time!”

Just One More Time

I received a call from a Cutco Cutlery representative the other day and immediately flashed back to my brother standing in the kitchen wearing suit and bowtie as he set out for his first job. By the end of that summer every mom in town had a new set of steak knives on her table. I couldn’t believe the company still existed (60 year anniversary if you check out the site) so I said “yes” to a demonstration and a potential trip down memory lane.

A few days later, I opened the door to a young man looking like he had just come from surfing. No suit or bowtie, just a laid back expression and a bag of knives over his shoulder. I let go of nostalgia as he laid out his knives at my table and turned on autopilot.

“Do you own a set of knives, Mrs. Wilson?” “Yes, I do.”

“How often do you use them?” “Daily.”

“How often do you sharpen them?” “Rarely,” I said.

“I bet you like to barbecue on a day like today.” “I love to barbecue anyday.”

“What’s your favorite meat?” “I’m a vegetarian.”

He faltered momentarily then plugged a paring knife for my veggies before switching to autopilot again. The demonstration started to feel like the dull knives I apparently had in my drawers; that’s until he cut into something I can get fired up about. 

“How many meals do you prepare in a week?” 

“That’s a good question,” I replied.  “I’d say 14 or so.”

Silence, then “A week?”

“Yes, that’s right, at the table with napkins in lap.”

He stared stunned and I wondered if he was envisioning my entire kitchen being decked out by Cutco, or if he was imagining that many moments at the table with family.

The Annenberg Center for the Digital Future at the University of Southern California reports the average family spends about 18 hours a month together. From TV to technology, distractions are cutting into dinner and family time. But I’m not ready to scrap mealtime for computer time. I’ll take the occasional arguments and grumblings over the meal, or who got more ketchup. It’s the sharing of daily activities, jokes, and planning of weekend hikes that helps us circle our wagon to keep tabs on each other. It is both grounding and comforting, and expected now by our children even at a young age.

So while my Cutco representative frantically flipped through the pages looking for the bigger knife block to sell me, I sat contentedly knowing I get flustered about a lot of things throughout the day but not getting the meal to the table – even if it means breakfast for dinner.

“Mom, did you count?” I looked over trying to hide my guilt. “65, 66 …” she dashed away squealing “Everybody hide!” Finishing the email, I closed my laptop and recommitted to my goal of “turning off” so I could tune in to my girls until their bedtime.

Looking from bush-to-bush, behind the trees, and around the house I hollered out everyone’s names and delighted in the giggles coming from kids I pretended not to see. Before I knew it, dinner was upon us and I was thankful my mother had taught me that meatballs are always better the second day. With the bowl of strawberries and blueberries Callie had picked from the front yard, I turned to the table and welcomed the sound of extra feet scrambling to the table with an enthusiastic “yes! I love your mom’s meatballs.” Cones, cups, and a little bit of whip cream solidified my standing as coolest mom for the day.

With the sun setting and the air cooling quickly I know summer is still a few weeks away but this little wink of what the school break will bring made me smile that a few longer nights at the desk are worth time spent hollering out, “olly, olly, oxen, free.”

But springtime delivered us a picture perfect drive and we found ourselves tuning into music that had us belting out show tunes, Dolly Parton, and a little bit of Hannah Montana. Even when we broke down to put in a movie, the girls couldn’t help being distracted by the vast fields with poppies that continued to bloom all the way up hills and mountains.

When the road did become flat and seemingly desolate we were given the quintessential meaning of springtime: babies! We saw calves and baby lambs running free, chasing each other, nursing and sometimes just nestled next to their mothers. It was amazing to see such playful life out on the land so many just drive by without stopping to take a look.

I realized that every few miles there was a sign reading “Vista Point”. I wondered how many people pulled off to take a look and I was grateful for the people who paved the road years ago and were thoughtful enough to realize this was land that should be viewed.

Most of us are more likely to pull off at one of the pop up convenience exits and grab a Happy Meal, fill up, and hit the road again. It’s ingrained in me since childhood that we stop for gas, and snack from the provisions packed.  With my two girls singing in the backseat munching on the goodies packed we decided a new tradition would be to pull to the top of a Vista Point and for once just stop to enjoy the view.

With dog in tow we took the path for a while hoping to see some of the birds mentioned on the welcome sign. Accompanied by Mallards and Mud Hens in the water, with incredible shape-shifting marshmallow clouds above, we followed the meandering path until we reached the far end of the playground. The girls immediately raced to this incredible apparatus, worthy of an Outward Bound course, full of kids swinging and dangling trying to get to the center of what looked like a spider’s web. One child hollered out “Como estas hombres” and I laughed at Avery questioning if the three year old had just called her a boy.

Dropping to the ground, Callie dashed to a section of the playground that seemed to be calling her name. She was immediately joined by another girl and I smiled at her mother, also pondering the instant connection. The girls, undeterred by the language barrier, simultaneously started digging. Callie suddenly screamed and lifted up her arm; her hand clenched tight in a fist. She raced over to me and opened up her wet, sandy hands. “It’s the most beautiful rock in the world,” she exclaimed. Frankly, it looked like a snail that had been crushed and rolled in sand and I cautiously touched it hoping I was wrong. I was.

Callie sat with her rock marveling at the “specialness” of it. Setting it on my bag, she dashed back to her new friend and knelt down to resume scooping. I cleaned up the rock and the few more that Callie brought with pleas of keeping them all. I sat next to the family of rocks so thoughtfully lined up and smiled at what looked like my Pet Rock collection from a craze that took over the country when I was a child. How ironic: my younger self had stormed like so many other kids to the stores searching for the same treasures my daughter had just uncovered in the sand, and in the company of a new friend.

This great serendipitous moment was not lost on my girls who proclaimed: “this day rocked” as we walked the path back to the car where my phone sat blinking with a text message from my husband wondering if we had found our way home.