It's A Beautiful Life

Today. Here. The weather. The parks. The kids. We ran and rode the bike path. My daughter on her bike, rolling up and down the hills, while the wind blew her golden ringlets off her face, under her purple helmet. Her shoulders bearing the Florida sun, now exposed in her little tank to the warm California rays. My son, content as always in the jogging stroller, humming a song to himself, as we raced along under the liquid amber canopies. The sun was not yet high in the sky, just breaking through our tunnel of foliage, and all was right with the world. The temperature was perfect and the air was anything but humid. The ducks were just rousing from their sleep when we spotted a mom and her ten baby ducklings slipping into the water's edge along the golf course. The mountains were nothing short of miraculous, which is crazy, because I don't think I ever noticed them before.

We chased the path up and down the gently rolling hills, and though my daughter complained when she had to climb them, she never hesitated to charge down the backside ahead of me, never even looking back. She was always just within my range to yell to her, "Stay on the inside!" because I felt certain she would be clocked by someone coming too fast the opposite direction. We rode to the path's end and then turned around, her pace decidedly slower on the way back. Some guys on their fancy bikes, all decked out and looking pro, came up behind us at one point and encouraged her up the last hill, "Come on, you have to pedal.." So sweet and mild was this one man's voice, and for a moment, she pedaled with great fury as if to try to jump on the back and go with them.

"I'm thirsty, mom," she said, defeated just shy of the top of the last grade. We walked to the ridge. "Do you smell that, mom?" she asked me.
"What, lovely? The jasmine?" I replied.
"No! That sweet, sweet California air!" She scolded me for not knowing what she meant. Her scowl told me she was very disappointed in me for already taking it for granted after only one week.
"Oh! That! Of course, of course!" Really, I smelled the manure from nearby stables and the dry mustard along the path, buzzing with bees. "Yes, Dolly. I love it. I really do." Something rustled in the bushes and for a minute I thought it could be something large of the nature variety that I might not like meeting up with. But, when I realized it was gone, whatever it was, I relaxed again and continued to enjoy our moment. "Yes, my Love, I smell it."

We rambled on along the last of the path and I felt so content. But, then I remembered that this is what my life would look like if we lived here....the life of a single parent. This is how most people make it happen in San Diego: by working crazy hours and never seeing each other. Or, people are forced to farm out their kids to various daycare settings or pawn them off on other people to raise for the endless hours they have to be at work and travel, trying to make a living for their families. They have to shuffle their kids from here to there to everywhere, outsourcing daycare, in the name of earning a paycheck to carry the heavy mortgage. It is bittersweet when my son tells me he wants to go to that beautiful new school on the hill for Kindergarten and I have to tell him we have to go back East for Daddy's job for now. I don't have the heart to tell him that he and his sister will have to be home schooled in the fall since FL schools have failed us so miserably. I simply tell him, "Not this year, Honey, but maybe someday soon..."

Then I think about how I cherish all of these moments with my kids and dread the day I will have to leave them for an eight (plus) hour workday, dread the day they are old enough to not want to be with me. Right now, I want to document everything they do, capture all of their precious expressions. I savor every delicious comment they make, so why does home school feel like a prison sentence? Why is my heart filled with dread? Will we damage them more than the Florida school system already has?

Today while playing Monopoly, my kids were hilarious. We were dying laughing, practically peeing our pants every time my son or daughter or daughter's friend would bust out some crazy commentary or victory dance while collecting money or cashing in on a property. Shame on me for thinking the game was too advanced for them. Not only did they love playing it, they nearly beat me at it (2 hours later when I called bedtime). And when I told my boy to say, "Show me the money!" every time he rolled the dice, he inevitably became confused and started saying, "Give me the money!" when he threw the dice down. The girls fell to the floor in wild fits of laughter, and he was so proud of himself for carrying on such a show. His bright blue eyes blazing mischievously under that floppy blond hair, streaked with colors I cannot get a stylist to duplicate for me, as he danced around the room in sheer delight.

My friend Wendy took at long hard look at my son tonight during swim team while he was nestled in my lap and told me, "He just cannot be any more handsome. He is just so cute!" My response?
"Thank you. He looks just like his father."
And then I miss Marc like I have missed the mountains. It's a beautiful life.