Red and Yellow Make Orange

On being scared and brave, plus a collection of delights for June

Photo by Erik Dungan on Unsplash

The day my preschooler loses her footing at swimming lessons and falls off the bottom step of the pool, my first thought is: It finally happened.

For ten consecutive weeks, I had watched my daughter squirm from the top step to the bottom, pretend to be Ariel from The Little Mermaid, and twirl dramatically through the water. I had knelt on the wet tile floor countless times to remind her of the safety rules (Stay on the top step. Sit on your bottom. Listen to your teacher).¹

At the precise moment she steps off the bottom stair, I realize this will be one of those Important Life Lessons Learned in a Low-Risk Context kind of moments. Even still, my body has a visceral reaction to her floundering; I can taste fear in my own mouth, feel my insides clench like a fist. I watch her eyes grow wide, watch her strain to keep her head above the surface, watch her swim instructor offer her the briefest of moments to try and steady herself before safely scooping her back onto the stairs.

My daughter coughs up a mouthful of pool water and locks eyes with me, tears building. I sweep her up into a hug that leaves a four-year-old sized water spot on my t-shirt², and before I know it, she hops back into the pool to try again. I watch her, surprised at her resiliency and determination despite such an alarming start to the lesson.

Then again, her instructor has a way of pushing her out of her comfort zone in a way that leaves her feeling empowered—I can tell by the little grins she throws in my direction every few minutes. In just a half hour, my four-year-old’s teacher shows her how to swim with only a supporting hand, jump in and submerge her entire head, do a back float without any support, flip from back to front, and submerge her face for five seconds while swimming.

It is not lost on me how this instructor seems to have a much easier time letting go, a much easier time trusting my child’s innate ability to overcome challenges and master something difficult, than I tend to have.

In the minivan on the drive home, my daughter tells me there were many times she thought she was sinking, when she was really just learning how to swim. She pauses for a moment to look at the trees whizzing by before telling me, “I felt mixed up…like scared and excited at the same time. But now…now I’m just proud of myself.” I watch her beaming face from the rearview mirror.

I know exactly what she’s describing: the moment when fear and courage swirl together, the moment when you finally do the thing, the moment when what’s left afterwards in the wake of all that charged emotion is just sheer delight. I think back to the morning before when my daughter had spent hours mixing different colors of paint with a thick brush. At one point, I watched her blend fire engine red with sunshine yellow and shriek when she discovered she had created an entirely new color—a bright, radiant shade of orange.

“I know what that feels like,” I tell her. “Feeling scared and brave at the same time is how most people feel in moments like that—even grown-ups. It’s actually the only way we ever learn how to do anything new.”

//

The first time I jumped off the dock at my grandparents’ cabin came at the tail end of summer after weeks of agonizing over the decision.

For months, I had watched my older brother do cannonballs into the lake, yelping and splashing. For months, I had buckled my yellow lifejacket snug around my chest and walked all the way to the edge of the dock, only to turn around and make sandcastles on the shore, instead.

I am not exactly sure what changed on the Saturday I finally decided to jump. Perhaps my brother finally convinced me to cannonball into the lake with him.³ Perhaps I was tired of feeling left out. Perhaps I had finally accepted that the only way I was ever going to let my feet leave the dock was with a belly full of fear and courage. Whatever the case, I stood with my toes curled over the edge of the graying wood, peering at my own reflection in the water’s surface for several long minutes.

Then I did it. I jumped.

I bobbed under the cold water in what felt like slow motion, my toes brushing against a stem of slimy seaweed. Then I soared back to the surface, pride filling my chest, delight no doubt coloring my face.

I smiled as I broke the water, eyes shut tight against the sun’s glare. All I could see behind my eyelids was orange.

//

An hour after I drop my daughter off at her first preschool program, my phone lights up with a text message from a friend.

Are you crying yet? After I dropped off my kiddo for the first time, I sat on my couch and cried.

I type back a response—something about how the emotions haven’t truly sunk in yet, something about how I’d driven all the way home struggling to take a full breath, unable to shake the feeling that I was forgetting something, that I had made some horrible mistake.

I set my phone on the counter and consider how I am more like my daughter than not. I am learning how to let go, how to remove many of the comfortable safeguards I’ve grown accustomed to, how to trust that she will learn to manage the wild water, how to offer only a supportive hand.

//

My daughter will be five this summer, and just like that, she will enter the world of school-agers, bigger questions, a sturdier sense of self, greater independence.⁴

I used to believe once we finished sleep training, we had arrived, once we finished potty training, we had arrived, once we finished teaching her to sleep in a big girl bed / tie her shoes / pump her legs on a swing / puke into a bucket / read simple words / we had arrived.⁵

What I know now, with an actual knowing deep in my bones, is that there is no arriving. Parenting is for life. Letting go is for forever. Scared and brave is for keeps.

What I know now is that I will be here: swimming out past the dock, treading the deep water, and waiting. I will be here, watching her stand on the edge and curl her toes over the side. I will be here, seeing pure fear and pure courage swirl together on her face, watching her jump, holding my breath while she finds her way back to the surface. I will be here, witnessing the moment when she finally breaks the water, smiling, eyes closed against the sun. I will be here the moment delight washes over her, and all she sees is orange.

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life with littles

A snapshot of what the girls and I are doing together in our day-to-day:

Hello, and welcome to the June edition of “Enneagram One Tries to be a Fun Mom™”, where I list the ways I’m trying to be a Fun Mom™ and also the ways I’m failing to be a Fun Mom™. Spoiler alert: it’s mostly fails.

1. Win: Taking the children to multiple pools/splash pads!

   Fail: One or both of my children refuse to get in and insist on sitting wrapped in towels and eating snacks.

2. Win: Friday night family movie nights!

   Fail: I forgot how terrifying Ursula is. Also the sharks in Finding Nemo. Also when Mufasa dies in The Lion King. (Don’t even get me started on Madame Medusa in The Rescuers.)

3. Win: DIY chalk paint! Look at me Pinteresting the heck out of this summer!

   Fail: My toddler ate most of the chalk paint after painting the neighbor’s dog. My preschooler grated her fingers (#momtried).

Nothing would delight me more than if you would hop on this train with me and share your Fun Mom™ wins and fails in the comments. This will be a laugh with you, not at you kind of situation. Promise.

beautiful words

In no particular order, here are some words I read this month that resonated with me:

-Katie Blackburn’s piece, Sonder, is a beautiful depiction of living with and through uncertainties and complexity. "We are all managing many, many, many levels of complexity. And I don’t know, but the older I get, the more I think that the most dangerous thing in the world might be forgetting that."

-Coffee & Crumbs’ Summer Collection launched this month and the essays, poems, and photos in this collection are absolutely stunning. I’m slowly working my way through them, trying to savor each one. “Not Without My Sister” was an especially poignant photo essay for me as a mother-who-never-grew-up-with-a-sister now raising two sisters.

books / podcasts / shows

A list of things playing in my ears, sitting on my nightstand, or streaming on my tv:

-I am continuing my Maggie Smith kick by working my way backwards through her poetry books. This month, I read Good Bones (named for her poem of the same name, which went viral in 2016). Smith continues to be a master of modern poetry, writing about motherhood, pain, and how to keep searching for goodness.

-The word that comes to mind after reading Ada Limón’s The Carrying is “sharp”. She has a keen eye, an intelligent mind, and lyrical language. I will be coming back to this collection often.

-I listened to this episode of The Daily about the Lucy Calkins scandal / phonics / the science of reading. You better believe I am taking phonics instruction v seriously over here. Here are some of my picks for the primary years (some of these we’ve already been using with huge success): These phonics workbooks, these early readers, and this reading lesson book.

-The final season of Never Have I Ever was such a great wrap-up. So funny, heartwarming, and bittersweet. Nothing like a good coming-of-age story.

-Shiny Happy People was a tough watch, but an important one.⁶ It is not meant to be a trashy dig at the Duggar family, but rather, an honest look at the harmful effects of Bill Gothard’s teachings and the IBLP, as well as its adjacent communities. A lot of things in this documentary resonated with me, even though I went to public school K-12. That is to say, the effects were/are far-reaching and not exclusive to home education.⁷

Image credits from l to r: bon appétit, spend with pennies, and cultured palate

feeding the fam

Here’s a rundown of some of the family favorites that showed up on our table this month:

-This Summer Pasta with Zucchini, Ricotta, and Basil was *chef’s kiss*. I never used to like zucchini until I ate the kind from my in-laws’ garden (mind blown). Maybe hit up a farmer’s market if you have one near you to find some really fresh zucchini. If not, this pasta is still delish.

-If you’re like me, you detest cooking dinner in the summer, especially if it involves turning on the oven or using the stove. Here is my solution: Cowboy Caviar. Make a big bowl of this, grab a bag of chips, maybe make some simple quesadillas for the kids, and you’re done.

-One last hack for the kids: pour flavored kefir straight into the popsicle mold. Toss in freezer. Done. Homemade “popsicles” and you didn’t even try that hard. (Thank you Amy Gannett for this magic).

the little things

A list of some little things I’ve been loving:

-One of our favorite bands to listen to in the car is The Okee Dokee Brothers. (Top road trip pick that is just as enjoyable for grown-ups as it is for children).

-Spray sunscreen for the children, forever and ever, amen.

-Piper and Scoot has some great dress options IMO. (Is it just me or are dresses really weird rn? Or fashion in general? Or am I just at that age where fashion no longer makes sense? TBD).

words I’ve written

Here are some of my own words put to paper this month:

-I am so honored to have a piece featured in Coffee & Crumbs’ Summer Collection. This story is so dear to my heart, such an integral part of my motherhood journey, and I hope it can help other mamas feel seen and known, too. You can read Learning to Fly here.

-Issue 4 of Part-Time Poets comes out tomorrow! You can read Issue 3 here.

-I published my fourth collection of poetry this month! This one is one of my favorites and features four poems exploring the power of metaphor.

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Thanks for reading, friends. Here’s to doing one thing that makes you feel scared and brave this summer. Here’s to delight. Here’s to orange, orange, orange.

xo

Krista

1. Remind me to never again schedule swim lessons for 5:15 on Fridays when my child is tired, hungry, and has zero remaining self-control and impulse regulation skills.

2. This is not the first time I’ve written about swimming lessons and getting drenched by my child.

3. I think this is the likeliest scenario, considering my big brother could convince me to try pretty much anything. He would later convince me to try water skiing, golf, and the Space Mountain rollercoaster at Magic Kingdom, all of which I ended up hating, but I give him a solid A for effort.

4. Many of my mama friends are in a similar boat with their oldest children, and SOS—we are NOT OKAY.

5. I do realize how ridiculous this sounds, but honestly, when you’re in the trenches with young children, it is easy to hold onto every small “accomplishment” (Also, I swear this is at least 50% of the reason why sleep consultants make so much money, but I digress).

6. It can be very triggering for people who grew up in the IBLP community or faith circles where the trickle-down effects were strongly felt (you could argue this is just evangelicalism as a whole, but that’s another debate for another time). My point? Take care of yourself and guard your peace.

7. Annelise Roberts wrote a bit about the nuanced issue recently here and she spoke so much truth in such a succinct, gentle, true way.