Turning 40 and Blakes Visit - Marathon Monday

I had such a great 40th birthday week.  It was so wonderful having the Blakes in town, attending my very first Boston Marathon one year after the tragic bombings of 2013, packing up (and uncovering long lost gems) to move to our dream  home after months and months of wondering whether or not we could make it happen.  All goodness and possibility.  Can't and won't complain about turning 40, I'm way too fortunate.

Daredevils Don't Whine

Yesterday we were at the playground.  After Loretta scaled the tops of the monkey bars and did many flips around the bars she moved on to the swings.  She pumped high enough for the chains to give that little jerk at the top (I still love that) and then flung herself out of the seat flying through the air (I used to love that).   She sailed higher than the top of the swing and went crashing to the ground so hard there was no chance of landing on her feet.  She laid in the rubberized mulch, a jumble of arms and legs and laughed.  She got up smiling and then did it again, and again. 

It wasn’t until we started walking back to the car, once we were out of eyesight of the playground, that the whining began.  "I think I hurt myself.", "That last time my knee hit my cheek.", and "I might have sprained my ankle too." (she was walking fine)...I could see her working herself up to a good woe is me moment.  I'm shocked after having me as her mom her whole life she keeps trying this angle.  It has never gotten her anywhere.  I'm the "Shake it off." mom.  The "If it's not bleeding you're fine." mom, the "If you can move it, it's not broken." mom.  The "Well it's bleeding profusely, but I'm pretty sure you don’t need stitches." mom.  I don't become the dotting mother over every scrape and bruise, it's just not me.  Maybe that's the problem. Maybe she's wondering if this time will be different, but it wasn't.  It won't be. 

It's not that I'm cold hearted, I cry over Disney movies I've seen 100 times.  I still can't watch Dumbo.  There is plenty of sentimental mush here to go around.  The way I see it, if you're going to be a risk taker (and there is a LOT of wonderful and amazing experiences to gain by being a risk taker) then you have to be able to take your licks.  It's fun being a daredevil.   It's fun to jump from the high swing and feel gravity pull you down so fast you only have a split second to second guess your decision to jump in the first place.  It's fun to go full speed down a hill on your bike with your hands spread wide hoping to God no one is going to  pull out of their driveway in front of you.  It's fun to climb a tree higher than you ever have before, wedging your body just so and searching for a foothold and wondering if the next branch can hold your weight.  I did all of those things when I was younger - I've gotten a little more timid with age, but when I was young I was a daredevil too and I can close my eyes to this day and remember perfectly how each of those things felt, the rush, the twinge of fear, the pure undiluted and thrilling excitement of it. 

Each of our children are daredevils to some degree.  Loretta and Sam are fearless to the extreme, Caroline is more calculated and selective about the risks she takes,  but daredevil none the less.  I'm glad they are too.  William G.T. Shedd said “A ship is safe in harbor, but that's not what ships are for.”  I could keep them safer by nixing a lot of what they do and yes, for everything their dad and I let them try there are a dozen other grand ideas we squash right out of the gate, but we want them to test their own limits and for them to  understand that sometimes the best things are only had by taking big risks.  We want them to have the courage to explore, to push their fears aside, to experience their world and all it has to offer.  Whether it be throwing themselves off a cliff to the cool blue waters below or giving their heart and soul to someone else to keep safe, it all takes courage, it's all a risk.

What I can't tolerate, however, is ten minutes of whining about a bump or bruise after each harrowing feat.  Acknowledge the pain but don't dwell on it.  That's the small price you paid for that trilling moment of flying through the air.  It's your badge of courage, your warrior scar.  That's what makes life worth living.  So my little daredevils, take your risks and live your lives to the fullest, but always remember daredevils don't whine.  

Our little guys in their early daredevil days.