And on the flip side of these concerns I worry ( a nicer word would be "consider") how to give him the simplest childhood possible . . . about being present -- making life about love first and foremost and then about learning, laughing, exploring and giving as close seconds. I worry about raising him in the ultimate hub of commercialism and "bigger is better" -- from homes and cars to body parts and incomes -- not that the rest of America is far behind Los Angeles on this count. I worry that he does not spend enough time in nature. For that matter I worry that I do not spend enough time in nature.
I just picked up a book called Living Simply With Children. This title says it all to me. Living simply has slowly but surely become my ultimate goal and the means through which I think I could live my best life. Because living simply to me means paring down to what really matters to me and what really makes a difference to me, the people around me and the world. I had written shortly after Jack was born about a "pure and simple life" and that sounds so good to me. I should perhaps add the word "slow" to that because I like to move slowly through life . . . through wandering the farmers' market, through cooking our dinner from scratch, through all of my travels so far and all that I dream of with my husband and our son. I suppose I like life the way I like to cook -- slow and simple, but spicy.
I am working on the slow and simple and I am thinking about how to bring the spiciness back into a life that looks so different from my life before motherhood. Because I do not want to leave the spice out for Jack's sake -- or for my own sake. It is a big part of what has made me who I am . . . lack of direction and all.
Believe it or not I began this post to write about a moment at the zoo today with Jack. We had already spent hours at the zoo and the last exhibit on our way out was the sea lions. We had visited the sea lions when we first arrived but Jack needed some more time with them. Someone had pulled up a wooden chair from the eating area nearby and placed it right in front of the huge window where people can watch the sea lions swimming under the water. Jack climbed up into the chair and told me to sit down beside him ( he did not take the size of mama's hips into account but somehow we both fit into that chair).
Then and there we began our hour-long vigil, with little more than him saying over and over again as he saw the sea lions coming around each time, "they coming, mama. they coming." Or when they were out of view, "Where they go? Where they go?" . . . or often just waiting patiently for them to reappear. We shared a few clementines and a few words here or there but overall it was a very still and quiet hour. I kept thinking surely this could only fascinate him for so long. I started to think about my exit strategy. But then I caught myself. I saw our reflection in that window into the water and I saw just how content he was sitting there with his mama watching the sea lions. I saw the little gorilla figurine still in his little hand - -the gorilla he had brought from home and had held up to show each of the animals that we visited that day. He sat there so earnest with his little glasses and his little Clemson cap. I took a deep breath in, hoping to imprint this moment somewhere in my body, and then whispered to him, "I love you." Then I went back to watching the water for our entertainers' next lap.
I question and I worry but there is something so right about having the freedom to spend hours with my son -- following his lead through the zoo only to find ourselves camped out in front of the sea lions for an hour when we had already decided we were ready to go home. I am still a fairly new mama but I know enough to know that I will yearn for that moment again one day and so I did my damn best to enjoy its beautiful simplicity and the strange simplicity of our life that allowed me to be there.
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