I love Annie - the Musical. I also love that my kids love it, too. There is something pretty cool about watching your kids discover something you cherish from childhood. Modern technology provides my children with the opportunity to see the "classics" that I was able to see again and again growing up. My own personal classics would include, but are not limited to; The Three Amigos, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, The Gods Must Be Crazy (I and II), Footloose and, of course, Annie.
Lately, thanks to a temporary housing situation, we are watching a lot of movies. We are also swimming in the pool here at the apartments in which we're staying. Movies, swimming and the occasional meal. Swimming in the pool with my kids, reminds me of swimming when I was a kid. Some of my favorite memories are from hanging out at the pool my aunt took us to each summer when we visited her very fancy condo complex in California.
Yesterday at the pool, my two-year-old decided to remove his floaty and go "swimming". Despite the fact that his father was five feet from him and I was keeping an eye on things from across the pool, he made it down the stairs and was standing in three feet of water by the time we noticed him. The problem for D was that three feet of water hits him at about one inch from the top of his head. The top of D's head and his frantic waving hands caught R and my eyes before he got into too much trouble. D was just fine, but R and I were horrified that we would allow our two-year-old to get himself into such a precarious situation!
When I was young, I came pretty close to drowning - or at least I remember it that way. I got myself into water too deep before I could swim properly and was rescued by a kind stranger. My mother was busy swimming in kids (there were five of us) so we relied on the kindness of strangers from time to time. Thank goodness for kind strangers.
As I tired to fall asleep last night, I started to replay D's drama in my head and realized that I only have a limited amount of control over my children. This is a realization I come to over and over again... I am always able to eventually convince myself that I have complete control over my family's well being, then something happens that pushes reality into view. I must, like every parent, rely on the kindness of strangers, luck of the draw and God's will to keep my family afloat in the "pool of life".
As a parent, I get to witness my children's lives from such an excruciatingly close viewpoint. Each step and every fall is cataloged and inventoried ceaselessly. Am I a good mother? Are my children doing alright? Will my children resent my mistakes... repeat my mistakes... or overcome them?
I hope that my children will cherish the childhood experiences they remember in adulthood, and that they might want to share them with their children. Good or bad, experiences are what make up our perspectives on life. And while my children's experiences can't all be good, I hope that at least they will know that I was there, trying to help them stay afloat through the bad times - pushing them towards tomorrow... after all, the sun will come out tomorrow.
