Chasing Bananas

by Missy

Yesterday, my 5-year-old son and I were on our way to Costco. The music—at his request—was blasting because it was “his” song. Or, more accurately “his” and my older son’s song, the one that must play whenever we are in the van for longer than 10 minutes.

“Hey, mom! Could you put on mine and Langston’s song now? Turn in on in the back! Loud!”

And I oblige because, well, it’s not like playing Barney or Raffi for hours on end. It’s…uh…Prince. “Let’s Go Crazy.” The long version. No, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that my boys have chosen that particular song.

Sometimes I wonder about our music, especially times like when, at park day, some of the moms were discussing how much their little boys like show tunes and one mom expressed a little concern that her son knew the words to some of the songs in Chicago.

I didn’t rush to volunteer which soundtrack my kids like.

At the same time, though, there’s something wonderful about heading down the road, with the entire family belting out:

Are we gonna let the elevator
Bring us down
Oh, no Let's Go!

Let's go crazy
Let's get nuts
Let's look 4 the purple banana
'Til they put us in the truck, let's go!

It suits us.

So…anyway…as I was saying, my 5-year-old son and I were on our way to Costco, which is about 12 minutes from our house and so just long enough for “his” song and that’s why he had to call me several times to be heard over the music. “Mom! Maaaamaaaa!”

I sighed. A slightly impatient, please-just-let-me-think-one-complete-thought sort of mommy sigh, and turned down the music.

“What’s up, Sterling?”

“Don’t go fast, Mom.” It was an interesting request because, at the time, I was going about 15 mph. Which made me dissect those words far more than they were meant to be dissected.

My kids have reminded me of the importance of slowing down and of really looking at what’s around me. I notice deer hidden in the shadows, and I see unusual birds, and four-leaf clovers. I have a larger collection of cool rocks than my 7-year-old. I can dwell in the immediate moment, but time is a funny thing. It still goes too fast.

I haven’t learned to plan for the immediate moment.

I put things off based on predetermined goals. Sometimes the goals are financial, sometimes they’re medical (“we’ll do that as soon as Sterling is finished with his gastro appointment…”). Right now, plans are on hold until either the kitchen remodeling is finished, or until I lose this weight, which I can no longer define as “baby weight”.

Huge chunks of time are lost while I wait for a specific goal or event to pass, and I’m realizing that’s as bad as rushing through the moment.

My husband’s 18-year-old cousin has sickle cell. This is the little girl I fell in love with 15 years ago, when she was 3-years-old and swirling around the room, singing her own song and triggering those first tugs of baby fever. I had never thought much about being a Mom, until she smiled and my heart melted. We had just gotten married and her family had been in Germany since she was born so this was the first time she had met her cousins.

A few weeks ago, she had her fourth stroke, days after graduating from high school. This one is bad. She has little movement on her left side and, so far, two weeks later, no speech. We’ve gone and sat with her, and, on the first day, I talked to her about her nails and how beautiful they look, and her dad said, in a carefully controlled voice, “She got them done for graduation.”

We missed the graduation. It was on a Friday afternoon, before my husband’s school was out, hours away. It was a huge event in her life because so many times we weren’t sure she would get there, so I apologized to them for missing it, and her dad, in that same voice, said, “It was a day. Just a day. Doesn’t seem to mean as much now.”

And I think my heart that this child melted so many years ago broke just a little.

She’s still there, though. We can see her there, in her eyes. She recognizes us and she understands our words, and she laughs when my husband and the boys make jokes about boogers and farting.

Putting off life for random goals doesn’t seem like such a hot idea now.

Because we homeschool, we have time that other families don’t have. We’re not restricted by someone else’s schedule; our day is our own and we should have fewer reasons to put life off than most families.

But, just because I know that, and just because we have such a recent reminder of how precious time is, doesn’t mean it’s fully penetrated every inch of my brain.

Because we homeschool, we have time. Lots of time. Together. Sometimes, even while knowing clearly how suddenly that time could disappear, it feels like too much. My newly-turned-5-year-old has hit the stage where nothing worth doing is worth doing quietly. My 7-year-old is still lingering in the tail end of that stage. So everything is LOUD.

I get settled into a nice, comfortable thought, and QUAAAACK! they uncover the squawking duck horn I had hidden so well I couldn’t even find it anymore. The only thought that ever fully develops is how nice it would be to have five minutes in a day to have more fully-formed thoughts, and I daydream about curling up with a book—an adult book—in the middle of the afternoon.

They love each other loudly, with wildly inventive games, and fight with each other loudly, most often after they’re exhausted from hours of playing loudly. I know logically that I’ll miss it someday. I know that someday my heart will ache for these little loud children in much the same way that my heart aches for that little girl in my memory, swirling and singing. I will be glad they had the time for those games and for the now-exasperating ultra-messy science experiments and for the highly intricate (but impossible) mysteries they create and solve.

I know that, one day, this time will be over and it’s that knowledge that is forcing me to take a new look at time, to take advantage of what we have instead of postponing life until everything is perfect. I should know by now that “perfect” is not a reasonable goal, that if I put a project off until my house is clean, we’ll never get to the project; if I put off swimming with my kids until my stomach is flat again, I’ll never be able to teach them how to jump waves. And I know that, in the end, my hesitation is going to be remembered a lot more clearly than how I look in my bathing suit.

And when we do (When we do)
What's it all 4 (What's it all 4)
U better live now
Before the grim reaper come knocking on your door

Tell me, are we gonna let the elevator bring us down
Oh, no let's go!

We’ve gotta go find that purple banana.

Missy's homeschooling journey began when she realized that the walls surrounding her daughter's classroom were too narrow; there was no room for exploration, no space for stretching. Now, she and her three children stretch and explore the world together. My blog: caffeinatedjive.

Comments

[Sarah]

WHILE I was reading this, NPR did a piece on Prince and played "Let's Go Crazy". I have never, ever detected the phrase "purple banana" in that song, so thanks for the partial lyrics, too.

[JoVE]

I know what you mean and sometimes think it is sad that we need a serious illness of someone close to us to make us realize these things. But then we do. And that is a good thing. Your cousin has given you lots -- children, and a new appreciation of time. Pretty good for an 18 year old kid!

And we all need to stop worrying about our weight. If you went swimming, you'd be getting more exercise and that would be a good thing. And you could think about eating differently (with a goal of feeling better and being healthier rather than loosing weight). There is a whole industry making us feel guilty so they can sell us stuff. Do good healthy things. Enjoy your kids. Savour any quiet moment you can find.

[Summer]

Who says kids have to only like kid's music. I love Raffi and really enjoy listening to him with my kids. But we're just as likely to have Bad Religion, The Ramones, or Rancid playing around the house. and the kids know the songs. :)

[Laureen]

Missy, this was absolutely gorgeous, tear-jerkingly so. I sniffled through the whole thing. You write so beautifully, and I am *right there with you*, in having a five year old and two year old boys, who do everything at top volume (did you know that testosterone, which first surges into their systems at 4.5-5 years, actually does grow their ears shut?), and in letting it get to me, sometimes. Thank you so much for this...

[kailani]

So true. Sometimes our daily lives take over and we forget what's truly important - our family. It's these times that they'll remember forever.

Thank you for sharing this with the Carnival of Family Life. Your post will be included in the July 30th edition at An Island Life.

[eagerblogger]

I have always wanted to homeschool my kids but my husband and I just don't have the guts to really do it. I'd like more time with my family. I want to enjoy every moment with them. :)

[Jackie]

I swear you need your own column! Awesome post. Life can change in a split second so we really have to appreciate every split second--your post truly brings that home.