Last weekend we went camping with friends.  Car camping.  You know, where you see how much gear you can cram into the car and still have room to sit. Friday morning while I was working, my dear husband and daughter packed up the car and got us ready.  When I finally got into the car Friday afternoon it was hot.  I was cranky. 

In my head I was already dreading the next few days. Sleeping on the ground. Schlepping food and kitchen gear to unpack it at a picnic table. No shower. Port-a-potty.  Remind me why I thought this would be fun.

The traffic getting out of town is terrible. On the brighter side, my daughter falls asleep in the back seat for most of the ride.  I can feel the tightness in my body. I am too stressed out for this to be fun.

Then we get there.  The usual Rocky Mountain Campground.  Evergreens and aspen trees.  I set up the tent while friends build a fire and cook sausages. By the time the tent is up and gear is stowed, a beautiful salad appears. It is getting dark.  We eat dinner holding our plates on our laps, sitting in our camping chairs.  Afterwards, we roast marshmallows.  

Exhausted, we all mumble good night and fall into our sleeping bags.  I spend most of the night tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable position.

Morning.  My kid wakes up and bounds out of the tent to find her friends. They practice being free-range kids.  I stumble out of the tent to do my usual morning routine.  Yoga, with the early morning sun on my face. Sitting meditation, contemplating the beauty all around me.  

And then I remember why I love to go camping.  The simplicity. No cell phones or computers.  I hear the kids laughing as they run by.  Out in nature I can reconnect with who I am. I don't have to listen to the voice in my head that constantly reminds me that I'm not good enough.  I can let go of the judgment that keeps me stressed and unhappy.

Dear Nature,
I'm sorry.  I know that you and I are meant to spend more time together.  I forget.  I lose track of how important you are for my sanity.  I'm so glad that we had a chance to reconnect this weekend.  Let's make a date to do it again soon.  

Much love,
Andra

Today is the last day of kindergarten.  I notice that I feel slightly numb.  That I have not engaged in my usual habitual anticipatory grief.  You know, when you get sad about something that is going to happen a month from now.  Except I’m beyond sad.  I don’t like how fast time is going.  I don’t like the feeling that my little girl is growing up and we are, every day, getting farther and farther away from the first few years when she was just a baby.  (I fear that my eyes are tearing up as I write this.)

More than sad, I am distraught.  Kindergarten was not easy for me.  And to be perfectly honest, part of me is relieved that it’s over.  As I look back over the year, what I see are all my own shortcomings and failures.  I see my anxiety.  How I worried about whether my daughter was getting her needs met or not. 

I see my own insecurity about connection.  Should I have been more engaged?  More engaging?  Should I have called more parents for playdates?  Is my daughter being left out socially because of my reluctance and our family schedule? These are questions that usually lurk somewhere in the back of my mind.  Today, however, they are up front and center. 

As I stand in line at the coffeehouse where I am spending my morning, a young mother stands in front of me with her baby.  Maybe 6 months old.  With the plump arms of babyhood.  I want to reach out and hold that baby.  I want to reach out and hold my daughter at 6 months.  But today is a solid reminder that time moves in one direction and that the little girl that my daughter was is not the calm, confident 6 year old who I dropped off for her last day of kindergarten.

I want to tell myself that her experience was good enough.  But what I really want is to tell myself that I was good enough.  I want someone to tell me that I wasn’t too overbearing or too passive.  That I did the best I could and it was all good enough.

Good enough.  What the hell does that even mean? Is it about outcomes? The process?  The experience as a whole?

And just to be clear. The outcomes are fine.  My daughter did well academically and seems to be okay socially.  She likes school. Her first words to me today were bemoaning that today is her last day with this teacher.  Quickly followed by telling me that she is not ready for first grade.  She is adamant that she is NOT going on any two night camping trips in 2nd grade.  I assure her that we don’t need to worry about 2nd grade today.  We have a couple of years.  And I remind us both that the end of kindergarten is also the beginning of summer. 

Speaking of summer, the Happy Mindful Family Book Club starts on Tuesday.