Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Happy Schlep

It’s night and we’re poolside at the five-star resort hotel.  Jeb and I are visiting friends who have come to stay on the island for the week.  Two dads set up tables with room service fare while a mom and I share a glass of wine.

The kids jump from the pool to the hot tub, giggling, splashing and doing that don’t-run-by-the-pool slick trot.

Kauai skies open, just like they do, and soon huge drops are falling in heavy downpour.  Four adults herd kids, grab plates, and round-up towels making our way to a covered patio.

I realize my backpack and purse are still out in the elements on a lounge chair.  I grab a towel, cover my head and make a dash toward the chairs.  One of the dads is jogging back in my direction, hands full.

“I got your bag.”

I’m still not sure why this was so surprising.  Honestly, I guess I didn’t fully believe him.  There had been a loose sweatshirt, a crumpled t-shirt…surely he hadn’t seen all of my gear and gotten it along with his own family’s stuff.

I continue to the chairs certain I’ll find more of my own things to retrieve.  But no, all is gone.  And when I come out of the rain to the shelter of the patio, the soggy sweatshirt and rumpled t-shirt are right there along with my purse and my backpack.

From around the corner one dad appears with a stack of dry towels still warm from the dryer.  The rain falls heavily on the roof above us.  “I found a secret passageway back to the room that’s dry.”

We towel off then make our way down the carpeted back hallway of the hotel.  Kids bounce ahead in sweatshirts and pajamas.  The two dads follow casually, loaded down with backpacks and tote bags.  The mom and I trail behind.  Me with my gear, she holds a bottle of wine.

I take in the image of two dads walking ahead, carrying bags among the kids.  I sense the chaotic comfort of tribe – family.

I look to my friend with her wine bottle.  “I like this image of the dads happily schlepping gear.  I don’t know why it seems special.  I guess it’s because I’m used to doing it by myself.”

She glances their way as a look of recognition washes across her face.  Like seeing the familiar for the first time.  “Ahhh.”

I smile at her.  “I mean, he got my purse.”

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Skip It

This morning I’m just going to skip it.

I’ve been trying to keep everything in tact, maintaining as much of my usual routine as possible throughout the swirl of random chaos.  I think in the process, I’ve become just plain petered out.

These past few mornings I’ve had 30 minutes to brew a cup of coffee and post something to the Archives before rousing Jeb from slumber.  I’ll have just enough time to herd him to the car with some popcorn in a Tupperware container, tossed in a tote bag with his hand-held video game.  We make our way to yoga class (where it’s true, I receive great benefit and mental sanity) as I offer sun salutations while he battles Star Wars clones.

This regimen has continued with us coming home, me throwing together some fruit or cereal for his breakfast and then diving straight into work at the computer for the rest of the day.  I’m still digging paperwork and pencils out of the moving boxes that surround my desk, as I haven’t quite scheduled the unpacking project into my calendar.

But today, it’s Friday.  I have work, but no major deadlines pressing.  I’m rubbing my sleepy eyes and have not yet made that cup of coffee. Jeb’s still in bed.  I’m thinking I’ll forgo that semblance of routine I’ve been trying to maintain.

I’m not slacking.  Just for this morning, I vote to pass.

In the name of moderation we’re going to have a leisurely start to our day.  We’ll make a mango-cherry-banana smoothie and pour the leftovers into popsicle molds.  We’ll eat breakfast next to last night’s puzzle and see if we can fit some more pieces together.  Maybe we’ll take a morning walk.

I’ll table the lists, the requests, the deadlines.  Just for a little bit.  Remember that this is my life.  Our life.  We only have these moments.  Work will get done.  Those yoga postures will unfold.  Boxes will get unpacked.

This morning I get to be with my seven-year old in the height of summer vacation.  Have just a little time to make silly voices and see him laugh.  Sip a smoothie from a straw.  Relax.

Enjoy the beauty found, when once in a while, you just decide to skip it.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Learning to Float

“If you start to sink, just push your heart to the sky.”

I’ve got one index finger on Jeb’s lower back as he stretches out in salty liquid.  We’re in the ocean and he’s trying to find the sweet spot that enables one to float.  Arms outstretched to either side, head back, I can feel him trying a little too hard.  It’s natural to want to help the water hold you, but in truth, if you want to float, you have to surrender and trust it.

His sternum curves and his heart pops through the surface of the water.  His body instantly has more buoyancy.

“That’s it, exactly!  See, you could float there all day, no problem,”  I say, still holding one finger on his back in support.

“Ok, you can let go,” he says, his face earnest, his lips curving in a faint smile.

I release my finger and watch him stay afloat.  I see the water buoy his frame, his body relaxed and calm.

He smiles wide.  “This is better than a couch!”

Jeb’s been in the ocean since he was 17 days old.  He can read the timing of the waves, surf with his body and a board.  But he doesn’t like to go where he can’t touch the bottom.  And he’s never fully grasped the perfect balance that allows his body to be held by the water.

This milestone is monumental.  Its importance is revealed to me even more throughout the rest of the day, as snippets from Jeb hint at bungled lessons from his dad on the art of the float.

“Dad said to hold my breath and keep my feet up…but with you, I could breathe the whole time.  I like your way, Mom.  Now I know for sure, the ocean is my home.”

I get a sense that one of these floating lessons may have occurred this past weekend when Jeb and his dad took an ocean kayak trip to a remote coastline.  It’s an adventure people save for years to experience and Jeb had an amazing time, returning from the journey markedly matured.  An expert waterman, Jeb’s father offers him ocean and boat knowledge I have no clue about.

But sometimes in life we need to learn from someone other than the expert.  Sometimes it’s just a random person with a simple phrase that can shift our understanding and bring a revelation.

In this instance, I am that random person still learning the metaphors of what I’m attempting to teach.

Listening to my own words there in the water, I loved hearing what spilled out.  My suggestion that Jeb reach his heart through the surface, was what enabled him to find that perfect place where he could relax and the water could hold him.

On Independence Day, Jeb has a breakthrough and learns to float.  I’m reminded to keep the heart as my compass and then simply let go.

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved