have more time to pick out the proper three-ring binder.
I listen in darkness to the river slipping by, one of my boys to either side of me, and know that I am sometimes too hard on myself about my motives for doing or not doing things. That our mountain home is born not only from overprotectiveness, but also of a wish that my children will experience enough silence to hear their own voices. Maybe I’ve brought my kids to the river the way some families go to church: in hopes that what they learn here will give them confidence and strength in the rougher currents of their lives—in hopes that, when next they connect with something wild, they’ll feel the pull of their own souls as well.
This is what the river teaches: that motherhood is not static. That sometimes love comes when you sleep under the same stars, and sometimes when you remember to see from your child’s perspective; sometimes it comes when you watch him paddle uncertain waters, when you see him dig deep and not come up empty-handed. That sometimes, you get to love the way he almost looks to make sure you’re watching—then doesn’t.
Is that enough? Oh, let me count the ways . . .
Laura Stavoe teaches in the Writers in the Schools program in Boise. Her work appears often in ational magazines. She lives in the moun- tains of central Idaho with her family.
Want inspiration for getting outdoors with your kids? See www.mothering.com/links for the Web exclusives “Hiking with Children,” by Kelley Coyner; “Endless Early Spring,” by Regina Coll; and “Unplugged Vacations,” by Ann E. Michael; as well as the past article “Saved by the Birds,” by Sarah Clachar.
References:
http://www.mothering.com/links
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