Under the Pier

I'm not sure what I find so endlessly fascinating about the way waves interact with a rickety old pier. 

But I do. Just look at it. You have to believe when it was built, the pier was as straight as an arrow - perfectly perpendicular to the beach. 

Now - it meanders out into the surf, constantly shifted by the power of the Atlantic Ocean.

But it still stands there - defiantly, foolishly, stubbornly.

Beautifully.

Paths

When Derek started Kindergarten, we decided to join a homeschooling cooperative that met three half days per week. Tuesdays and Fridays were for working at home. We loved the idea of it - that he would experience a classroom setting, but we would still be able to retain our flexible schedules and oversee his and Joshua's learning.

After three years of being there, we realized that flexibility was more important to our family than classroom sitting, and we started on our full-time, independent homeschooling path. And lo, it was good.

We have certainly had our ups and downs along the way. But, we found our groove - we made it work. It was perfect for the two years we lived in DC. It's been wonderful for the past three years of building on the boys' tennis foundations.

But this week we started down a new path. Derek set off to join the rank and file of the local public high school. 

Mah baybee's a FRESHMAN, y'all.

Joshua is still at home this year - one last year of middle school for him before he runs off to join the circus starts high school himself. One last year for me to torment him constantly and without provocation.

Oh, who am I kidding. He provokes me hourly.

This is also my last week of having a child who isn't a teen, yet. Joshua will be 13 next Friday - his age finally matching his attitude. I'll be the mother of two teen boys. 

And I'm only 19, myself. 

It's a miracle, yo. Probably has something to do with a rip in the space-time continuum or something. I can't possibly be old enough to have two teen boys. 

Shut up. All of you. I am not.

Anyway - our paths are diverging and remerging and changing and evolving these days. Who knows where they'll end up? 

It sure is fun watching it all happen, though. I may not be old enough to have them, but I sure am thankful that I do. They make growing older so much more interesting than I ever thought it would be.

Silver

It's places like this that set my heart adrift. I look at the diamonds of light reflected off the silvery water and wonder what it would be like.

What would it be like to live in a town of 900 people, where the pace moves at something resembling the torpid crawl of a tortoise in winter? What would it be like to know every single permanent resident and all their dirty laundry? What would it be like to ride a bike, barefoot, to the local grocer and discover that the milk delivery hadn't been made that day because the ferry-boat was fogged in and couldn't run.

Would I find it liberating or suffocating? I rail against the crowds and the traffic and the noise and the rapid tempo of our days, here. I mourn that I have only brief snippets of time to spend in meaningful discussion with the people who I love. Is moving to an island accessible only by ferry the solution to that, or just a case of the sea oats being greener on the other side of the dune?

Probably, I just need to take the lessons of small town, isolated islands back with me into my everyday life in the bustling real world.

• Slow down.
• Breathe deeply.
• Say hello to neighbors.
• Smile at the local cat.
• Sit outside for meals when the weather allows.
• Try a local brew.
• Learn to live without and to patiently wait.
• Spend some time watching birds fly by. 
• Look for the light.

Love each other.

Give peace.