"My Kids"

They are growing before my eyes.

At home I hardly have time to notice my children. I spend every week day focusing on my students and measuring their growth meticulously. I take pictures, write notes, and record scores for 25 students, ending the year with a lengthy narrative description of each child’s growth. For my own children I am lucky if I remember to ask them what they did at school each day during the short car ride home from aftercare before I start making dinner and urging them to do their homework. On the weekends we try to take pictures with the hope that someday we will have the time to sit down and appreciate them. Once in a while I am stunned by what my kids are able to do or say. How did you learn that? As everyone warned me, I feel time speeding by with increasing velocity.

But this summer I can pay attention. I am with them. While Peter routinely puts in 12 hour days between field work, meetings, and keeping up with email, I am with my children 24 hours a day. I have one in each hand as we walk through the streets of each new town. We can snuggle first thing in the morning, before bed, and any time in between. I can talk about what they want to talk about (Jasper has been preoccupied with “bunnies” and wants to spend hours thinking about what kind of rabbit hutch he is going to build when he gets home… and Josie continues to be obsessed with Avatar.). When they ask for help, I say “yes” and oblige. We play card games. Read books. Craft lengthy stories about mermaids trapped in glacial lakes. Since we are travelling and staying mostly in hotels, there are no meals to be cooked, no dishes to do, no laundry to be washed. I do not talk on the phone with friends. I read and write only when they do, or when they are sleeping. I am available. We are together.

Usually when one observes something continuously it is difficult to notice subtle change. But this morning I could perceive each child as taller, thinner, and more solid than they were yesterday. Their hair is longer, their skin darker. The lilt of their conversation has become more complex and mature. Jasper complains constantly of growing pains, and it’s no wonder. He is shooting up like a weed. And Josie is keeping up with him, threatening to overtake him in height and weight if he doesn’t eat more. She now runs for pleasure, racing back and forth in whatever hallway, street or field she can find. Jasper swings his machete like a true campesino. They have both mastered the crawl and breast stroke. I swear Josie hardly knew how to swim in June.

So I watch them. I am free to just sit and observe, like an anthropologist, trying to commit to memory their words, trying to interpret their facial expressions and gestures for some deeper insight into the secret society of siblinghood.