Currrently listening: Forces of Attraction by Johan Johannson
I always wondered if it would be easy. Would we ever get out of the house without the dance of lost shoes, fights over mittens, forgotten water bottles? Would we ever walk down the street without me having to yell at little ones to keep close and watch for cars, or someone having to go potty five minutes into our walk despite my reminders before we left? Or the arrival home, with muddy shoes and wet and cold clothing, socks and toys and backpacks strewn about, the effort of having to tidy up after an exhausting trek into the "wilderness."
Almost every lovely photo you've seen of us outdoors away from home was likely set up with intense beginnings and lots of emotions. It has never been easy; the pendulum has always swung the other way for us, and these outings are admittedly very difficult for me and my neurodiverse brain. Life itself often feels like I'm trying to fill my arms with as many scattered, bouncing balls as possible, but I can only hold a few at a time. Add to that the obligation as a mother to make sure my children have adequate outdoor time and an intimate relationship with nature, a balance between that and indoor play or demonized screen time. Outdoor excursions take all of my energy, every last drop. I won't sugarcoat it, even if the pretty pictures and filters do. They are good excursions, needed and cathartic and fulfilling, but they are also mentally draining. (Remember that two truths and emotions can exist at the same time!)
Some days, I dreaded it. Many days, I decided to stay in. But Charlotte Mason tells us five to seven hours outdoors every day, and modern homeschool educators tell us to aim for about three hours a day, totaling over 1,000 hours outside in a year. Those numbers make me cringe - not just the thought of taking tiny, toddling preschoolers on long hikes or trips to the park, but the mental effort it demands, and how it is yet another way to fail in the parenting/homeschool world.
On gorgeous summer days, yes, we easily stay outside for four or five or more hours. I remember one evening tucking my kids into bed and thinking, "Eleven hours! They only came inside to use the potty and grab their food!" Those are good days, but uncommon. And I won't pretend I made all three of my kids bathe before collapsing into bed on those days. (We at least tried to scrub feet, since shoes were always kicked off despite my best efforts to encourage proper footwear.)
So, that is my story. I love the outdoors, but every relationship has its ups and downs, and I've mostly shared the ups in this space. I've grown weary of people only sharing the positives, because life is a messy, beautiful mixture of both, and our efforts and strength through hard things shouldn't be ignored or swept under rugs (yes, even the hard little things).
But then... last night. On our walk home from the school playground, with the sun just having set behind the rooftops, gentle golden light awash on the street before us. The littlest one contentedly being pulled in the wagon by his big sister, all of my children watching little finches flitting to and fro the newly budding branches to our right... I thought, "this is easy. This is the easy part I was waiting for. It's actually quiet. All of us are happy and content."
It was easy.
I know it won't always be easy, especially as the baby gets older and prefers walking to being pulled behind, or stepping precariously over the side of steep hills to patiently holding mama's hand. (Another layer of my relationship with the outdoors while caring for many children!) But last night my heart swelled when I was once again reminded that everything is a season, and hard work pays off. We can do it. We can gather our children on outdoor adventures. We can let go a little and not worry too much about the mud on the floor. We can plan ahead, even when it's a challenge for our brains. We can do hard things.
