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Which is why I’m here, snooping through all my parents’ gear instead of just using the sleeping bag and backpack that were tucked in my closet.
Every year growing up, our family has done the six-hour hike into the surrounding mountains, up to the top of Kilroy, to watch the most breathtaking sunrise over Cedar Point. For many years, it was my favorite trip, and I was always careful not to plan anything that conflicted with it because I wanted to make sure it was a priority.
Thankfully, my siblings all really enjoyed it as well—except for Boyd, who seems to finagle his way out of it on a regular basis—and each summer when we’d converge in Cedar Point together during the month of August, Kilroy was the one thing consistently on the docket of family activities.
Until I became pregnant and didn’t come home for two summers, I was the one Mitchell to do every single hike. So this year, it feels of the utmost importance that I go, even if I have to miss out on the first part and drive to meet my family halfway up. Because let’s be honest, no two-year-old is going to be manageable for a six-hour hike.
Since it will be the first time in several years that our entire family will be doing it together, it feels supremely important that I figure out how to make it work with Junie, sooner rather than later.
“Remember that one year when your father brought the really high-powered flashlight and it looked like he was sending out the bat signal?”
I laugh at the memory. “I told Bellamy if we had two we could have swooped them around like a movie premiere.”
Mom laughs. “That’s right. I think we were all lucky to get out of that weekend without going blind.”
“Speak for yourself,” I reply, leaning forward and grabbing an older backpack that has seen better days. “I think I still have a bit of corneal damage from when Bishop turned it on in our tent.”
Setting that backpack in the ‘do not need’ pile, I continue looking at the array of items strewn about the floor.
“I’m glad you’re going to be coming this year,” mom says after a lull of silence. “It hasn’t been the same without you there.”
I glance in her direction, wrapping my arms around my knees. “Really?”
Her brow furrows. “Of course, really. We’ve missed you around here.”
Part of me wants to default to the way I’ve been feeling over the past few years and tell her it didn’t seem like she missed me all that much, but then I think back to our conversation from afew weeks ago, and I bite my tongue. Even if I might have felt that way, I know my family loves me, and I know my mother wouldn’t say something like that if it wasn’t true.
“It’ll be really fun for Junie to get her first experience camping,” I end up saying instead. “Not that she’ll remember it.”
Mom shrugs. “It isn’t always about whether your kids remember every detail, though. I mean, what are you supposed to do? Ignore them until they’re old enough to create memories?”
I chuckle at that. “Okay, that’s fair.”
“And even if your kids don’t remember something, that doesn’t mean the memory isn’t meaningful foryou.”
At that, I actually get sort of choked up, thinking about what it will be like someday when Junie’s older.
“What’s it like, watching your kids grow up?”
I’m sure my question is out of left field, but if there’s anyone who can talk about the different stages of kids, it’s my mother. Having raised five of us, with a ten-year age span between her oldest and youngest, I don’t doubt she’s been through it all.
“Talk about a loaded question,” she says, leaning to the side on my bed and resting her head in her hand. She hums and seems to think it over for a second.
I lean back against the dresser behind me, just watching as she stares unseeing out the window, surely scanning through a million different memories.
“Well, it’s a lot of things. First, it’s incredible, because you get to watch these little monsters you created slowly grow and morph and change. And, I’m sure you’re seeing it with Junie, but how quickly they learn things is just…amazing. You feel so proud all the time because you’re the one helping them learn those new things.”
She tilts her head from side to side, considering.
“But then it’s hard, too. It’s hard to stay sane when you’re getting no sleep and there is just…constant noise. It’s hard to teach your childrenhowto be those kind, considerate people you want them to become. It’s hard to begin backing off so they learn independence and how to take care of themselves. And then it’sreallyhard when you watch them make mistakes.”
Her words echo a sentiment similar to what Tabitha said at the beach park last week, and, not for the first time, I wonder if, when my mother looks at me, she only sees the mistakes I’ve made.
“What has it been like for you, watching Junie?”
I scratch at my chin, thinking it over, realizing almost immediately what my mother means when she says it’s incredible.
“I’m just so…astounded by her. All the time. I mean, the things she says, the way her brain works, how curious she is.” I shrug, my hand playing with the zipper on a two-person tent. “It’s amazing.”
