Homeschool Learnings: Summer Break in February

“How long are you here?”

“We are here for four and a half weeks. It is our homeschooling summer break.”

“That is super cool.”

And it was.

Aside from the list of obvious differences from our February life in the Global North: fresh mangos, swimming every day, poking ant nests, watching howler monkeys crawling on electrical lines, a perennial damp braid, watching machetes open up cold coconuts, straws made out of bamboo, fresh cold watermelon juice, sandcastles, swathes of snake plants growing outside, collecting sea shells and observing hermit crabs in tide pools, watching surfers carve foam while their dogs watch from the shore, playing card games as we sip on smoothies, skinny dipping in the moonlight, watching the sunset over the Pacific, on and on and on.

It also truly felt like a summer break in terms of conversations like this. “Do we want to go to breakfast first or go to the beach before the sun gets too hot and then have breakfast?”

Or

Bean looking up, “Are we going to be home by one?”

“I am sure we will.”

Answering my questioning tone, she continued. “Nina’s yoga class is at one, but I don’t know if she will be teaching.”

Children, that was the one of best parts of this time for your mother - seeing the both of you engage in the world on your own terms. I first noticed this independence when I returned from my time in the hospital last winter. Suddenly, the two of you were fully capable of playing outside in the snow without me sitting there zipping, tugging on boots, or wrapping scarves - an unintended side effect of Momma’s absence.

For our “summer break” this independence manifested in several ways. Whether it be Bean reading to Dragon while I meditated, you two waiting alone in the restaurant for day camp to begin without me waiting with you, or making friends outside of my introductions.

Bean, you befriended the yoga teacher who came every day to the Yoga Shala next to our rental home. You would sit next to her at the front of the space. By the end of our time you were holding buttons on her harmonium, chanting with her, and even pulling up a mat next to me to stretch into downward dog (your Momma’s heart burst).

Dragon, you played in the pool with our neighbors, and not just the children - a father of teenagers was thrilled to have a companion to throw around the water.

Once I was privy to him talking his daughter - lounging by the pool.

“Don’t you want to come in the water and play with me?”

“Nope.”

Dragon, you spoke up, “I will!”

And you two did.

Both of you appointed yourselves greeters for the occupants of our particular Pura Vida neighborhood - garnering smiles and waves daily.

When your father ran - you would both go out and wait for him to return on the outside steps, playing with the neighborhood dogs (and sometime horses and sometimes monkey gazing) until his return.

Both of you were able to be in the ocean without me holding you.

It makes me happy and sad to notice you two growing up. Happy because your independence is incredible to witness and very exciting. Sad because you one day might tell me you don’t want to play in the pool.

Though, as we have been saying since we returned home to pets and wood stoves - life is both and.

As we enter the spring stretch of our homeschooling time - it feels in some respects that each lesson is steeped in this pathos. A part of me wants to hold this special time for the three of us with claws and talons and glue - as I can forsee the changes coming down the pike. Another is excited to see what the next adventure will be. Both And.

I feel the bittersweet yearnings of life fall into the categories of Both And - usually with a smattering of one’s What If Monster, for added flavor.

As Bean told me this morning, “Momma next time you hear the What If Monster, just think of me and Dragon.”

I can do that - all of these memories live in my heart. I can be next to you in the ocean belly busting waves. I can float with you in the shallows as the waves twirl us around.

“Momma, it turned me all the way over with that wave.”

“I know! Me too. Dragon, you are almost facing the beach!”

“Momma! You ran into me!” Laughter and smiles.

“I didn’t mean to - the water is so powerful!” And then I would reach over and squeeze you tight.

Tight tight tight

and then let you go to prepare for the next wave.