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A Walk in the Woods

Forever trying to find our way.

Sometimes I aim high.

"Girls, let's go on a nature hike!" 

"A nature hike?" whined Alice. "Ugh, I want to watch a movie. What are we going to do on this nature hike?"

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I had to think quickly.

"Field journals!" I had heard some other mother say that once and it sounded good.

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It worked!  She perked up.

"Field journals? Okay..."

I grabbed some old coloring books they hadn't seen in a while, called them field journals and threw them in a bag along with some crayons and raisins. Alice pulled on a pink cowboy hat and boots. Perhaps she associated hiking in nature with . I barely hesitated.

"Okay, good enough, let's go."

After consulting my favorite book to read, but hardly ever implement, Walkable Westchester, we headed to a nature preserve about a mile from our house. We were halfway down the driveway when we broke into the raisins.

As we got our of the car everyone's mood lifted. The slightly chilled air was a welcome change from summer. We trotted off under a canopy of huge trees and within just a few minutes of following a trail I felt transported.   Alice seemed to enjoy the extra challenge of traversing slippery rocks in her pointy boots.

It wasn't long before Alice called my field journal bluff. My improvising flowed as easily as the creek beside us.

"Oh okay, so take a crayon, and take a piece of paper, and...put that paper on the rocks and then start scribbling—see? it's a rock rubbing!"  

"Rock. I draw rocks!" Hazel caught on right away.

"Cool!" Alice proclaimed.

Oh my gosh this was too easy. This was so simple. It was all about nature, and time together and, why don't we do this everyday? That's it, yes, we will do this every day. Every day we will embark on a new nature hike, the whining will magically cease and we will resolve all tensions between us. We will bring healthy snacks and do freeform drawings.

Just then some women came walking by us on the path with their dogs, interrupting my mental resolutions. They took in our set up: free-spirited children (unbrushed hair and inappropriate, creative footwear) doing art projects with rocks in the middle of the woods. They started ooh-ing and aw-ing to each other.  

"Wow, this is really special. Do you girls know how lucky you are? You have a great mom. Do you have a camera phone? I have to take a picture of this!"

I'll be honest, I bursted with pride. The rock rubbing was pretty genius. Plus their encounter killed an additional five minutes. 

We set off energized and inspired.

"Okay let's keep going!" Alice called out as she started to get ahead.

Up a hill, under a log, around a stone wall—I was holding Hazel's hand, her two-year old feet had a much tougher time. One moment I was watching Hazel's little shoes negotiate an incline and the next moment I looked up and Alice was gone.

"Alice?" I called out.

"Awice?" Hazel rejoined.

No response. The only sound we could hear was the gentle rush of the creek bed.

Something primal opened up in my throat and a guttural scream erupted.

"ALICE!!!!"

A full minute passed. Then she poked her little head around the stone wall, made eye contact and, as if playing a game, took off again.  

Oh my. If I had to describe in three words the sound the came from my body in that moment those words would be  lost and my and sh&^.  I can only imagine what those women walking their dogs, definitely still within earshot, thought of this really cool mom now.

"Alice, come back here right now or you will lose a privilege!"

The anger always seems to devolve into lameness the second you have to put it into words

"What privilege?"

I could barely speak—"Nature hike. No more. You. Take field journal."

My cavewoman threats had zero effect. I was a failure as a mom and the whole nature preserve knew it. Time for my pathetic trump card:

"And no dessert!"

"So, no dessert just tonight? Or after lunch? Or this week? Or what?"

Oh my good God how could she look at me in this moment and not be scared for her life? I could barely catch my breath. It was a real possibility that spittle was on my chin. 

But at least she walked back in our direction. I quickly closed the gap between us and grabbed her arm.

"You have to Listen! You can't ask why! Sometimes you just have to listen because I may know something that you don't know like something around the bend that only I know because I am a grownup and I am here to protect you and I'm not doing this to be mean? Do you think I like to yell? I'm doing this because I love you because I don't want you to be hurt? Do you understand? Look at me! Tell me you understand! I don't want to lose you!"

She shrugged towards me.

"Yeah, I understand.  I got it."  

I sighed in relief, but felt no better.  

We walked on in silence for a bit and then she said, "It's just that...well, sometimes I think I know better than you."

The parental wind was knocked out of me.

We continued the trail, a large but safe gap between us. I could not think of one more word to say. So I improvised:  

"Okay, so next I thought we could draw a map of the path we have taken so far and then use it to try to retrace our steps back."  

And for once, I think she took pity on me.

"Okay, Mama. I get it. Let's try to see how far we've come now."

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