Now And Then

“…every now and then I think of who I was and who I am,
and I’m amazed at how different life is now than it was then.”

Not so long ago, Christian and I visited Ha Ha Tonka State Park. We traversed the stairs, dreamed about life in the castle, and marveled at the watercress in the spring stream. We leaned on the rail and gazed at the blue funnel of water pouring silently upward, defying gravity to wend its crystalline way between pebble-encrusted banks. We soaked up the quiet; we carried books to read out on the island point where the spring stream rushes noisily into the Lake of the Ozarks. I wore makeup, and clothes nice enough for dinner at J.B. Hooks.

This morning I wore nice(r) clothes, too, and I began the day wearing makeup. But by 10:30 a.m., when we reached the spring source, my shorts were soaked with milk that spilled out of the stroller; my shirt was drenched with spitup, and instead of relaxing into the quiet, I was explaining to a petulant Alex why he couldn’t see the mermaids that live in the stream. Nothing I said satisfied him, either. Have you ever gotten that choking sense in your chest that tells you every word you speak digs the hole a little deeper?

(Incidentally, the mermaid problem was my own fault. Who would guess that of all the myriad elements of the walking in the woods story I told him last night, the mermaids would be the one he would consider indispensable?)

I did get a few quiet moments, after all, thanks to Christian. Bless him, he knows my need for silence; he required no explanation when I hung back. Alex, however, was another story. As soon as he noticed my absence, it had to be marked. “MOMMY!” His voice echoed across the valley. “WHERE ARE YOU?”

This evening, at the hotel pool, the distinction between Then and Now became even clearer. The pool, which boasts a manmade cave with a waterfall over the two open sides, was deserted when we arrived at 6:30 p.m. But at 6:35, a young couple arrived. Perfect bodies. Lots of skin. They kept to themselves, we kept to ourselves. Then, “Mommy, I want to go to the cave!” said Alex. So I began trekking across the water with him.

Rather belatedly, I realized that the Honeymooners, who were slightly ahead of us, had the same idea. At this point, the common courtesy (or anticipation of awkwardness) that might have led me to alter course began to struggle with the voice in my head warning me that if I tried to redirect an overtired, napless four-year-old, it was going to be even more awkward, and quite a bit more ugly, than sharing a secluded space with newlyweds. So in we went.

The Honeymooners traded a glance, made a pretense of enjoying the deafening roar of water echoing off fiberglass, and then exited. A few minutes later, they were kissing deeply out in the open, and a few minutes after that, they had re-entered the Sacred Grotto. We were in the wading area by then, and I kept my attention focused carefully elsewhere. But as I comforted Nicholas and walked with Julianna and rescued Alex from loss of balance, I couldn’t help imagining what they were thinking of us. Look at that floozy mom with three shrieking kids, husband in long trunks and a T shirt, paying no attention to each other. No sex appeal whatsoever. Man, why doesn’t that loud, annoying family just LEAVE? It wasn’t hard to imagine, because I clearly remember reacting that way myself not so long ago.

I wrote the lines that open this post as a reflection on something different…but now more than ever, I realize “how different life is now than it was then.”

(8/5/09)

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