Sun Break

The weekend was supposed to be ridiculously rainy, which it was…until it wasn’t. Yesterday afternoon, the skies cleared and the temperature rose into the 60s and without batting an eye, Forrest said, “I’ll be in the garden,” and walked out the door. Within an hour, I was out there planting onions and my kids were variously picking bouquets, walking the dog around the neighborhood and sitting on top of the car writing in her journal. We each had our own agendas, but all of us knew that if the sun came out, there was no better place to be.

Every February, Forrest and I look at the kids and lament the screen time, the bickering, and the boredom. Why happened to our active kids? Why don’t they go outside anymore? And then, within the month, all three happily drop their tablets and flee, just like their dad, to the garden. I have to remind myself that a lot of the behavior we decry in kids, especially around screen time, is a normal reaction to environments that aren’t welcoming to them.

I have to admit that if most of you came to my house, you’d probably expect a beautifully pruned Eden. Instead, for most of the year, it’s more like a muddy work in progress. And for the other three months, it’s an overgrown jungle. It’s not idyllic…but what it is, is welcoming. My kids were so terrible about planting random plants in our garden that we tore up half the backyard so they could meddle there. And they do. It’s not uncommon for me to reach for a seed packet only to find it empty because some child got there first.

On the one hand, that’s infuriating in the moment. On the other, that is exactly what I want them to be doing. To get an idea, find what they need and figure it out how to make it happen. And if it leads to some small disasters along the way (see: the mint that is taking over my lawn) that is the price that I will pay for kids who don’t whine about just one more episode of TV.

Because boy, oh boy, can my kids whine. In our house, the rule is no screen time in the mornings. That sounds really enlightened, probably, but it’s because I like to take naps on Sundays and if the kids have used up their screen time then they are annoying when I am trying to sleep. And through the winter months, you would think that making them wait until lunch for the TV is akin to sitting through a five hour lecture.

That whining alone makes me think I’m a terrible parent. Forget that I grew up in the 90s, on a steady diet of The Price is Right and Saved by the Bell. Forget that the sun goes down at 4:30 in January. Forget that my kids are in the tricky age where they don’t want toys but they aren’t fully independent yet. I assume if my kids want screens that badly, it must be because I have failed to teach them to entertain themselves.

And then, spring comes and I can’t keep them inside. By the time summer rolls around, I’m in full on crisis-management mode, making sure there are enough clean clothes and dry towels, the kitchen counters aren’t covered in small bowls of blackberries harvested from the roadside, and, in one instance, no one is trying to fill a kiddie pool with the kitchen sink sprayer.

So what’s changed? Not my parenting. Not my kids. What’s changed is that being outside is now fun. It’s not a chore. It’s not cold, or wet, or in the case of Seattle, hot or humid, either. It’s simply…perfect. And my kids, like all people, choose to go places that are pleasant. But not just pleasant. Places where they can exist without feeling like they’re a bother.

I’m probably up on my soapbox now but there aren’t many of those places left for teens and tweens. They get looks in parks because they’re too big. They get looks in stores because they’re too little. Even in their own yard, there are neighbors who glare at the homemade bird feeders and gardening experiments, and I know they wish it all looked nicer.

You know what? I wish it looked nicer too. And someday it will, but right now, if I want my kids off those screens for an afternoon, I have to tolerate the mess. I have to say yes to everything and choose enthusiasm over criticism. Because these kids, especially teens, they’re just waiting to be told they aren’t wanted. They’re used to it. Even at school they get the message that they are only wanted if they fit within the mold. It is middle school, after all.

So yesterday, the sun broke through the clouds and we broke the mold, each in our own way. And the garden, like it always does, faithfully welcomed us all.