O'Doyle Drools: Babes In the Woods

I am, by no means, a moving expert but one thing I have learned to appreciate when starting off in a new place is to explore spots that blend into the background before too long. Some are hidden gems tucked away in the woods, some you know are there because you drive past the sign 4000 times a day but it's hard to make the time to actually get to, and some are hidden in plain sight and easily overlooked. I'm not going to pretend that every opportunity to explore has turned out well -- I've had some major duds. We have dragged people on a trail from beginning to end or tried to convince everyone that "this place is so kitschy cool" with scary looking, most-definitely-not-amusing, ceramic tree creatures peeking out from weird nooks and crannies. Looking back on our early days both Penticton and Seattle, there were beautiful spots that we stumbled upon soon after we landed that I didn't necessarily return to as time went on and we settled into our routines (clearly, we're a well oiled machine) and normal stuff dominated our daily lives. And while we've "returned" east, this part of Massachusetts is still pretty new to me and I'm trying to bask in the best of both worlds thing that we've got going on -- familiar faces and places to catch up with and return to while also enjoying the new-to-me spots that come with every transition. Amid the chaos that comes with large men dropping large boxes into all corners of your house and doing super fun errands like poking your eyes out at the RMV, it grounds me to just head out and find something new (to me) and see where it takes us. We did that the other day when the lack of pictures on the wall made me feel like I was living in an asylum (there are some up now -- I guess John didn't like the direction I was trending). I knew there were big adventures to be had -- the aquarium, the children's museum -- but it's the small, local places that I really like to suss out. We headed out on a path with a picnic lunch, made it approximately 50 feet before the little river (swamp) made for an enticing spot to stop and throw rocks. Lots of rocks. I've been making a concerted effort this summer to stop hurrying and rushing -- to let my hurry-resistant children set the pace more than me. You know us, being late is our calling card, but this has been a special summer with almost zero structured plans and very few times when we've absolutely had to be on time. And then we stopped 25 feet further along to climb on big out crops and (Jack was not with us that day but Superman was and he was convinced he was going higher on the rocks than Jack could ever go. Good thing Superman has two moms...ahem...to let him know how he's doing with every step). Eventually, because Molly realized that bears might come get us despite my reassurances that bears don't live in Dedham, she shooed us along and we spent a completely lovely, longer-than-planned afternoon meandering in the woods.

These afternoons are the kind you savor. The big stuff will always be fun and magical and there's nothing like watching your kids' eyes light up on Christmas morning or when they see their favorite character in real life. Those times will get memorialized and talked about with great joy and pleasure -- as they should. But these less thrilling afternoons are the mortar between the bricks of those great adventures. They blend together and aren't necessarily outstanding in and of themselves but they are quiet moments of togetherness that I feel privileged to enjoy. It eases the transitions, too, to go back to basics and just head out together without muss or fuss or even too much of a plan. This move hasn't been awfully hard by any means but I still like these early months when everything is new and we have the opportunity to explore the big and small stuff right under our noses. It's a good opportunity to remind myself to stop doing and just be a bit more -- that adventures come in all shapes, sizes, time frames and distances from home and that small things, like dragonflies, can make the world sparkle.