Chicken of the Sea

Spring break in Curacao and Aruba—turquoise water, white sand beaches… and a reminder that I’m half terrified of the ocean.

Eleven-year-old Huckle and nine-year-old Sally take after Husband:  they strap on their snorkel gear and are soon paddling along the farthest edges of the cove, only identifiable by an occasional flip of a flipper. When the snorkel excitement wears off, the three of them jump off a high cliff wall and plunge into the sea. 

I stand among the sharp bits of coral washed up on shore. I am the family lifeguard watching for signs of snorkel distress. I'm the family photographer capturing their free fall in “sports mode.”

They swim back to shore and eagerly tell tales of cuttlefish and parrotfish. We celebrate their brave escapades, then they hand me the dripping snorkel gear. It’s my turn for fun! So... I pick up my book and head for the shade.

It’s not that I dislike snorkeling. It’s an amazing experience to float over the reef like a nosy cloud and spy on a busy, colorful, surreal world beneath the waves. The corals and creatures have such  fantastical shapes and colors that they seem artificial. I almost expect to see aquarium tchotchkes wedged in the sand, maybe a plastic treasure chest with aerator bubbles opening and closing the lid. 

But after fifteen minutes of glorious snorkeling, the fear kicks up. I think about jellyfish and sharks and man-o-wars and dark crevices full of moray eels that pop out with their cave-blind eyes and gaping, snaggle-tooth mouths. I think about swimming out too far and growing too tired to reach shore. Or not remembering where shore is. I think about “the bends,” whatever that is.  I only know scuba divers fear it. So I do too.

And suddenly, snorkeling doesn’t seem like a relaxing pastime. It seems terrifying.

I don’t share my thoughts with Huckle and Sally—I’d hate to plant my fears in their imaginations. I’d rather their fearlessness rub off on me. But it doesn’t. 

Sometimes I wish I were That Kind of Mom:  Adventure Mom! Exciting Mom! Brave Mom! Mom who dives off cliffs into the sea and skis the black diamond trails and wants to try sky diving! Or even just the kind of mom who doesn't come racing in from snorkeling because she's imagining moray eels chomping at her heels.

But I’m not that kind of mom. And I keep reminding myself what kind of mom I am. 

Sally's big leap!

First of all, I'm Encouraging Mom! Every kid could use a parent on the sidelines cheering. They’ve got Husband to lead their adventures and me to admire them. I saw Sally glow with pride when I complimented her for overcoming her fear of heights on that sea cliff. It's an important job, giving my kids encouragement and security to help them reach new heights.

Second, I'm a certain type of Adventure Mom. A subset but doesn't include jumping off cliffs.
See, every parent has their own set of interests worth passing on to their children. Not every parent loves extreme sports or group sports or crafts or board games or art museums or music or baking. You don’t have to do it all —just find your thing and share it with your kids (unless it’s illegal; then consider finding a new passion. Like macrame. Or nail art.). That makes it a joy for you and for your kids. 

I don’t like tossing a football or swimming in the ocean or playing those strategy board games that go on for hours—so these activities take a lot of effort on my part. But the activities I love are effortless to share.

I love trying new foods. I’ll eat just about anything (except caraway seeds; and I hate the chewy texture of squid), and I’m the only person in the family who eats canned tuna—I EAT chicken of the sea. I’m Courageous Eating Mom! I take my kids on eating adventures!

I also love living creatures. I’m not freaked out by most rodents or snakes or insects or other animals (well, except sea creatures; and those millipedes with hairy legs). I’m Pet Adventure Mom! I carry pet mice in my pockets while the cage gets cleaned! I approve the raising of tadpoles and the bringing home and displaying shed snake skins!

As for playing with Huckle and Sally, I don’t need to feel guilty about not tossing around the football—we love to toss around words! Palindromes! Puns! Onomatopoeia! We share books, critique books, write books. I always have time to hear Huckle’s and Sally’s elaborate stories, even the ones that make no sense or go on and on and on. And on.

We plunge into the deep parts of Tuck Everlasting or Tom Sawyer or The Complete Sherlock Holmes and snorkel through the text, pointing out the exotic words, the most colorful ones, the most interesting ones. We resurface miles away and laugh fearlessly. It’s effortless because I love it. And they love it right alongside me.

My contributions might not be thrilling to Risk-Taking Huckle and Not-To-Be-Outdone Sally. But I hope someday they’ll appreciate Mom who stood on the ocean shore and cheered them on as they jumped off cliffs. And who was brave and adventurous in her own quiet ways.