Mom Got in the Water
There I stood, water lapping at my purple panties awaiting the little wooden car floating in my direction. Mid-August & barefoot, the cool water and sandy bottom felt great on my bare skin. I couldn’t help noticing my husband’s cell phone pointed in my direction as he and our kids watched me from the shore. Here I was, exposed to the world if it wanted to look, but I decided a bit of dignity was not a bad trade to be a hero to my kids for a moment.
We last saw the little blue car in our 1-year-old’s hand as we stood beside the creek that runs along one of our favorite walking paths. The stream is known for its trout fishing and there are grassy off-shoots that lead through the trees to the creekside off the main walking path. The water pop-swished serenely and light from the setting sun shone on gentle rapids. As most of us admired the cool stillness of the scene around us, our youngest chose to explore a different sensation — a lesson involving gravity and velocity — throwing his toy car into the water.
Ope, I thought… that’s a goner. But then I looked down and saw my 4-year-old’s face.
The biggest frown started melting down his entire countenance, head to toe, and a sob I was not expecting sprang from his throat. In a voice filled with desperation he wailed “Ma-om! He just threw that car in the water! That was our toy and now it’s pollute!” He for one had definitely not let go of that little car.
Jeans stretching and slackening to accommodate my mom-bod, I stood up from where I squatted in front of our oldest son and looked down the creek. My husband called, “I can still see it,” and then I could too.
Back up the path we galloped after our little blue car, tripping over each other on the way. Me wrangling our youngest child, and my husband running with our oldest.
Back on the main path we searched for our next opportunity to access the creek. Within moments we came to a clearing where a couple sparse trees stood among picnic tables. Approaching the creek, we could just make out our little blue car as it disappeared out of view around the next bend.
“Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!” My four-year-old shrieked. Ok that did it, that last wail triggered something primal in me.
It was obvious who would need to get into the water if it came to that, I was the strongest swimmer among us, having spent every possible moment in water as a child.
Leaving our children in my husband’s capable hands, I shouted “I’ll get it back,” over my shoulder and took off to find the next opening down to the creek.
Down the way I charged for a surprising amount of time… my legs reminding me I don’t normally run, huff, huff, I puffed, excitement dying as the path wore on. Finally finding an opening, I hurried down to the creek and… waited… catching my breath… until my family caught up with me.
I heard them before I saw them. My four-year-old was still vocalizing his distress at high volume. I had obviously not needed to run so fast.
Finding me, they settled in to help watch for the car. The creek with its gentle flow calmed us from our crisis.
This was another beautiful space. As we achieved a collective silence, the cicadas and crickets called to each other in the trees. The creek bed widened in this area, straightening out after one final tight curve that was about the length of a standard high school swimming pool upstream from where we sat on the bank. The water was clear and I could see the spots in the creekbed that were deeper and shallower, the water near the opposite shore was deepest. There the current flowed stronger and I thought of how a canoe would take to it, wondering if the little wooden car would follow a similar path.
Considering my descent, I looked at the good two feet of thick mud leading down to the loose-looking concrete stones at the edge of the water. Someone’s fly fishing path most likely. I needed to be mindful of my footing if I was going to avoid ending up injured, harried and/or very muddy.
Shoes and socks would need to come off but I decided the pants had to go too. There was no rolling them up high enough to avoid drenching and what sense would it make to walk around in wet pants all the way back up the path? Just imagine the chafing.
Collectively, we started wondering if we’d somehow missed the toy car or if it was stuck somewhere upstream, when a bright blue dot appeared at the edge of our vision. Ah here we go, I thought, disrobing in a flurry and gingerly descending into the water. I waded into the center of the creek, keeping an eye on the trajectory of the toy. The water lapped at my upper thighs, and the sand was soft under my feet. Again I waited for the cars to approach — so much for heroics — until the trinket carried gently on the current, landed solidly in my hands.
Climbing ungracefully out of the water, I placed the little blue car in my oldest child’s hand, looking into a face absolutely glowing with pride.
Squatting down to look into his eyes, I asked, “You were pretty upset huh?”
His reply came streaming out of him in bursts between breaths, “Yes! That was terrible. He threw it in the water… and it was a pollute… and if we hadn’t gotten it a fish would have eaten it… and then the fish would have died… and then there wouldn’t be any fish in the water… and what would we be able to eat… there wouldn’t be any fish sticks!”
Woah, I thought, that got heavy. Maybe I need to stop hitting home so hard on the pollution thing, but then again it is important.
So much of human contamination of the environment is invisible. When teaching kids about how our choices affect this generous yet limited world, litter is an easy example to point at and say — “let’s pick that up.”
“I’m glad we got it back,” I said, reaching out a hand. As we walked home our 4-year-old was back to his normal happy chatter. My jeans hugged my thighs and the water we love.
Note this story was previously published with edits on this blog.
