The caterpillar has turned into a butterfly, but the animal babies are still busy growing up. The goose and the gander have only one gosling left. The others seemed to have perished. They escort their one growing gosling around the pond and come ashore with him  and greet us. Hissing. Asking for food. And curious.  My daughters say the once fluffy yellow gosling is starting to look more and more like his parents. “He’s a teenager”.

The young buck with the stubby beginnings of antlers follows his mother and speckled new fawns around. We haven’t seen “the Daddy one” lately. The young buck wanders off for a few minutes to the grasses by the pond, then catching sight of us, yet unafraid, leaps out onto the path and races past an elderly couple walking by. I only catch his tale with my camera. His mother and the young one just stares at me. Her other baby is hiding behind her.

The baby bunny– probably about half the size of her mom and dad now– is too preoccupied eating wildflowers and grass to notice us really. Especially if we are quiet.

The beavers are sleeping as usual, even as the water rushes by in the storm drain after a heavy rain. Where are their babies?

Our human “babies” are also growing up. More and more independent every day but still needing their parents. Lucky for us– their childhood will last a little longer than that of  their furry friends…

Happy Mother's Day

Over the past month we have seen goslings parading around with their proud parents in the grass and testing the water, ducklings falling into line in local lakes and along the Potomac, and fawns frolicking at the edge of the woods with bucks and does.  Children are peeking into creeks watching the tadpoles and new fish.  And moms and dads are counting their blessings.

My daughter and I were out at the 7-11 withdrawing money from an ATM a few weeks ago; a quick stop before driving over to get my long-overdue haircut. There were a couple of police officers in the store while we were there. It was bright and sunny out—about mid morning.   After we finished at the ATM I strapped my daughter into her car seat and then got into mine. As I was closing the door, an older white-haired gentleman in workman’s clothes approached and asked me if I needed money. I was startled. I said “No thanks. “ Persistent, he said, “There’s no shame in it. I’ve had to ask for money before. “I said “No thanks” again and shut the door. My heart was racing. Why would he ask me that?  I didn’t look like I needed money, did I? Besides needing a haircut, I looked good. I had just withdrawn money, so I had money. I looked up as he ambled clear across the parking lot to his older model white van with the word concrete on it. He must have been a contractor. We were the only two cars in the lot, save the police car parked around the side.

My mind started racing. I wondered why he would ask that question. Was he looking for a way to get into the car? Was he a pedophile that spotted my daughter? We had moved from California recently from an area where two girls were found murdered this winter, and a man had been arrested in at least one of their deaths.  In February a teenager had been jogging on paths we had explored this summer on our bikes, just before being found dead. Her car had been parked in a lot by a playground in the park where I took our kids to play with their friends. My friend and I had watched the kids running off in the distance there, carefree, numerous times. We’d celebrated a birthday there. While we did keep our eyes on them, we didn’t watch them like a hawk.  That place hadn’t really looked like a place where you needed to worry. Palm trees, mountains, cool breezes, and friendly people.  It was all deceptive. When the girl was found buried in a shallow grave at a lake in that park days after she went missing, it really hit home, even though we’d moved out of there a few months earlier. We used to live in a house that overlooked that lake.  And what if that same man had killed that other girl last year who I’d helped search for in remote areas above the town to no avail? (As it turned out he has since pled guilty to killing both of them)

Fear. That’s what was in my head as I drove away from 7-11.

Later I called the police to warn them about the man in the “concrete” van. An officer came over to the house. He turned out to be one of the police at 7-11 that morning. He remembered the contractor.  He asked why I hadn’t come back into the 7-11 to report the man. Answer—I wanted to get out of there fast.  He said that them man “could have been a scammer” or maybe “he was just a nice guy.”  The policeman said “Even with the economy the way it is, there are still nice people around who want to help out.” But, again, I didn’t look like I needed money.

That night I put the scenario up on Facebook. A couple friends suggested that maybe that contractor was trying to make me an offer—to pay for sex, prostitution. Really?? That hadn’t been something I’d considered. Who is looking for that from a mom in their late 30s?

A week later I had a few items of kids clothing up for sale on Craigslist. I had an interested buyer who said she would come over and get the clothes. This evening, she wrote. “What is your address?” I gave her my address. She didn’t come. A couple days went by. I got nervous again. A worst case scenario was in my head. Was this someone who was collecting addresses where kids live? After not hearing anything for 2 days, I wrote her a note saying that she was either in distress, impolite, or a fraud, for not having followed through with a visit, email or even an explanatory phone call. I said I’d write to Craigslist and warn them if I didn’t hear from her. Turns out she was offended by my note. She wrote me back that her son had been rushed to the ER that night and that she had never had a chance to respond.  I explained to her that I felt vulnerable having given out my address and having had no response.  She decided against buying the clothes and wrote “We can’t let our fears rule our lives.”

I was mad anyway. Remember the Craigslist stalker turned murderer from last year? Of course my fear was justified. Then again, I thought, maybe I am too fearful.

About a week later I had just pulled out of my driveway when I saw an under-dressed middle-aged man standing across the street in shorts and a t-shirt in the rain with an umbrella on a cold day. He approached my car. I slowed down, thought the better of it and passed him. Fear. (That sex offender who had murdered that teenager in California had previously approached another girl in his car and asked for directions—threatening her with a gun. She had run away from him. Thank God!)

But I decided to stop for the man in the rain anyway. Maybe he just wanted directions and wasn’t going to threaten me at all. Maybe I was letting my fear rule my life. I rolled down the window slightly. He said he had missed the bus. (There actually are no buses at that time of day and he didn’t look like he was from the neighborhood). He asked me if I could drive him to the end of the block. I said “No. I’m going to pick up my daughter from school and I’m in a hurry.”  I don’t pick up strangers.

… I turned on the news that night. A mom had gone missing in Ohio while out looking at garage sales. The media were in a frenzy. Were moms becoming the new target for sex offenders I wondered? Some of my Facebook friends (who are moms) said they had also been approached by creeps before. As it turned out, we found out days later that that Ohio mom had just run off to start a new life with a boyfriend that no one, including her husband, knew anything about.

My elementary school daughter heard this and said, “I know how she feels. I know what it’s like to start a new life.” Of course she was thinking of our recent move and how hard it is to come to a new place and start your life anew.  With all of its surprises.  Both good and bad.

It was twilight when we took our walk.  We stood at the bank of the pond and just listened to the birds and the crickets, then wandered over to the creek. We squatted in the grass and watched a beaver eat his dinner unconcerned then slide his plump body into the water and swim. We watched his head bobbing along until he was far from us and barely visible. Then as dark came the neighborhood deer family appeared in some trees by the clearing and stared. “Don’t worry,” I said to the Doe, “We won’t hurt you. We are just looking.”  “It’s like a nature show, only real,” said my daughter, wide-eyed and so excited. We returned tonight hoping to catch a glimpse of the beaver again and found a group of teens staring into a concrete drainage structure. Inside on a concrete platform just above the water, laid two sleeping beavers on a comfortable bed of hay. Yawning. Cocking their eyes open then shut. Nuzzling each other and looking as if they were one animal.  Maybe their babies are on the way.

Tramp Class: Not a class on how to be a bum or a whore. This is  a trampoline class, also known as urban rebounding.  Class taught by an energetic 40 something. That just the kind of inspiration one needs approaching mid-life– to know you can do it too!

Double Processing:  Does not refer to processing a thought again after it slipped your mind the first time due to any number of distractions. Refers to coloring your hair once, maybe to cover the gray, then coloring it again to set the highlights.  Everyone’s doing it. (Past tense–double processed, as in “my hair is double processed.”)

Tranny: Not transvestite. Short for the “transmission” in your car that may or may not be slipping like your short-term  memory.

Poms:  Short for pom-poms (what happened to this word???) , as in “grab your poms and let’s start our routine.”  Heard while observing a class you never thought your daughters would enjoy taking, and now considered one of the most dangerous sports out there for youth.

Early Entrance Assessment:  Nothing to do with “early decision” for college. This is  testing to see if your 4 year old, who’s 5th birthday falls within 6 weeks of the September Kindergarten cut-off date, has the above average skills necessary to join Fall 2010′s KG class…in public school!

Freckle Juice: Judy Bloom book your daughter’s reading in 1st grade, as part of the weekly curriculum. Didn’t we used to read Judy Blume in fourth?!  I’m not sure I’m ready yet for “Are You There God, It’s Me Margaret”.

I love that kind of summer rain that lasts a few seconds; just enough to cool the air. Even better when the summer rain happens in April. The wood duck and the geese think so too.

While it felt like summer in the DC area on Easter Sunday, it was still Spring at the Assateague National Seashore in Maryland.  Bright sun tempted, and the picnic lunch was nice, but when the the icy cold water chilled the breeze, we ran for our sweaters. Still, the light was clearly beautiful. The ocean, blue. The wild horses, relaxed. And the serenity sure seemed to beat the Coney Island feel on Ocean City’s boardwalk where people were doing their best to warm themselves up with buckets of french fries.

It was today at North Beach, a couple hours closer in to DC, when summer arrived. Temps to 80. Swimming possible. Oyster shells by the rocks. Kids playing on a ship shaped playground. Attentive Ospreys watching over their nest. A small orange jellyfish washed up on shore, and a nice fishing pier. Lucky for us the season hadn’t officially started. For $28 a day (in season) or $200 for a season pass we won’t be coming back. Assateague Island passes are $30 for the season, or $15 per trip. We’ll return when the water warms up!

Some views of Assateague:

A family of deer ran across our street today to the local park. At  first I thought they were a pack of especially long-legged dogs.  Then I saw the antlers and the white fluff at the end of a tail. This in  a neighborhood where the houses are close together — 60s-style–  and just minutes from a town center. It was enough to shake me  out of a winter reverie, well a slump, when my posts had been few  and far between.

Earlier in the week we’d spent a couple rainy days (almost-April  showers) in NYC introducing our young girls to this monumental  city just a few hours up the road.  We’d thought we’d show them the  view from the Empire State building but the visibility turned out  not to be worth it due to fog. Then we thought we’d show them the New York Public Library, but got misdirected to the Science Library before redirecting ourselves to the main branch (mommy my feet are getting tired!), just in time to be turned right back through the revolving doors at 545pm just as we got in, with nary a chance to even look up at the ceiling, because the guards wanted to hustle everyone out.

Dodging raindrops and miffed, we stalked over to Bryant Park(greatest city in the world, ha!) , where signs of Spring were showing but the sandwich eateries were closed and the iron chairs and tables empty. The girls snatched a few fallen purple flowers and set them adrift in the fountain, with joy, and were soon soaked through. Mood lightened.

The bright lights on Times Square were a distraction from wet clothes as was the visit to Toys R Us, and then Rockefeller Center,  and the American Girl Store several blocks up. At least it was dry in there.

Tired feet set forth afterwards into the TGI Fridays on 50th or so– with Manhattan prices. Yikes! We should have maybe had a hotdog at one of the carts on Time Square. Afterwards a quick peak at St. Patrick’s cathedral (doors were locked) , some pretty fountains, then a long subway ride to catch the Staten Island Ferry. Lightened by Robert Frost Poetry selection on the wall.

Dancing around the terminal’s reflections of the terminal in the pavement while we waited to board.  Then, a free view of the NYC skyline and the shining Statue of Liberty. Nice. A cold drink from the food counter. Should have had a donut. Resting.

The long ride on the midnight train where someone had been stabbed a day or so earlier, then a slug back to the Holland Motor Lodge ended the whirlwind/rain day.  The warmish rain gave way to a colder/windier rain the following morning. Drive back to MD or drag tired feet through the PATH train and subway again? Or drive to the Cloisters. Drive to the Cloisters and view the gardens in the mist was the answer. Music of 11,000 virgins playing in the gift shop. Rooms of medieval sculptures and tapestries.  Transported 12th century french churches intact.  A room full of sarcophagi.  Another of unicorn tapestries.  The unicorn is the incarnation of Christ in the Virgin Mary? Really? I never thought of this when I collected unicorn pictures and figures in high school.

Ending the day with another rainy view of Times Square. This time from the car. A ride through the Holland Tunnel. A snapshot of time. We’ll look at it later and see that what was new has become dated.