Girls love rockets, too
Nothing gets my husband more excited than the thought of sharing a childhood memory with his littles. As soon as the wee ones emerged into the world, he looked at their pink little faces and said, "I can't wait until they're old enough to..." Which of course made a hormonal mama think dark thoughts about a daddy who wouldn't bond with his babies until they were like ten.
Well, the latter turned out not to be true, since with miniature pole (designed by one of his athletes for a big blue stuffed bear) he showed an itty bitty Miss E the proper pole vaulting handholds in preparation for her future. Even though she couldn't yet walk or say her own name. No matter.
Recently, there has been a bit of flurry in our house regarding model rockets. "I think the girls are finally old enough to shoot off model rockets," Mark declared one evening while trolling Amazon for the perfect kit.
"Really?" I asked, knowing nothing about models or rockets. "Aren't they still a bit young? Doesn't it involve fire?"
Mark brushed off my skepticism and clicked "complete order."
About ten days later, a package arrived. "What's that?" asked E, brow furrowed as loose parts emerged from the brown carton. And so the lesson began. Mark swept the girls down to the basement and quickly rigged up a model building area. He sat the girls in their chairs, pulled out the supplies and dug in. A little while later I came downstairs to find the girls coloring and Mark hunched over his -- I mean -- their model, gluing.
"What are you guys doing?" I asked.
"Daddy's building our rockets with us," E replied scribbling away. Huh. OK.
I quickly realized that it didn't matter so much to the girls how involved they got to be in the actual process. They were just enjoying hanging out in Dad's work area, listening to music, coloring, and occasionally completing a task.
When the big day arrived to launch the rockets, Mark busied himself with final touches while the girls dug through their sticker bin looking for the perfect adornments for their models. We packed the family and the princess-bedecked, Christmas-themed rockets into the van and headed for the school soccer field.
While Mark set up the pyrotechnics, the girls observed from a safe distance. "Daddy, don't lose our rockets!" they called to him from their sideline. "Remember how you lost yours last time, and we couldn't find it?"
"Yeah, honey, I remember," Mark muttered, concentrating on getting the miniature engines inside the narrow cardboard tubes.
"Are ours going to get lost?"
"No, no, they won't go as far today," he assured them. "It's not as windy."
Nonetheless, when it came time for the countdown, two girls stood on a dirt path just above the soccer field, secured behind a swath of tall grass. One counted down eager for the flight, while the other crouched in a fetal position behind her safety screen.
"I can't watch. I can't watch," worried our nervous Nellie. "A!" she warned, "I think Daddy's gonna lose yours!"
"No he's not!" shot Miss A.
"No he's not!" I assured.
"Not what?" called Mark, controller in hand.
"You're not going to lose it. E. can't watch. She's hiding in the reeds."
"You're not going to watch this?" cried Daddy. "OK, but you're missing out!"
"10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 BLAST OFF!" The engine ignited, and the thing shot into the air like a firework. It sailed on the breeze for a while and landed safely on the opposite end of the field.
"YEY!" we all cheered and rushed to scoop it up. A. cradled her miniature weapon in her arms like a baby, and then it was E's turn.
"I can't do it," she declared. "I'm afraid it will get lost." This went on for several minutes until being the good parents that we are, we encouraged her to take this risk because it would be F.U.N. fun!
Even though we managed to convince her to let Daddy launch her rocket, she hid just the same, refused to count down, and only stood up to watch it once it had made its great debut into the blue. While A's rocket is small and simple (miniature really, and just the way she likes things), E's had a parachute. How cool to watch the parachute unfold and carry that rocket on the air like a bird. Off it sailed across the blue sky, to the edge of the field,....I looked over at Mark who was breaking into a jog, now sprint to follow the rocket's flight as closely as possible, until it sailed right over the tree line that borders the school property. And disappeared.
Oh the cries. And oh the tears. And oh the strangers' doors I knocked on to see if I could perhaps take a peek in their back yards. "You see my daughter lost her rocket," I'd say turning toward E at the end of their walkway. Cue sad-faced exhibit E. We tromped through backyards, looked in the street, and scanned the treeline. Nothing.
Through teary eyes and controlled sobs, E and I walked the wooded path along the reservoir hoping to find her precious model rocket. While she sniffled along, I asked her what made this rocket so special. I expected a response about the time she spent making it with Daddy, how exciting it was to watch it in the air.
"Those were my favorite stickers," she cried. "And now they're gone forever!"
For the love.
"Stickers?" I tried to shield my surprise. "You're crying about stickers? Oh, honey. We have endless stickers."
"But those were my favorites and now I'll never see them again."
I soothed her wounded spirit as best I could and we talked about how it might be fun to be driving to school one day this fall and be able to see the rocket again after the leaves fall off the trees. "Maybe we'll still find it! If it's up there."
"Maybe," she agreed.
"And maybe we won't. But the important thing is we had fun together and you're being very brave about all this. And I am so so sorry we convinced you to launch your rocket, only for us to lose it.
Later I broke the news to Mark: "She was upset about the stickers."
"The stickers? What about them?"
"They were her favorite ones," I may have grinned just a little.
"And now this proves that the rocket thing is my hobby and not theirs," he finished my thought.
"Yup." I replied. "But you know what? It was fun, anyway. I mean, I thought it was great to watch them shoot in the air like that."
"Yeah. I used to love doing that."
"Uh-huh. And they will, too. Someday."
Another parenting lesson learned: Sometimes we so badly want our kids to love what we loved and do what we did. We engage them and teach them. We take over just a little. And then we try to let them soar. Not every launch is a success story. But every launch has one thing in common. We do it together. And when we fall trying, we get up and try again.
E's new, miniature rocket without a parachute should arrive in the mail in another ten days.
Take Two.
Well, the latter turned out not to be true, since with miniature pole (designed by one of his athletes for a big blue stuffed bear) he showed an itty bitty Miss E the proper pole vaulting handholds in preparation for her future. Even though she couldn't yet walk or say her own name. No matter.
Recently, there has been a bit of flurry in our house regarding model rockets. "I think the girls are finally old enough to shoot off model rockets," Mark declared one evening while trolling Amazon for the perfect kit.
"Really?" I asked, knowing nothing about models or rockets. "Aren't they still a bit young? Doesn't it involve fire?"
Mark brushed off my skepticism and clicked "complete order."
About ten days later, a package arrived. "What's that?" asked E, brow furrowed as loose parts emerged from the brown carton. And so the lesson began. Mark swept the girls down to the basement and quickly rigged up a model building area. He sat the girls in their chairs, pulled out the supplies and dug in. A little while later I came downstairs to find the girls coloring and Mark hunched over his -- I mean -- their model, gluing.
"What are you guys doing?" I asked.
"Daddy's building our rockets with us," E replied scribbling away. Huh. OK.
I quickly realized that it didn't matter so much to the girls how involved they got to be in the actual process. They were just enjoying hanging out in Dad's work area, listening to music, coloring, and occasionally completing a task.
When the big day arrived to launch the rockets, Mark busied himself with final touches while the girls dug through their sticker bin looking for the perfect adornments for their models. We packed the family and the princess-bedecked, Christmas-themed rockets into the van and headed for the school soccer field.
While Mark set up the pyrotechnics, the girls observed from a safe distance. "Daddy, don't lose our rockets!" they called to him from their sideline. "Remember how you lost yours last time, and we couldn't find it?"
"Yeah, honey, I remember," Mark muttered, concentrating on getting the miniature engines inside the narrow cardboard tubes.
"Are ours going to get lost?"
"No, no, they won't go as far today," he assured them. "It's not as windy."
Nonetheless, when it came time for the countdown, two girls stood on a dirt path just above the soccer field, secured behind a swath of tall grass. One counted down eager for the flight, while the other crouched in a fetal position behind her safety screen.
"I can't watch. I can't watch," worried our nervous Nellie. "A!" she warned, "I think Daddy's gonna lose yours!"
"No he's not!" shot Miss A.
"No he's not!" I assured.
"Not what?" called Mark, controller in hand.
"You're not going to lose it. E. can't watch. She's hiding in the reeds."
"You're not going to watch this?" cried Daddy. "OK, but you're missing out!"
"10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 BLAST OFF!" The engine ignited, and the thing shot into the air like a firework. It sailed on the breeze for a while and landed safely on the opposite end of the field.
"YEY!" we all cheered and rushed to scoop it up. A. cradled her miniature weapon in her arms like a baby, and then it was E's turn.
"I can't do it," she declared. "I'm afraid it will get lost." This went on for several minutes until being the good parents that we are, we encouraged her to take this risk because it would be F.U.N. fun!
Even though we managed to convince her to let Daddy launch her rocket, she hid just the same, refused to count down, and only stood up to watch it once it had made its great debut into the blue. While A's rocket is small and simple (miniature really, and just the way she likes things), E's had a parachute. How cool to watch the parachute unfold and carry that rocket on the air like a bird. Off it sailed across the blue sky, to the edge of the field,....I looked over at Mark who was breaking into a jog, now sprint to follow the rocket's flight as closely as possible, until it sailed right over the tree line that borders the school property. And disappeared.
Oh the cries. And oh the tears. And oh the strangers' doors I knocked on to see if I could perhaps take a peek in their back yards. "You see my daughter lost her rocket," I'd say turning toward E at the end of their walkway. Cue sad-faced exhibit E. We tromped through backyards, looked in the street, and scanned the treeline. Nothing.
Through teary eyes and controlled sobs, E and I walked the wooded path along the reservoir hoping to find her precious model rocket. While she sniffled along, I asked her what made this rocket so special. I expected a response about the time she spent making it with Daddy, how exciting it was to watch it in the air.
"Those were my favorite stickers," she cried. "And now they're gone forever!"
For the love.
"Stickers?" I tried to shield my surprise. "You're crying about stickers? Oh, honey. We have endless stickers."
"But those were my favorites and now I'll never see them again."
I soothed her wounded spirit as best I could and we talked about how it might be fun to be driving to school one day this fall and be able to see the rocket again after the leaves fall off the trees. "Maybe we'll still find it! If it's up there."
"Maybe," she agreed.
"And maybe we won't. But the important thing is we had fun together and you're being very brave about all this. And I am so so sorry we convinced you to launch your rocket, only for us to lose it.
Later I broke the news to Mark: "She was upset about the stickers."
"The stickers? What about them?"
"They were her favorite ones," I may have grinned just a little.
"And now this proves that the rocket thing is my hobby and not theirs," he finished my thought.
"Yup." I replied. "But you know what? It was fun, anyway. I mean, I thought it was great to watch them shoot in the air like that."
"Yeah. I used to love doing that."
"Uh-huh. And they will, too. Someday."
Another parenting lesson learned: Sometimes we so badly want our kids to love what we loved and do what we did. We engage them and teach them. We take over just a little. And then we try to let them soar. Not every launch is a success story. But every launch has one thing in common. We do it together. And when we fall trying, we get up and try again.
E's new, miniature rocket without a parachute should arrive in the mail in another ten days.
Take Two.