Our first go around with Amelia learning to ride involved training wheels and a lot of running behind the bike, falls on the grass, and scraped knees. Training wheels are helpful but they rattle and the bike dips from side to side and I never knew how much I didn’t prefer them until once again I’ve avoided them. Or the achy back from hunching over to hold the back of the seat while she learned to stay upright. The first few days Oliver sometimes wanted a little help holding the handle bars straight as he started out, now he’s completely on his own.

I love the LIKEaBIKE for preschoolers, hands down the boys’ favorite. The fact that it also teaches them to ride a bike makes it even better.

For some kids, camps are a great escape, an adventure from routine. We fall into the one or two week of camp max category. The rest of the days we hold a loose schedule of waking up, checking our energy level and then formulating a plan. We bike, hike, take swim lessons, go to the library, make picnics. Often summer themes develop, last year most days we walked our puppy to the coffee shop for late morning eggs and afternoons rode bikes up and down the same hill.

I book some babysitting time, play days with other kids to keep the mood positive. The kids still fight and they also build forts. We go to bed a little later and wake up slower. And as much as I can’t wait to begin, by the end of August I will long for the arrival of the morning school bus. Summer is perfect that way.

Last May six hours into canning raspberry jam with berries picked from our garden, homemade labels by the kids and a kitchen stained red, I looked at the four tiny jam jars on the counter and thought, is that all? Surely after reaching this extreme we should have jars and jars, enough to stock a Whole Foods shelf. I made a silent vow to go small next time, think simple.

This year, the kids and I talked about potting a plant, making bookmarks, finding a special book. We’ve decided on fruit from the Sunday farmers market. We’re not sure yet on presentation, maybe a basket or decorated tote or even paper bag, with a handmade card–paints with potato or sponge stamps, coloring pens or pencils, or crayons. And once the craziness of the end of school settles, I’m going to write a note to the teachers sharing my appreciation for their work and sparkle with the kids. I’m surprised at how much I enjoy writing these letters, to reflect on the year and what it’s been about for the kids. As school years start to speed up, I love how the letters slow time for a moment.

I thought about picking a few to save, and then imagined carrying the books with me for the next 20 to 30 years until a grandchild might open them again. I will likely save one or two, but to remember them all I quickly emailed myself a list. Here are some of our best-loved. I’ve starred the ones that I could read over and over and those that had a way of bringing tears to my eyes.

A Friend for Growl Bear by Margot Austin

Pelle’s New Suit by Elsa Beskow

*Fuzzy, Fuzzy, Fuzzy by Sandra Boynton

Stone Soup as told by Marcia Brown

*The Little House by Virginia Lee Burton

The Very Busy Spider by Eric Carle

*Miss Rumphius by Barbara Cooney

*Eight Animals Bake a Cake by Susan Middleton Elya and Lee Chapman

*Stella Princess of the Sky by Marie-Louise Gay

Little Toot by Hardie Gramatky

The Little Fire Engine by Lois Lenski

Jack Tractor: Five Stories from Smallbills Garage by Keren Luella and Willy Smax

*George and Martha (all of them) by James Marshall

Blueberries for Sal by Robert McCloskey

The Lorax by Dr. Seuss

A Sick Day for Amos McGee by Philip C. Stead and Erin Stead

Joseph had a Little Overcoat by Simms Taback

*Benjamin & Tulip by Rosemary Wells

*Bunny Party by Rosemary Wells

Yoko by Rosemary Wells

The Little Red Firehouse and the Great Gray Bridge by by Hildegarde H. Swift and Lynn Ward

My theory has been that women who have kids in their 40s have achieved certain milestones in career and life, except and perhaps notably for some, having children. They’ve seen the world and advanced their piece. Older moms also have reached an age where pregnancy becomes more challenging, giving the joy of bearing or adopting or surrogating a child greater resonance.

I read through the article and discover the new research has more to do with parents in general in their 40s and older who have children than my older first time parent definition. In other words I might be happier in my 40s with my 10, 7 and 5 year olds just like my happier 40 something neighbor with her newborn. My happiness may come from the liberation of the 8 to 3 school day, while hers originates with a six month old’s smile. For 50 year olds and up, the more children they have, the happier they feel. Again, in opposition to the under 40s who get less and less happy with each additional child.

Eventually I take myself back to the research study itself, “A Global Perspective on Happiness and Fertility”. I have no time to read the study in detail, as despite reaching my 40s levels of glee do not yet runneth over to allow forays into written items longer than four paragraphs. There’s one line from the abstract that strikes me:

[I]n addition, analyses by welfare regime show that the negative fertility/ happiness association for younger adults is weakest in countries with high public support for families, and the positive association above age 40 is strongest in countries where old-age support depends mostly on the family.

When young parents have public support, the weight of child rearing lightens. And consistently, older parents who have less public support place greater value on the emotional and financial support of their children. Family as support system is a reality I associate mostly with old European novels. I take responsibility for my children’s care and will help my parents in their old age, but I see these realities as things that I do and will do rather than a greater cultural continuum.

At the library, I recently stumbled across Vendela Vida’s The Lovers (a lovely small and short novel). She writes about a mother in her 50s awakening to a new stage in her life, one in which she needs her adult children differently and more than she ever expected. I don’t think there’s a perspective shift great enough to erase the sleepless nights with young children or the stress of whether and how to work or stay home. I do, however, like layering a larger vision of family, an intergenerational theme, on the day to day toils. Because that gravitas is what I admired in my theoretical first time 40 year old moms–that they had been free to sort themselves out so by the time children arrive, they take the fatigue and uncertainties in stride and focus on the joy. But maybe it’s as simple as older is wiser as I find myself focused on the joy more and more.

And we continue–like oatmeal in the morning? A s’more with graham crackers? Oliver patiently starts breaking down the recipe. Mom, he says, I think it’s melted marshmallows and then there’s those little things from the vanilla chip bars, the crunchy ones. He’s talking about the puffed rice in Cascadian Farms Vanilla Chip bars and suddenly it’s clear that he has just eaten a rice crispy treat.

I’m emboldened by the parents’ treat choice, would I ever have the nerve, and also feel a twinge of I’m not sure what for depriving my almost five year old of a childhood dessert tradition. I loved melting the marshmallows, mixing with butter, and then stirring in the Snap, Crackle and Pop. We happen to be stopping at the market and find Whole Foods offers all the ingredients for an organic version.

Later, I take a poll. Amelia and Wyatt both know the rice crispy treat, Amelia seems to have eaten several in her life from various bake sales. I can pull up a vague memory of her eating a giant square of marshmallow and rice cereal but I could be overlaying my own afternoon snack habit of buying them from the coffee shop near my office years ago. The kids are more curious about the new cereal box and devour half the crispy brown rice for after school snack. They seem unaffected by my concern that I may be depriving them of an essential childhood experience. They’re either having it without me or don’t care.

With young kids there’s a lot of control over their diets which I have seen myself take on too strongly at times. As they get older, I’ve found it important to allow them choices so when I’m not there, which increases every year, they have an internal voice to help guide them. Like the birthday party where they get a huge piece of cake hidden under a mountain of icing. I could take that away from my four year old and give him a smaller inside slice with less buttercream. And I’ve done that. I’ve also left him with the frosting piece and said, Wow that’s a big piece of cake. Is your stomach feeling okay eating that? You can eat what feels okay for your stomach and leave the rest. It looks like some kids are playing outside if you want to join them when you’re done.

I feel much better taking the second approach. I think because what I want to do, what feels natural, is to teach rather than control. Amelia has noticed that when she eats chocolate she gets hyper and upset. She also has figured out that whip cream gives her a stomach ache. She avoids eating too much of these foods on her own. She once told me about her friends grabbing handfuls of candy from a bowl and hiding them in their coat pockets, while she took a few pieces and then told me this story as soon as she got in the car. Her recap may have been for her benefit, look Mom I was responsible and only took five pieces of candy instead of twenty so it’s reasonable for me to eat all five of them now, but I appreciated being brought into the conversation she initiated about balance. I’ve become more proactive too, narrating moments of excess with the kids like the piece of frosted cake to help them pay attention to how their bodies are feeling.

For me, the rice crispy treats are loaded with denying my kids a sweet ubiquitous in my childhood as well as the difference between that era of being a child and today. The practical reality is that we have yet to make rice crispy treats because I can’t keep the cereal in stock. Amelia loves it. One of these days, Oliver and I will have to whip up a batch right when we get home from the market.

The podiatrist recommended Fit Flops, which sound like a gimmicky podiatry item sold in their reception area so I nodded and said I’d look them up online. It turns out Fit Flops are everywhere, and my mom’s been onto them for years. I’ve since noticed women wearing them around town. The thick soled shoes advertise as leg and butt toners–the real benefit is their back and general body support. They don’t make me walk differently like MBTs, which I know a lot of people like too. I’ve since bought a Walkstar (the logo on top took a minute to accept) and the Gogh Clog, and recommend both.

I wear the Gogh clogs as inside shoes, though there’s a Fit Flop slipper too, and I’ve noticed my posture’s better with them. I wish I’d had them when the kids were babies and toddlers, my prime slumped over/back pain years. They add a little bright and shiny, which I always like to pass along.

I struggle for a few days feeling unnerved–concerned about her eating herself sick, frustrated that she’s not behaving the way I want, and guilty that I don’t spare the time to monitor her better. Today I call a trainer. He tells me to block off the “bad” area of the yard so she can be outside without getting into trouble. I happen to have an old dog pen (from my last dog adventure with an Australian shepherd who loves fields more than kids and now lives on a farm), which opens out to make a suitable fence.

After setting up the area, I saute chicken and broccoli for dinner and unexpectedly feel this huge weight lift from my brain. I’ve removed a worry. A sudden rush of space, a flood of relief sweeps through me. I wonder what other areas of my life could benefit from this kind of boundary setting, whether it can be done with intangibles like school volunteering and kids’ birthday parties. I miss the baby and toddler gates at the top of the stairs, their clarity and safety. The older my kids get, the more mental the line drawing. And my mind not only forgets, but also strains to please and forms slippery slopes that dump me into exhaustion.

For example, the puppy is adorable, sweet and the last thing I need right now. Often limit setting involves these difficult choices between not having something really great right now in order to be more present and functional with the rest of my life. The catch is my ability to withstand lack of sleep and too much responsibility and still force myself to function. If I could assign concrete values to commitments making them measurable, and even categories to calibrate a form of balance, that might help. I sense that I’m conditioned to go for what I want and rely on my track record of survival, which is why the fence in the yard has such an impact. The adrenaline-like rush of relief may remind me to weigh my choices differently next time.

The article reports the pride of the small chested, their interest in padded, natural shape and basic coverage. Breastfeeding and the post pregnancy slant never enter the conversation. When I click through the store links, one small bra seller advises “shallow breast shapes” to size down in a certain soft cup bra. Shallow may be the term for that slant/concavity, I’m not sure. Women choose bras for the way they fit and look, they’re tricky because we can use them to hide or stick out. Either way, we’re refining.

A few months ago an article about the French model actresses Charlotte Gainsbourg and Lou Doillon, and their British mother Jane Birkin, illuminated another strain of femininity for me. Since having kids and working at home, my style guidelines shrank to comfortable and easy to wash. These young French women and their mother live eclectic lives nothing like mine. Their magazine versions haven’t skipped a beat since having kids. What draws me to them, though, is their lack of make up, small chestedness and casual approach to dressing. They exist in a fashion stratosphere, yet I find some bit of artistry there that helps me reconnect with what I feel good wearing.

The bra questions relate back to identity too-how we see ourselves, the way we want others to see us. Those moments with our young children when we feel their unconditional love, see it in their eyes, may be important to reclaim. If we take in their whole hearted acceptance, we open ourselves to more possibilities of self-expression. Bra or no bra.