Here’s Rose when she was 4 or maybe 5, in her tiny leo. Leo, that’s what gymnasts call a leotard.

I know that now, like I know what a kip and a giant and a layout are, because gymnastics has woven itself into the very fabric of who my daughter is.

Rose had to give up her sport a few weeks ago. Her back pain had come back the previous week but she didn’t tell me, because she knew what it meant.

Her body is telling her to stop. She had an L5 vertebrae stress fracture at the end of last summer. Some kids recover, and some kids just keep having back trouble over and over. For Rose, it seems to be the latter.

I always thought I might be relieved if she ever stopped. I barely remember the time before I spent my weeknights driving back and forth to the gym. Before I spent winter weekends sitting in bleachers with an elevated heart rate, watching incredible girls do seemingly impossible things.

Instead of feeling relieved, I feel grief.

I didn’t anticipate the way my stomach would drop when I went to put one of her leotards in the washer, and the feeling in my chest when I zipped up her gym bag and realized we won’t be needing it anymore.

When she was injured the first time, people asked why I didn’t insist she quit. “A back is forever,” they said. A point well taken, until you see your 11 year old with a broken heart, because she can’t do the thing she feels defines her.

She can barely remember life before gymnastics.

This thing that has become such a huge part of who she is, is no longer part of her life. The community she has at the gym, her teammates and coaches, working so hard together, for so many hours every damn week, year-round, year after year. It’s gone now.

In 7 years, there were maybe three times when she said she didn’t feel like going. She was ok with progressing at her own pace even when her teammates surpassed her. She was ok with not winning. She just wanted to be in that gym, where she was so comfortable, among her people, doing the thing she loved the most. She was tenacious and resilient.

She is.

I’ve heard the expression “once a gymnast, always a gymnast” and I’m kind of starting to get that now. Gymnastics is not a long-term sport (unless you’re Oksana Chusovitina) but it teaches some forever life-skills.

Rose has learned to be tough and resilient. To be part of a team and a community. To train harder than most adults. To manage time, expectations and nerves. To face defeat and keep going. To succeed with grace. To push herself out of her comfort zone and overcome fear.

Though she’ll no longer be tumbling, balancing and swinging, because of gymnastics she’s already got more coping skills than your average adult.

It’s been a couple of weeks since I started writing this post and Rose is doing ok. She says she might want to join a rock climbing team. She does NOT want to do dance.

For now, she’s enjoying being a normal 11 year old and relishing the first summer she’s had “free,” for as long as she can remember.

And, salute!

Last weekend, I saw my son eat more food in one sitting then I’ve ever seen him eat in his life. Also, he graduated from Pre-K. These two things are related.

When Sid was 20 months old we enrolled him in daycare. His daycare is one of those places for children of working parents. They open at 7am and close at 6pm. Kids start there as early as 2 months and stay there until they go to kindergarten. When they graduate, it’s kind of a big deal, and it comes with a lot of big emotions.

Sunday evening after graduation, I found myself alone in the kitchen with my feelings. To keep from weeping, I attempted to recreate the Peruvian fried rice dish that daycare serves for lunch on Thursdays. It’s the dish I saw Sid eat—like I’ve never seen him eat before—at his graduation party.

The dish is Arroz Chaufa, Peruvian fried rice. Both of my kids adore it. It’s got 3 kinds of protein, “a little bit of salad,” and a whole lot of sentimental value. Perfect to cook up on a Sunday for lunches all week. And if you’re not into hot dogs, I think this dish would be just fine without them.

• Arroz Chaufa (Peruvian Fried Rice) •
recipe cobbled together from various sources

Ingredients:
1 cup uncooked rice
2 cups water
a dash of oil
2 tsp minced garlic
3 tablespoons vegetable or canola oil
1 breast from a roast chicken, shredded
3 eggs
1 tablespoon of milk
4 hot dogs, chopped into approx. ½ inch rounds (optional)
1 bunch scallions, chopped
½ red pepper, diced
2 teaspoons fresh ginger, minced
Soy sauce to taste
Salt & pepper to taste

Put rice, water, 1 teaspoon minced garlic, a dash of oil, and 1/2 teaspoon salt into a saucepan, bring to a simmer, cover and simmer until done. Turn off the heat and leave covered.

Meanwhile, Shred the chicken breast and set aside.

Mix the eggs and the milk together with a fork. Heat 1 tablespoon oil in a nonstick skillet and cook the egg, scrambling and chopping with a wooden spoon, until cooked and in bite-sized pieces. Remove from pan and set aside.

Add another tablespoon of oil to the skillet and add the hot dogs. Cook until browned on both sides. Remove with a slotted spoon leaving the oil in the skillet. Set the hot dogs aside.

Add the last tablespoon of oil to the oil in the skillet and cook the garlic, ginger, red pepper and scallion until soft. 

Add the rice, hot dog, egg, chicken and vegetables to a pot or skillet large enough to accommodate it all, and stir to combine. Add soy sauce, salt and pepper to taste and serve. If it’s dry, add a tablespoon of hot water.

My son insists on eating breakfast in the bathroom, while I shower. He lines up his “friends” on the sill and eats by the window, between the toilet and the litter box (this may be why he never gets sick).

At times, I find it annoying. There are cinnamon toast crumbs, whipped cream smears and cranberry juice rings to clean up each morning. I never get to shower in privacy.

But this morning seeing him and his friends by the window filled me with something like joyful calm.

I had insomina last night from thinking about the past. This is a thing that happens, my brain does it’s indexing and won’t let me sleep because of it.

Last night, we were indexing our 14 year tenure in New York City. “How were the refrigerators positioned in our Bushwick apartments? Did I spend more time in Midtown, Union Square or below Houston? Which was the bathroom we painted gold?”

Then, “OMG we’re so old.” And, repeat.

To stop this torturous cycle, I lay down with each with my kids. I inhaled their scents, they still have nice smells most of the time.

It’s going fast now, they are 5 and 11, no-longer-baby and almost-teen. I am mindful of being mindful. Every day I make sure to enjoy them, love them, experience them, as they are, right now.

One day, maybe soon, Sid will give up his morning routine. And even though I’ve been known to moan about the mess and the lack of privacy, I know I’m gonna miss him when he stops eating breakfast in the bathroom.

So, as my late Aunt Carole used to say “Here’s to now.”