"Ninja's don't quit, Mom. Ninja's don't quit."

This is what William solemnly said to me more than a year ago-- as he sat in the back of our old van, when we lived in our old house, and he went to his old school.  And it was last year that I started this post-- wrote down the title anyway-- and was prepared to write something about what I've learned in my 35 (then) years about not giving up.

William being wise and expressive.

I don't remember what I was going to write, and I don't remember why William said "Ninja's don't quit, Mom" in that particular moment.

I do know that he picked up the phrase from one of the boys' favorite Lego cartoons-- Ninjago. And I'll admit that I happen to enjoy watching Ninjago now and then too.  The five ninjas, their wise sensei, and their spunky sister can be rather funny, and unquestionably tough, and they never give up, even when they are faced with ancient stone warriors, or hundreds of talking snakes, or evil itself (a blackish-purplish mist).

But in the 14 months since William said that, I've actually quit many things.

Our van was the first big thing I quit. Our silvery-gray van (that at times we called the Orca, or the Dolphin, or the Shark) was on it's third transmission in as many years.  And we knew it was used when we bought it, with over 180,000 miles on it, and it's front bumper wired on, but, it was very clean, and all the paperwork and warranties were there. We knew and trusted the former owners, and it was a Honda Odyssey.  And I was so excited to have a van! We had room for all the boys and all their car seats, and most of their friends.  We could pack all the soccer gear and the strollers and the kites and the sand toys and the diaper bags and the back packs and still have room for books and legos and Thomas the Tank Engine and all his friends.

Sometimes shirts were optional for the boys, in the good ol' days, and here Peter is showing me the latest McDonald's Happy Meal toy.  To me, it looks very disappointing, but he was obviously happy.  And those are temporary tattoos.  

I loved to load up the van in the morning, pick up some breakfast and a huge diet coke at McDonald's and go searching for trains with the boys.  Often we would drive up Weber Canyon.  It had the best tracks, bridges and tunnels, and the most frequent trains in the area.  There's a train going through the canyon every hour.  On especially lucky drives we'd catch two trains, or drive along with one for several miles.  We'd see animals, and flowers, and interesting rock formations like Devil's Slide.  We'd eat our hotcakes and biscuits and chocolate chip cookies (yes-- for breakfast), and I'd listen to NPR, and drink my diet coke, and feel connected with the world, with my three beautiful small boys, in my over-used van, in the winding canyon. And usually one or two of them would be napping by the time we got back to our old house, and I would have a chance to shower, or clean, or catch up on the Gilmore Girls.

The view from the van. 

But as time passed, and the boys started school in earnest-- like they had to actually be there on time, and had school every single day and such--those long drives became less practical.  And when we did go on drives, they were not the same. The van had slowly turned into a source of fear rather than freedom.  "Will it make it up the hill?  How much gas do we really have? (The gas gage was broken) Will the bumper stay on if I go over that bump?"  Even trips down to Salt Lake City became nail biters.  At the end of one particularly long week, we packed into the van to head down to meet Grampy at the zoo.  It was a highly anticipated outing, for me as much as for the boys.  I had even used the outing as a bargaining tool for several days.  "If you get your shoes on right now, maybe we can get a churro at the zoo on Friday."

But, unsurprisingly, the van started having a hard time as we labored up the huge mountain from the base of our beloved Weber Canyon up into Davis County (where very few people have vans with bumpers that fall off).  The bumper was riding low, and as we finally crested the hill, with strange chemical smells coming from the hood of the van, and pouring in through the open windows (we never used the AC), the bumper actually started scraping the road in a very loud, frightening way.

I pulled off the highway onto the first road we came to-- a residential area where ironically enough, I'd once changed Peter's diaper right on the unsuspecting lawn of a very tidy home, on his first trip down to the zoo.  We found a church (they have them on every corner in Davis County), pulled into the empty parking lot, and I got out of the van to assess the situation.  The bumper was hanging half-way off, and there was no way I could attach it again.  The little wires were gone, and the holes for the wires were worn out entirely.  The question then became, "Do we really need this bumper?"

Peter and William in Hawaiian shirts at a church in Davis
County.  Not the church, but another one.

Nope. I started using my brute strength to try and rip the bumper off of the car. It was much tougher than it looked, and though I managed to pull it further off, I couldn't get it completely detached.  And then I really didn't know what to do. My phone had just died (used up by my sweet boys who had been destroying bad piggies, and evil zombies all day). New questions flooded my mind. "Should I try and jerry-rig something to keep it on?  Should I continue ripping at it, or maybe look for a hack-saw in the back of the car? Should I just continue driving and see if the road could rip it off?  How worried would Grampy be if we didn't show up?"

As I continued to pull at it,  I offered a silent prayer that we would be able to leave the parking lot safely. That was when the scouts came along on their bikes-- on their way home from the nearby junior high.  They were helpful, courteous and kind.  And thrifty and brave.  They were also strong, and with their help we were able to rip that bumper right off.  And they kept it.  One of them said his dad fixed old cars, and might like it.  I thanked them profusely, and offered them some slightly-melted chocolate chip cookies. They were an unusual site, balancing the worn bumper on their bikes as they made their way to their nearby tidy homes, having done their good turn for the day.

I was so grateful.  We started back on our trek south to the zoo.  I plugged my phone in, and when it had charged three percent I called Grampy who was so glad we were okay, but who also told us that the zoo would be closing before we could make it down there.

That's when I started to cry.  It was just so sad.  I felt stuck and so disappointed.

A trip to McDonald's (yes, again-- don't judge) for Happy Meals with Grampy (who came to us in his car that worked wonderfully) and an hour or so sliding in the Fun Zone and we were all feeling much better.

But it was time to quit the van.

It had fulfilled it's purpose in our lives.  It had stopped being helpful, and had started becoming harmful.  It was burdensome and difficult and dangerous. It was time to let go.  It was, in fact, time to quit.  And isn't that wonderful.

Maybe I'm not a true ninja.  But, I am learning the art of letting go.  Which is a good thing, right? Since I'm a parent and all.  For so long I have really struggled with the idea of time passing.  I have wanted to keep babies little (as mentioned in my previous post), and wanted to hang on to old traditions, clothes, habits, mementos, and friends. Learning which things and people to hold on to, and which ones I can lovingly let go has not been an easy lesson, and I am still learning, but it is good to be okay with change, since that is the one constant. And making room for new things and people feels healthy and happy.  Healthy, mindful quitting is like a good spring cleaning for the soul.  And you can quote me on that.

Boys growing.  It's what they do, and it's a lot better than the alternative!

There are certain things I won't quit.  My family, for one.  Myself. My faith. I certainly never want to quit learning, growing, hoping, believing, giving, reaching, smiling, and loving. I never want to quit trying to be stronger, kinder, wiser, gentler, healthier.  I never want to quit seeking out true joy and peace and light.  I never want to quit trying to become my true best self-- the best woman, mom, wife, daughter, sister, friend, neighbor, granddaughter, writer, teacher, citizen, I can be.   I don't want to quit simply because there are challenges, or big bumps in the road, or huge hills.  I don't want to quit when I face the blackish-purplish mists of life.

But if the van is broken down, and you're stranded with a dangling bumper, it's time to trade it in. If the dress doesn't fit anymore, and you never liked it much in the first place, it's time to give it away.  If the house isn't safe enough or big enough for your growing family anymore, it's time to look for a new home.  If the school is not helping your boys to learn and be happy anymore, it's time to look for new options.  And if the old friends are no longer making life sweeter, it's time to let them go, and find some new friends for this leg of the journey.

We bought our much newer van last April.  It is a Toyota Sienna, and has leather seats, and a sun roof, and a DVD player, and a fully attached bumper.  We'll be making payments on it for a long time, but so far the transmission has been just fine, and it doesn't leak oil.  I keep adding oil, but it doesn't need it, really, it's amazing. And I love it.  I love feeling that freedom again, and being able to take the tough hills head on.

These days, however,  it's usually just me and James on our drives after we drop off Peter and William and their new cousin Grace to their new, happier school.

Peter and some new friends at a field work day at the Nature Center.

 And we sometimes see trains, and animals, but we usually don't go quite as far, since we have things to do at our new home, and with our new friends.  I still listen to NPR, if we're not singing along to James' newest favorite song, but I don't pick up chocolate chip cookies or diet coke anymore.  See, I've quit other things too---for the most part.  But that is another story, for a new day...