When was the last time
someone tucked you in?

When was the last time you were tucked in? I mean really tucked in. You snuggled in, letting your muscles release and the mattress cradle your tired bones. When was the last time you nestled down into the fetal position, closed your eyes, and let someone gently, yet firmly tuck warm blankets in around you?

If someone has done that for you recently – congratulations! (Can you give me that person’s number?) If not, you’re in good company.

For me, the thought of it makes my soul ache, just thinking about it. I can remember back to elementary school, on those Ezra Jack Keats-like snowy days. The air was crisp. The sun was clear. You could just tell we got at least 6 inches of snow, simply by how the light shone through my rolled down shades. Snow day! My mom would creep into my room, leave a 5” x 8” index card that read ‘No School! Go back to bed!’ on my nightstand. She’d turn off my alarm. And she would tuck me in.

Sometimes I was just awake enough to sense that she was there. For some reason, I have a keen memory of feeling refreshed. Clean. Clear. Energetic. Alive. Refreshed in a way that I haven’t felt in years. There was magic in those mornings. Magic that begot amazing creations. Snow castles in the front yard. Black diamond sledding hills in the backyard. Snowmen and snowwomen. Amazing adventures with my neighborhood sisters. Pink cheeks and icicles under our noses. It may sound trite, but it was pure magic. A magic energy that I wish I had bottled up. I could use a swig of that rest and clarity right about now.

Now, I’m just tired. Feeling shriveled and bloated at the same time.

Checking my phone before I get out of bed. Sapping my energy before my feet hit the floor. I’ve set myself up for failure, by not making my bed the morning before. In my humble opinion, getting into rumpled sheets just isn’t as satisfying as a made bed. I’m parched, dehydrated. Unlike 10-year old me, who would build snowy architectural wonders despite my damp gloves or who would plod up a sledding hill in spite of the freezing clump of snow that was slowly melting down my calf into my boot. Snowy days could be a harsh environment, but a pile of packed snow held so much promise.

Like a seed. They are truly amazing. In one seed, no matter how tiny, it has all it needs to grow. We’ve heard the mustard seed parable. One small seed produces one of the earth’s largest plants. Good things come in small packages. Like Kristen Bell or my cousin Kiera. A seed has everything it needs to get started – an embryo (a tiny root and leaves), the endosperm (food), and a seed coat (protection and mode of transportation). All in one cute package. All you have to do is tuck those little babies in, make them nice and cozy, give them time, keep them hydrated, and voila! A plant. A place for bees to make honey. Flowers for us to stop and smell. Fruit for us to eat.

You know what doesn’t work like that? Mangroves. Mangroves are one bad ass plant. I fell in love with them after listening to ‘Mangroves: Nature’s Best Tree? on the Stuff You Should Know podcast. One of the hosts, Chuck Bryant, had just gotten back from vacation and saw some mangroves. It spurred a 44-minute conversation between him and his co-host, Josh Clark, all about mangroves. Yes. 44 minutes and I listened to them all.

Let’s grab a think.

Depending on how you look at it, there can be up to 80 species in the mangrove family. They live in typically inhospitable environments. Like the flamingos we talked about here, they’ve figured out how to thrive in a saltwater environment.

Some mangroves block the salt from getting in with a barrier that basically reverses or stops osmosis. They also perform a process called secretros – to basically push out all the salt through the leaves. Like Matty Maggiacomo says at the end of his classes – the ‘Breathe in the good shit and exhale the bullshit.’ So they take in the water and push out all of the salt into the leaves. When those leaves get full of salt, they get heavy (think succulents). They turn a brilliant red and fall off the plant – taking all the ‘bullshit’ with it.

Their root system is also very cool. (Stay with me) Instead of a taproot like the dang dandelion popping up in your lawn – the mangrove have cable roots called pneumataphores (not a word a 5 year old can ‘sound out’!) This cable network of roots provides stability, but also access to oxygen at the surface of the water. These things act as snorkels allowing the plant to breathe.

Then you’ve got knee roots – a horizontal root that shoots out and then grows back down into the ground. The root looks like a ‘bent knee.’ This root can radiate out up to 33 feet from the trunk, creating a safe space for small fish to use as a nursery. Think Mother Ginger with her huge hoop skirt in the Nutcracker.

Pacific Northwest Ballet soloist Joshua Grant as Mother Ginger, with PNB School students, in a scene from George Balanchine’s “The Nutcracker.” (Elise Bakketun)

But the coolest fact about mangroves by far is that they give live birth. Yes, you read that right. They give live birth. Once seeds are germinated, tiny little mangroves grow right on their parent. Like an extra arm. But an arm that is fully functional and self-sustaining. When they are ready, the little baby mangroves, or propagules, fall off the parent, ride the waves and ultimately get waterlogged, sink to the bottom, tuck themselves in, and start rooting. Some species can float away from their parents for up to a year before they root. Could you imagine a six month old human out on its own for even 10 minutes? Where’s the five point harness?

At the end of the day, this floating technique has enabled the mangrove to cover 12% of the earth’s coastline, creating a rich ecosystem of some really cool residents, Mud Lobster, Fiddler Crab, Mudskipper, Royal Bengal Tiger (the mangroves are like their grocery store), Flashing Fireflies, Brown Pelicans. It stores 75 billion pounds of carbon globally. It stops erosion. It prevents harmful algae blooms. It does all the things.

Clearly, like Chuck, I have a thing for mangroves.

I was recently in Grand Cayman for a wedding. It was a welcome trip, as I really needed the break. I needed to get tucked in. For months, I had been free floating between holiday insanity, navigating work, managing sick kids for months and consequently not seeing friends and family. I needed to get grounded. And when your best friend calls to invite you to a small wedding in the Caymans – wheels up.

It was a beautiful ceremony. Just me, my husband, and the newlyweds. Quality time with great friends. But with 8,655 acres of mangrove wetlands nearby, I just had to check it out. So I set up an early tour with George of George’s Watersports the day after the wedding. Miraculously, the bride was amenable to the early adventure and came along. (You know you have a good friend when…) The upbeat and lovable tour guide took us around ‘The Queen’s Mangroves’ (now, since the coronation, they are ‘The King’s Mangroves.’ They were beautiful. Totally worth getting up for.

In the Caymans, these forests are strictly protected. Our tourguide’s ‘no worries’ grin turned serious. Then George told us that under the National Conservation Law, if you damage these in any way, you could get a fine of up to $500,000 and/or up to four years in prison. Message received. Keep your hands and feet inside the boat.

Even at a safe distance away, you could see the knee roots. You could see the dying leaves full of salt, a blazing red. The birds. The bugs. The fish. Then the wind picked up a bit.

We were uncomfortably close to the Queens Mangroves. I looked over at my husband and the newlyweds sitting next to us. Even through my sunglasses, everyone knew I was a bit concerned at our drifting. The groom started laughing. My husband moved like he was going to throw me overboard. I was thinking about that $500k. It was that comfortably awkward. One of those funny vacation stories that you’re dying to tell everyone, but only a close friend could appreciate.

Despite my concern about four years in a Caymanian prison, it was a great trip. The air was crisp. The sun was clear. I let George’s boat cradle my tired bones. It was pure magic.

We were miles from home, but I was tucked in.

We came to celebrate the happy couple, but I felt like I took vows as well. To be me. To explore. To try new things. To turn off the alarms once in a while.

It is truly amazing – what can happen when you make the time to spend with your people. Whether it is with actual sheets or metaphorical ones, good friends will tuck you in. And you can be you again.

A good tuck in, needs fresh sheets.

Here’s how to save 8.2 days by doing laundry correctly.

Read on

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When was the last time someone tucked you in?