When Melissa from Making Things Up asked me to write a guest post for her, I felt honored. And when she gave me the topic—beginnings, in honor of her new arrival, son Eli—I was thrilled! To write for one of my favorite blogs and not to have to come up with a topic? Perfect. So here’s to beginnings. If you’ve never read Melissa, today will surely be a good beginning for you. Take a peek here, and stick around a while. There’s plenty to see!

This morning, I looked up from scrubbing the bathroom sink to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Glasses slipping down my nose. Hair pulled back in a messy bun that highlighted my grey streak. I did a lot of housework today. It feels important to me that B go off to school tomorrow from a clean house. And so there I was, spray bottle in one hand and paper towel in the other, bent over the white pedestal sink wondering if the hardened peanut butter would ever come unglued from the faucet when, wait, there I was. In the mirror. Looking back at myself. And I looked … relaxed. My messy hair and slipping glasses belied the truth of a woman contented. Calm radiated from my own eyes looking back at me, light and focused. There was color in my cheeks and, most of all, my skin didn’t look as if it was pulled too tight around my eyes and mouth. I stopped and looked at this woman who is me, and I wondered if I looked different to my family today, too. I wondered when this happened. When this good thing had happened.

I’ve taken some time off from work to end the summer and prepare for the school year ahead. It’s another staycation, of sorts. Not so different from the last one, except longer. And I’ve barely thought of the office. I’ve also spent a lot of time with my family—taking impromptu outings to swim at The Lake and at a different lake, having picnic dinners in the backyard, spending time with friends. Apparently the time spent at home concentrating my attentions on my family and myself alone has made a difference in the way I see myself, literally. But the change is there emotionally, too. I have been wound too tight for a few months—at least—but something loosened during these past days spent at home. I am anxious about returning to work later this week. I want to continue to feel comfortable with the woman looking back at me from the mirror. I want to hold on to letting go.

**********

Tomorrow is the first day of school for my first-grader. It is his day, and I will let it be his. But it marks for me another day to pause and reflect and look into his eyes in wonder. When did he stretch out so lean and long? Just how few years do we have ahead of us before he is taller than I am? And when did he trade in mommy for mom? I am excited for him and nervous for him and proud of him. I am every mother sending her child off to another new year of school. But he is mine. I am his. We are different from everyone else simply because we are exactly who we are. It is my job to keep sending him off into the world. It is my job to remember the boy he has been at every age that now is a part of his 6-year-old, first-grader self. It is my job to let him go. To keep letting him go.

Blueberries.

Fresh picked.

Pie.

Baked fresh.

Please bring us two ginger ales
And one small glass of water
That looks like a ginger ale
Because this little one sitting here
Wants everything her older siblings have.

She can’t possibly wait three years.

But I’m not ready for soda
In the hands of my baby
And so I thank you, waitress,
For the glass with ice, straw
That satisfies my toddler’s need.

(And makes dinner out easier, too.)

We sleep together
A toddler between us
And I am happy
Her toes at my knees
Your toes
touching
mine
And I realize
I am good at this
now
This parenting at night
Better than I was when we were in so deep for so long
The years of nights stretching out from the long days
No guaranteed hours of quiet
The resisting being needed
The resentment of being needed
And now
together
this rare night of a child between us
I lay half asleep
rubbing her back
listening to you breathe and sigh
And I think again
I know how to do this
And I realize how much of my waking days now
I spend going through the motions
Wondering if I know what I am doing
at
all.

“In case we disappear for a few days. Ya know?”

Sarah wrote this in an e-mail to me, in response to my continued amazement at the liquid intake of my son. She and I each have a child who consumes copious amounts of liquid. Juice cups are filled and refilled throughout the day. Thermoses are constantly on hand. And while I sincerely hope there is no correlation between their intake of apple juice and water now to the amount of alcohol they ingest in their teen years, it really is remarkable to witness.

It’s also extremely irritating. No matter what, there is always a refill needed.

Meanwhile, my tank is so low that I walk around most days with a tightness in my chest and near shortness of breath.

My son is not diabetic.
I am not in the early stages of heart failure.

Our situation is not so easy to diagnose. I have plenty to drink, but my emotional reserves are never, ever adequate.

Being needed all the time defines the phrase “It’s a blessing and a curse.” Being a mother fulfills a part of me that nothing else could have. I know this with confidence. Having children also drains me in ways that no amount of physical exercise ever has.

Sometimes I wish I could just disappear for a few days.

When my daughter asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I told her, “Two days alone.” She looked at me like I had told the biggest untruth she’d ever heard. She was completely dumbfounded. “But, Mama. We have to spend your birfday togevver. As a famiwy.”

Yes. Together. We do. It’s important. I have been presented with the most thoughtful and truly heart-warming homemade drawings. I have even been given a real house made of cards–old business cards–and transparent tape. It is elaborate. My almost-5-year-old (“But Mama…”) worked hard on it. My baby (not a baby, I know) has said, “Happy Birthday, Mom” over and over, in near perfect diction. We had blueberry pie for breakfast. It’s been a good birthday. We are all here. There have been fewer than usual fights and less shrieking and unproductive noise. More than usual hugs and kisses. Not as many “No” utterances. More time for me to write. My reserves are a tiny bit replenished.

But my chest still is tight. I still want those two days. They can come at another time. It doesn’t have to be ON my birthday. But time is the only way I know to refill myself in the way that I need to. And I need to.

We are close to the edge
It feels dangerous, risky, too real
The pit in my stomach, permanent
For far too many weeks now
Shows no signs of leaving me
But I must not turn away

I hang on, wanting closed eyes
Except I must keep them open
Because it is my job: mother
To keep my family surviving, thriving
So I peek over the edge.
Step back. Breathe deeply. And believe.

The story told in this song speaks to me in ways so personal I’m not comfortable writing about it here. And while I’ve shared the gospel of Josh Ritter before, a part of me is compelled to again offer his lyrics and music and, this time, a gorgeous video. I hope there’s something here for you, too.

Today is Monday.

Last Monday I was at the “big” library, scouring the shelves for new audiobooks for my big boy. Choosing my “baby’s” first book to be taken out. Advising my 4-year-old on which Madeleine video to select. It was a warm and sunny summer day. Perfect for a trip downtown. A smoothie. A day of whim.

For 10 days I enjoyed such whim. I got out of bed—one day early, one day late, the rest at the usual time—and faced each day with no grand plans. It was a vacation in the true sense of the word. Except I didn’t go anywhere. I stayed at home and caught up on the laundry. I weeded a garden. Decluttered a few rooms in the house. I sorted through clothes outgrown, baked a little, read a lot. I thought thoughts from the beginning right through to the end. I wrote in my journal, watched my kids play in the sandbox, built Lego vehicles and dressed up a few dolls.

I went on outings with the kids to the farmer’s market, The Lake, to get ice cream and to see live music on the town green. We met up with the cousins (TWICE!) and played in the backyard. We saw friends, went to the sprinkler park, cashed in a gift card at Border’s and went for a walk after dinner. Sweetie took off a day from work, and we spent the whole day together as a family. Time at home, dinner out. Perfection.

I wish I had another 10 days to do almost exactly the same thing. It went by too fast.

I am a pro at stretching a dollar, scrimping on the grocery bill, making dinner out of what’s in the cabinets. We wear hand-me overs, hand-me downs and last year’s pants, calling them capris. But sometimes it’s nice to go on a shopping spree. So yesterday, the kids and I hit the dollar store for a few needs and wants.

We found something for everyone:

1 hairbrush
1 fabric headband
1 rubber ball
2 hair clips
4 barrettes
4 plastic fighter jets
5 bungee cords
6 sponges
90 miniature Army men

Total cost: $10.63

My hair is brushed and out of my face. My older daughter’s hair is pulled back out of her face. Dishes have been washed. Tarps secured. Battles set up and played out. Games of catch played. Success!