by Sarah on September 8, 2010
It’s happening. That summer ending thing. That school starting thing. Those new beginnings.
Time presses on and I stumble to catch up. Every season.
I’m looking through pictures of my boys. Of summer. I’m nostalgic before a season has even completely passed. How can this be?
The pictures arm me with goodness and light. They shower me with feelings of happiness and erase that sinking feeling of guilt that I am failing them, that I don’t enjoy them enough, that I’m not appreciating how quickly it all passes.
I’m stuck in between the seasons. The sun still beating down and warming me up, readying myself for the chill of fall.
I like change. I welcome it. But I seem to be caught, like the seasons, trying to figure out which way to go. Do you ever feel caught? Stuck? Unsure of your position in the universe that is your small life?
I’m looking for my compass. It’s been lost for some time now. Do you think I can borrow yours to find my own?
I thought I always knew which way pointed North but now I’m not so sure. My life is like playing pin the tail on the moment and I’m usually just left spinning.
by Jen on August 27, 2010
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.)
by Jen on August 22, 2010
“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.
