Healing

Without even realizing it, I've fallen by the wayside. I thought I was doing fine, on the way to great new things, happier children, sunshine and roses.

Instead I've looked up and found a gray sky, instead of blue, frightened children, instead of connected, chaos, instead of order, anxiety, instead of peace.

I'm not sure how I got here. Well, maybe I am. I'm in transition-  but aren't we always? I thought myself stronger than this; the blow to my ego upon realizing my vulnerability has been acute.

I am anxious. I am controlling. I am sad. I am lonely. I am in that dark tunnel. I am scary mommy.

I will talk. I will reach out. I will exercise, for my sanity, and for my children. I will read to them. I will give her to Justin, and connect with him. I will ask his forgiveness for my impatience and neglect through my time, and hugs. I will listen. I will be present.

I will let the house go, before I begin. I will take baby steps and accept that time heals all things.

I accept myself. I value myself. I am myself, I cannot compare my worth and life to another's. My job earns no paycheck, merits to promotions or accolades. I have no prestigious title, no hard earned degrees. That is more difficult than I expected, to not see proof of my value and hard work in concrete ways every day. To always question if I'm doing enough, being enough to them, giving enough to myself, let alone my marriage. I sometimes feel like a fragmented, anxious squirrel, darting from project to task to errand, never completing something because my brain is racing around ahead of me, compiling lists. I have convinced myself that I'm a juggler, when I can barely catch a ball. I never stop to ask myself if the juggling is even necessary (it's not).

But I have value. I am important, essential, to two amazing little people. What is more prestigious than that.

I will let go of my guilt. I will judge no one, myself included. As Laura's mother said, I will ask myself daily in moments of self doubt and anxiety, - what is the most loving decision I can make?

What is the most loving decision I can make? It seems so simple when I remember to love.

Their Ways

The way she bounces back and forth, full body rejoicing in her new sitting up skills. The throwing herself around in her high chair, laughing out of the pure joy of movement.

The way he informs his overprotective, temporarily absent father, "I got this boo boo, I got this boo boo. I got four boo boos." The panic in his father's voice because he's not here to protect him from my lackadaisical parenting skills. (He only has two boo boos).

The giggles that spill out of her when he comes near her, her anticipation of the fun he brings.

The way he hugs me tight when I pick him up.

The way she yells at me to get my attention, not crying like other babies-  yelling.

His sweaty head, the ring of food bits around his mouth that gets pushed just beyond the reach of his tongue and dries there, a toddler five o'clock shadow.

Her sweet, sweet breath. The gummy smiles I do not yet have to cede to tiny teeth.

At night, straddling the crack between the two full size mattresses that make up our big bed on the floor, I alternate between them. I roll to my left, drape my arm across the impossibly big, strong, slim body of my two and a half year old in 4T. I scratch his back, play with his hair, hug him tight, half trying not to wake him, and half hoping he'll rouse just enough to hug me back.

I feel her absence, always missing one when I'm with the other. I roll to my right, draw my knees to my chest, my head on my right arm, lift my shirt and pull her small body in close. Her own knees draw up in her footie jammies, our bodies curl into each other perfectly, an ancient puzzle cut by a master crafter.

In the morning I will beg to use the bathroom, "By myself!" Tonight I long to absorb their newness, to let their sweet heaviness sink into my bones. This is my constant paradox.

These are the bits and pieces that make up my days, a year round Thanksgiving.

Better

Every day I wake up and say, "I will let it go. All of it. Nothing he does will matter, but my reaction will matter. Nothing deserves a reaction." And every night I lay here and apologize to my babies for being crazy-yelling-mom. I pray the next day will be better.Some days are, but most of the time it feels like one step forward, two steps back. My toddler doesn't handle change well.  I don't handle my toddler well.

Tomorrow will be better.

New Year, Clean Slate

Facebook status update today: 

2014 has begun with a bang with Justin receiving orders for March to his A school in Yorktown, Virginia. We never expected to live in Port St. Lucie for as long as we have; most A school waiting lists are not nearly three years long. The news is bittersweet - while Florida and I have an on again, off again relationship (currently on, thank you, winter) the past (almost) three years have been an intense period of growth and change for me and I will always have a special place in my heart for the Treasure Coast. My babies were born in this house...the friends I've made through La Leche League and the wonderful community of loving, supportive women I've found here have helped me survive the first years of motherhood, have loved me and my children, and have been my family when I am so far from my own. I am so thankful for God placing us here for this time in my life. I knew He was in control from the moment I sat on my parent's couch, twenty weeks pregnant, Googled "home birth certified nurse midwives in Florida," prayed for a miracle, and found the amazing Angela Love. While I'm crying as I write this, I'm also so excited to see where we'll be stationed next. The babies and I will be staying with family in VA while Justin is in school and then...who knows! Adventure awaits! 

More blogging, less FB - that's part of the adventure. More nature, less "stuff." More breathing, less yelling. More hugs and tickles, less hand holding and counting to ten. 

I am thankful for the rollercoaster the next six months will be, for the break from a routine or familiar surroundings, for the family we'll be with, for the yards we'll have to explore. I'm grateful that Mateo will have these experiences...

My biggest fear is seeing the light go out in his eyes. For him not to want to hug or kiss me one night. For his unbridled joy to become bridled. I am being driven crazy by the Twos, and yet I never want them to end. I hold him, I kiss him and I am full of fear and love. Sand through my fingers...

The Sense of Wonder

"A child’s world is fresh and new and beautiful, full of wonder and excitement. It is our misfortune that for most of us that clear-eyed vision, that true instinct for what is beautiful and awe-inspiring, is dimmed and even lost before we reach adulthood. If I had influence with the good fairy who is supposed to preside over the christening of all children I should ask that her gift to each child in the world be a sense of wonder so indestructible that it would last throughout life, as an unfailing antidote against the boredom and disenchantments of later years, the sterile preoccupation with things that are artificial, the alienation from the sources of our strength.

If a child is to keep alive his inborn sense of wonder without any such gift fairies, he needs the companionship of at least one adult who can share it, rediscovering with him the joy, excitement and mystery of the world we live in."

 And:

"I sincerely believe that for the child, and for the parent seeking to guide him, it is not half so important to know as to feel. If facts are the seeds that later produce knowledge and wisdom, then the emotions and the impressions of the senses are the fertile soil in which the seeds must grow. The years of early childhood are the time to prepare the soil. Once the emotions have been aroused — a sense of the beautiful, the excitement of the new and the unknown, a feeling of sympathy, pity, admiration or love — then we wish for knowledge about the subject of our emotional response. Once found, it has lasting meaning. It is more important to pave the way for the child to want to know than to put him on a diet of facts he is not ready to assimilate."

- Rachel Carson, "The Sense of Wonder"

Oh please, please, please let me be that companion for my children.

2014 shall be a year of wonder, a year of change, and new discoveries. Starting now.

Also, read this book.

I Resolve

I usually make too many vague resolutions and half keep all of them. You know - read more, work out more, be less lazy, make friends, save more money, etc.

2014's resolutions may not be very specific, but they are The Most Important (to me) and there is a semi-plan for accomplishing them.

I resolve: (a) To read more, to write more, to keep a daily journal with Justin. (b) To watch less, to scroll less, thereby resulting in more time for (a).

The End.

Annie

Little Lydia, my Annie, you are my dream come true, the dream I wake to every morning.

Since I was a little girl, I dreamed of you. Before I liked boys, before I knew where babies came from, before I could weigh "career or stay at home mom," I dreamed of a little girl who would share my name, the name of the amazing women who came before us. You were a vague, beautiful spirit, somewhere deep inside me and far off in the future. You came true.

Your grandfather dreamed of you, also (he secretly hoped your brother would be you, but don't tell Mateo that). I think with my birth he discovered the magic beings baby girls could be, the way they can capture your heart and unearth new wells of love within you. He has waited for you for a long time; three grandsons came before you, for you he has waited longer than I.

You are my dream, the keeper of a beautiful future, my calm and peace, my reminder to love myself just as I am, so that you will always find within yourself perfection and grace, just as you are. May you have the curiosity and resiliency of Lydia Maria Chomat, the generosity, energy, beauty, and independent mind of Lydia Maria Ferran, the sensitivity, heart, and gifts God bestowed on me, your mother, and your own unique spirit yet to be revealed. You are loved, just as you are, my own Lydia.