Daily Inspiration: mommyhood=insanity

I think we are most of us ready to explode, especially when our children are small and we are so weary with the demands for love and attention and the kind of service that makes you feel you should be wearing a uniform with 'mommy' embroidered over the left breast, over the heart. It's not unhappiness. It's the constancy of the load and the awesome importance of it; and it is the isolation.

~Elizabeth Berg, The Pull of the Moon

There could not be truer words after the morning we had. I'll tell you, surviving until 9 am some days feels like a miracle.

My little brother has a baby I haven't met

There are 630 miles between Salt Lake City and Portland. Henry, I can count that out for you on your abacus. Lucy, I can draw you a map. But whatever the demonstration, you should understand this distance because it plays a large part in our lives and in the connections between our little family unit and the rest of my people.

Your dad and I moved to Oregon thinking the distance from family would be good for us – a great chance for privacy and adventure, only a quick flight away. That was pretty much the truth, too. For a lot of the years the distance felt easy and helpful even. We really needed the space to grow into ourselves and into our marriage.

But I've carried a homesickness that has never really gone away. Sometimes it's a dull ache. Other times it is a throbbing pain, heavy and constant. I want my family. I want my people. I want my big blue sky and mountains. Quit it already with all of this green!

And sometimes I feel angry or sad (or both) about the mere existence of the distance and the separation and the homesickness.

That is what I'm feeling right now. Right now - when everything, every day feels full of Significance! Maybe not the earth changing kind of significance or news headline kind – but the personal kind. The family kind. Henry can sing the alphabet. Lucy grew another shoe size. I'm learning how to play bridge.

A thousand of these details go by and no one at home even knows. Meanwhile, all of these small changes are adding up to evolution - I'm a totally different person than I was 2 years ago. My family relationships have stayed the same. That feels pretty awful.

When we visit Utah, we do connect quickly and have a great time. You both seem comfortable with everyone right away. In that, we are lucky. But it still leaves us a "vacation" sort of family. As apposed to an "everyday, regular-life, you know my friends, stop in for breakfast, meet you at Costco" kind of family. Our travel-selves can't stop by for dinner without flying in and commandeering the whole family schedule for a week.

And there just is no replacement for everyday, family closeness. No amount of traveling back and forth will quite do it. And even the best of friendships can't fill the same empty hole. But I try - filling the hole I mean - with friendships, and work, and weekend adventures, and maybe just lots of busy-ness so the emptiness isn't so noticeable. It feels too lonely to stand still.

So months keep going by and suddenly, my little brother has a baby I haven't met. How can that be?!

I'll tell you how - 630 miles x a family of 4 x the universe.

Ugh. It's not an equation I like. That "easy distance" isn't so easy anymore. With 4 of us - it is just a much bigger deal to travel, by plane or otherwise. There are routines and obligations to think through. A massive amount of stuff required to get through the day. Work schedules. School schedules. Holiday schedules.

And the expense. It used to be around $180 to fly round trip. Right now, the plane tickets are more like $300. For the first time, someone considering the trip isn't coming because flights are just too expensive. And I don't blame them. Besides, it would be a lot of pressure to make a trip here as worthwhile as flying to a warm beach getaway.

That comforting feeling of knowing I could fly home anytime has been pulled out of my back pocket, dropped into a Northwest mud puddle, and stomped on. I'm left feeling marooned and even a little frightened. What have I done arranging my life this way? How can this be the way things are?

So I'm sad. I'm sad about 630 miles and $300 dollars and changing shoe sizes and cute songs and friday-night dinner which we won't be inviting cousins over for.

And I'm really sad I haven't hugged Dave since he became a dad or met his baby Esther.

Never a dull shopping trip

Lucy wisdom: It's always a good day to don a wedding dress and go shopping.

Toddler wisdom: Some of the world's best treasures are found in the cereal isle.

Henry wisdom: For quality shopping, choose the store by its carts.

Mommy widsom: This shot is perfect for any "dad of the year" contest.

Wardrobe malfunction?

For some reason, you felt the need to change your clothes no less than 10 times today. Here are a few of the many outfits donned...

All adorable and remarkably - only 2 or 3 things left on your bedroom floor. St. Patrick's Day miracle!

Lucy Quote: Sun

The sun is moving across the sky like a giant pizza cutter.

~ Lucy B

Guess who?

And why did you wake up wearing a princess dress and pearls, when we put you to bed in your jammies?

Hmmm. Mysterious.

Entropy

Did you know the universe is gradually moving toward chaos? Our house certainly is.

Clog, pony, & tiara - put away in three different rooms last night,

stacked in a wet sandbox by 8 a.m.

Baby snowman hug

This morning found me scavenging snow off of cars. We got less than an inch last night and everything on the ground melted promptly. What was left was very slim pickings but I had to get a bowl of the cleanest snow I could find.

How could I resist when Henry, looking out the window, asked for a baby snowman hug - which totally reminded me of Lucy hugging her first snowman.

So I got you some mostly clean snow. And we made tiny snowmen and poured juice over them and sprinkled pomegranate seeds on top and ate it with spoons.

And then we piled into the stroller with blankets and hats and gloves and coats and hot cocoa and lunches packed with as many vegetables as I could sneak in. And we strolled to school, Lucy singing a vibrato-filled song about snow bells, and Henry asking "what's that" about every 5 seconds.

It's the kind of morning I want to rewind and do all over again - the kind of morning I want to wrap up and put in my pocket so I can relive it tomorrow and next week and ten years from now when you are totally different human beings than you are right now.

I love you - my sweet, adventuresome, and ever-changing children. You may not remember this day, but please, never forget how much I love you.

Love,

Mama