I have not been able to write for
a long time. I would call it a
funk, but I have come to realize it really is more of a state of mourning. This blog has always been about the
adventures of my little ones. But,
my life really isn’t about adventures with little ones anymore and that makes me sad.
I honestly didn’t realize the
cause of my funk until just last week.
I was cleaning up before hosting some friends. I noticed an ornament on the ground under the tree. The ornament had fallen because the
hook that attached it to the ribbon, which hung around a branch on the tree,
had broken. As I tried to fix the
ornament (fix might be too generous a word for the method of pushing and hoping
I was engaged in during this little episode), it fell from my hand. Instead of hearing my sounds of
frustration filling the air, it was the sound of shattering glass. As I looked to the ground, I saw the
victim. My most precious ornament
on the tree…the handprint ornament Zach made in kindergarten. I crumbled to the floor and
sobbed. Big tears fell from my
eyes and snot ran from my nose as the deep moaning cry, which only comes from
true loss, escaped from my heart.
And when I was done, and the glass was cleaned up, I realized (shockingly!)
that my sorrow had nothing to do with the ornament. It had everything to do with my babies becoming people. Those moments of littles are gone and they AREN'T coming back.
My usefulness was always tangible with
little ones. I could measure the
amount of plastic cups and sippy lids that needed washing. I could see the mountain of Lightening
McQueen underpants needed to be folded.
I could count the minutes until Elmo would give me enough time to shower
or Daddy would be home so I could actually go to the bathroom. My day was predictable, often mind
numbingly so. But I was
useful. I filled that most
important, although at times unsatisfying, calling of motherhood. My name was Mommy and I was loved…and
useful. I was smart because I knew
everything that was important to know about life. I was even a little magical.
Now I find some times, many times,
that I am useless. Friends have
become more important, teachers are smarter, and my boys just don’t change
their underwear much anymore…so there really isn’t that much laundry. It turns out even my magic isn’t so
magical anymore because they can put their own band-aids on the cuts and solve
their own problems. I am old,
outdated, useless.
In the moments I leave the pity party, I realize the gift in all of this. The gift is that I have something to mourn. I know what I am missing when I see my
neighbor “race” her three-year-old home after the bus picks up his older sister
in the morning. I know how great a
preschool class sounds singing “Jesus Loves Me” at Christmastime. I know what it feels like to spend hours
cuddled on the couch watching another episode of Wild Kratts. I know what it means to loose track of
the days in a blur of diapers, snot crusted noses, and endless readings of
“Little Gorilla.” I realize the
gift of being called Mommy, just Mommy, and nothing else.
I have been told there is a
special strength needed to run a triathlon. I have been told how hard it is to scale Mount
Kilimanjaro. I know how much
bravery it takes to jump from an airplane (I really can only bring myself to do
one of these three crazy things…the others I will just have to live vicariously
through my friends). But,
motherhood requires more strength, is harder, and requires more bravery than I can imagine any of these crazy things require. I do
know the strength it takes to be a Mom, just a Mom, and nothing else. How hard it is to tell yourself it will
be worth it while you repeat loving words of correction for the 1 millionth
time before breakfast. The bravery it takes to
invest it all in these lives and watch them walk away strong enough to do it on
their own.
So now that I have been sad about
the fact that I am not more than just a Mom; now that I am useless (or really
that my usefulness is less tangible…I do realize that, really I do…NO need to
call the doc for some Zoloft…I am not THAT sad…believe me, I see the benefits
to the new found freedom I have in this less useful stage), I celebrate the
sweet moments of the little ones all the more. I have done my crying. I mourned the passing of time. Now what is next for this Mama…this nothing more than a
Mama, mama? It’s time to find out
what a real mama can do and start commenting on the adventures with some not so
little ones…
Because if the last six months in
tweendom have taught me anything…the ride is just beginning to get REALLY
interesting…
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