Typically when summer ends and the school year begins I am excited. I am so looking forward to the time alone; time spent accomplishing tasks I have put off the last three months because they are just too difficult to tackle with the kids under foot.  And because the summer offers me such little independence, and those dog days seem to last forever, about a month in I will often resort to hiding in the bathroom to finish a good book, or pulling weeds and mowing the lawn for some "peace and quiet." I begin to wonder how I will possibly make it through the summer? How can I make it through the day?

But something happened this year during that last week before school.  I began to realize how much I would miss them.  As difficult as those summer days could be, on the night before school I found myself teary-eyed and sad to see them go.  And after they boarded the bus that next morning I found the house terribly quiet, and I was felt very alone.  It was such wonderful wake up call to the fact that one day my girls would be moving on and the days of them running through the house making a racket would soon come to an end.  And I would not be seeing them for days or weeks at a time and that would be good because they will have gone forth on their own as every child should, but it would also be terribly difficult to see them go.  And it reminded me of these words I had once read by Dr. James Dobson that meant so much before, but have suddenly left a profound impact on my life.  

Dr James Dobson, "Night Light for Parents"

(please excuse the funny way this transfered over to my blog:)

1st World Problems.

I have found that one of the most difficult things about being a mother is the lack of time alone.  And the second most difficult thing about it is getting your husband to understand that.  I know I don't do a lot of "work," and that most husbands spend hours a day fighting the good fight to bring home a paycheck to feed their families.  I know that it is a privilege to even have a partner to share parenting duties with, and a blessing to be able to stay home with my kids.  I love my kids.  I would give my life for my kids.  But I still need time alone.  Time that does not involve meeting any other person's needs.

Recently (5 minutes ago) Nate and I became frustrated with each other over this "need for time alone."  The conversation went something like this.

Me: "Sometime in the next few days can I just have some time alone? Time to go do whatever?"
Nate: "Yeah...sure.  How about tomorrow (Saturday) morning before swim lessons."
Me: "Swim lessons start at 11:30.  I'd rather take some time when there isnt a deadline on when I have to be home."
Nate: "I always have to come home too.  I dont think it is possible to not have a time to be home."
Me: "What I mean is, that feels rushed.  I'd rather do it some other time."
Nate: "You are getting ready to have 5 days a week of free time with school starting soon."
Me: "I know, but it has been a long summer without any free time.  I just want to be alone to do my own thing. Why are you getting frustrated?"
Nate: "Because I just had a hard week of work and I am frustrated that you..."


At that point I said something about it not being a good time to talk about this, and he agreed.  But Im thinking we are not alone in these conversations.  I am thinking there are a lot of husbands and wives having this conversations.  I dont have a concrete reason for my request, I just know that it is something I need. It has nothing to do with shirking my responsibilities or thinking my work is somehow more difficult or tiresome than his.  It has to do with taking care of myself so that I can continue to meet all of the other needs that are before me each day. And now I have had some time alone writing this post. And now I feel refreshed enough to go tackle the BBQ chicken dinner my family is waiting on.  And now I will be a much more pleasant wife and mother to be around. Because I had some time alone.

Something to Smile About

There has been so much sadness in the world lately I wanted to post something that might, for just a moment, offer a bit of relief from the madness.  I have always been a fan of Jerry Seinfeld's work, and Nate recently came across this new venture of his "Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee." We found it thoroughly enjoyable and are looking forward to his next installment.  Let me know what you think! (ps if you cant view it here go to this link.)

a list

 

My lovely sister in law Andrea recently posted a list at her blog titled "things I miss." I love her list and hope you will read all of it's goodness over at hulaseventy.  Here are a few things I miss:


~ having family all together, often
~ the fresh air of my hometown
~ learning new things regularly
~ dance classes
~ the Walla Walla Balloon Stampede

Life Goes On

Me at 23, in Alaska

I am still on the path to 40.  Yep.  No looking back now, it is really happening.  And real soon.  Before I know it I will be, officially, 40.  And there's an awful lot I have experienced over the past 40 years.  I vaguely remember choking on a lifesaver about the age of 5.  I mean really choking--to the point of almost passing out.  And being turned upside down by someone and whacked on the back until that tiny (ironically called) "lifesaver" flew out of my mouth and onto the floor.  And I remember 1st grade at Edison Elementary, with Mrs. Drumheller as my teacher.  Mrs. Drumheller who sent a note home to my parents saying I was bossy and talked too much.  I also ripped the shirt off of a little boy that year while playing chase on the playground, and I split my chin open in P.E.  I guess '79 wasn't a great year for me.

I also remember that in 2nd grade Mrs. Kerr would occasionally show up to class with a wig on and say she was Mrs. something-or-other. And I just knew it was Mrs. Kerr, but she would never admit it.  And the following year I had the frightening Mr. Marshall with white junk forever stuck to the sides of his mouth. I heard he was later fired for some sort of losing his temper on a kid. Fourth and fifth grade were spent at Blue Ridge, a brand new, state of the art school that was half underground.  Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean" and The Go-Go's "Beauty and the Beat" were the soundtracks to that season of life.  And while the cool kids were breakdancing at recess I was awkward and backwards, big teeth and glasses. Not a great look for me. Not cool at all.

By sixth grade I had upgraded to glasses that tinted to sunglasses when outside.  This is clearly evident in the beginning of the year picture my teacher took of each of us on the jungle gym. Only 2 pairs of glasses were tinted in the photos--the teacher's and mine. Im pretty sure this was not the message I wanted to send to my new class at Prospect Point. The glasses were gone by Christmas.

I recall a lot of neon on clothes and shoes and socks that year, and paint splatters were in.  And I had my first boyfriends. There was a lot of bike riding and kick the can til dark.  And Wham! and Bananarama. And Little League.  Both playing and watching the boys play. And then more bike riding.

Big sweaters and jean jackets seem to define Garrison Jr. High for me.  Hair was getting big then, too--literally and figuratively. I hated dressing down for PE. And somehow I found myself locked into the position of french braiding the "bully girl's" hair before class every day.  Not sure how I got myself into that pickle, but I think it actually got me out of a few jams that year.  She was one tough cookie! The school dance once a month was the best time ever, and then after we would walk over to Abby's Pizza and hang out til our parents picked us up. I remember that sense of freedom, and also the naivete, of being young and out at night and with your favorite people in the world--or as jr. high goes--your favorite people in the world for that moment.

High school came and went in the blink of an eye.  I spent way too much time concentrating on friends and boys than on my school work.  I remember barely passing my driver's test by 2 points, and graduating with a C in Pottery and an A in Advanced English.  I still can't believe I was worse at Pottery than English! I made an ocean of bad decisions in high school, and very few good ones. Thinking back on those years I am filled with regret.  It should have been an amazing time in my life, and I wish I had spent more time treasuring it and the people around me.

Five years of college, work and marriage defined my 20's.  My 30's have been all about raising a family. And now, my 40's...

Recently Nate and I were talking about the John Mellencamp song "Jack and Diane" and how we totally get now what he sings about in the chorus: "Oh yeah, life goes on...long after the thrill of living is gone." And sometimes that is how it feels.  Like the good ole days have long since passed and the thrill of living is gone.  The drudgery of adulthood sets in and I wonder, ""What happened to those glory days of my youth?"  They disappeared so quickly and I never fully appreciated them while experiencing them.

I have nothing at all to complain about. My life truly has become all I ever wanted it to be.  I am astonished by what God has done.  But I do sometimes wonder what happens next.  I used to dread growing older, but Im kind of getting excited about it now. I think it could be a bit of a new adventure. And that means something to look forward to. So Im looking forward. Just a little.

sad flower

photo by curious_spider on flickr

Ive been in a sort of melancholy haze the last couple of weeks. Ive been the deflated balloon after the party. A Bill Murray character from a Wes Anderson film.  The forlorn Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall, but without the hunky jawline.  A sagging flower after the rain.  A lonely sock lost behind the dryer without it's mate.  A hot dog without a bun.  Like tennis shoes abandoned on an electrical wire.  Or a dried up marker trying to scratch out some words. A neck hole on a shirt that's lost it's shape.  A towel left out in the rain.  The way you feel after hearing Bonnie Raitt sing "i cant make you love me".  And you were totally happy right before she sang it. Im like a roll without butter, sad and boring. Curled up on the floor like Edward without Bella. Like cornflakes without the milk...Im in a funk.

The Buffer Post

After my last post it is a bit difficult to decide what to write about next.  Nate suggested a "buffer post" to kinda segue to a lighter topic.  I liked the sound of it.  But I must admit I am not at all accustomed to using buffers.  In fact, Nate and I had a very buffer-less discussion tonight about my lack of buffering skills.  It seems at times I am not capable of being, as the dictionary defines it, "1. Something that lessens or absorbs the shock of an impact." Rather, I quite naturally deliver the full blow--with added gusto.  So, you can imagine my difficulty in finding an appropriate topic for my buffer post, being the not-so-buffered woman that I am.

Tonight's discussion with Nate centered around that fact that I was not able to contain my emotions/thoughts/feelings/hand gestures/bug-eyed-ness/forehead gripping/subtle coughs/huffs/head shakes/eye rolls (body language in general) at a time when he needed me to be the "peace" or "smoother-over" in the situation.  And he was perfectly right.  I seem to have absolutely no control over hiding my feelings.  I can hold my tongue and fight back words, but my body will find a way to manifest what I am thinking and feeling by whatever means are necessary.  I am entirely too transparent.

My problem lies in that when I mask or hide my emotions I literally feel like I am lying.  I feel as though I am pretending to be someone I am not.  It's as though I am being fake.  My mind cannot make sense of the false behavior I am exhibiting and I either escape the situation or slowly begin to dribble out my true feelings.  When witnessed by my closest friends there is no dribble. Instead they get what is often compared to a volcanic eruption of deep thoughts; a sort of messy spewing forth of feelings and emotions. Not in anger, but more as an unraveling of "truth ribbon" from it's neat and tidy spool into a pile on the floor.

I am not necessarily proud of this character trait.  I would much prefer to be the mysterious friend who cannot be read.  And I know others would probably prefer that as well.  But I do find one positive to being this way, and that is that I am real.  And also very animated.