This morning when I woke up at my typical 5:00am, I almost forgot it was still a school day. We’d spent the weekend doing summer stuff. Baseball, movies, kickball and BBQ. My kids were all home. My pantry bare but my heart full. Even if I managed to clock in 12,000 steps without even so much as walking my much-loved, neighborhood lap. Spring baseball has wrapped up; both boys out of playoffs in the first round of cuts. It seemed like a short season. But I enjoyed it. Walking in circles around the ball field. Taking turns with Kevin so that we could keep the baby happy and still watch the games. We spent our lives watching our children. Every day, every moment, I think about them and what they’re doing. We’ve been to the art shows now. Each is having their field day, end of year projects and fun-filled field trip. School is almost over. Days will need to be filled or not, whatever we decide. There will be more summer baseball for at least one of the kids. I’m excited for that and worried for the other. Waiting for the elation or the broken heart. I’ve mapped out things we can visit, if there is time and I am gonna master packing a lunch. This is my life.
Many moons ago I never thought I would have children. I didn’t even think I would marry. I didn’t really even like the idea of a boyfriend, let alone a husband. But when the line showed up on that test, after I got over the initial fear and anxiety, I dreamed of this future. Of PTO and of soccer games. I thought of holding and loving this tiny creature and knowing and breathing and being this life. When Devlynn was born, I took in deep breaths of her scent, the sour sweetness of a newborn and thought, with joy, this is my life.
As we’ve added children, I have changed as a mother. I am not sure they’re all good changes and in the most recent years my ugly and losing battles with anxiety and sadness have probably not made me the best mother. And I struggle profoundly with not being good enough, smart enough, rich enough. Enough enough. But everyday, I give what I can and I try to bite my tongue and only speak words that are helpful and kind. I want to stop yelling. I want to be good, for them. Because they are my life. Some days are harder. When Dexter comes sobbing down the stairs before the days even begun. When the baby thinks he’s a newborn again and wants to nurse ALL.DAY.LONG. When one has struck out an entire game and another, didn’t know a rule and “lost it all”. When one sat the bench or got their heart broke, it’s hard. It’s hard to live this life. When they have questions about why they can’t go on vacations three times a summer or why it will take me almost 3 years to save for Disney. It’s hard. And I feel down and I think, “this is my life”. My life of not being able to fix it, my life of not being able to give. Of not having enough.
But then there are days of goodness and joy. Turning new corners, learning new things. Achievements. Making the teams, getting a piece in the show, pitching a no-hitter. There are giggles on the playground and there are long walks and there is sand filled summers, even if we don’t sleep over night. There are new words out of previously silent mouths and babies who think that tables with tablecloths mean birthday parties. There are so many things that I worth working towards. There are so many minutes, hours, days and weeks of good. There is a yard full of broken water balloons and family drawings on the black top. And I think, wow, this is my life.
This is it, my life. 5 little wonderfuls. Full of ups and downs. They are my life.
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