All summer I felt this shift taking place. At times it was subtle and quiet. Other times it felt heavy, intense, uncharted. I tried to sit down and write it out a few times, except that I couldn't pinpoint what "It" was.
Before summer break even started I sensed that what would be best for our family would be to keep our summer free of schedules except for travel and swim lessons. I wanted freedom in our days to linger, to relax. Ultimately, without being able to put words to it at the time, I wanted us to fall into boredom.
I can see now that the little one's are back at school with endless cool projects, routine, and structure, that we were indeed bored. Blissfully bored. We swam, lazed in the sun and shade, took our dear sweet time picking veggies from our yard and bringing them inside to make a meal. We played with neighbor-friends outside, set up the kiddie pool and Spider Man sprinkler. Holes were dug, mud was made. Our house stayed a consistent mess, mingling with the smell of something sweet baking. Kiddos who hung on our porch knew that ice cold cherry pits were meant for spitting as far as you can and the stems went to the mud-pit where they became mysterious things to stir around with a stick or shovel. Lego inventions reached an all-time high. We lived these days with not much of a plan other than just to be together.
Here and there, mostly in the deep night, I felt this shift taking place and it pained me in some ways. I could feel my children's growth and the surge of their independence. Truthfully, my mama-heart was still holding dangling chubby legs and wielding spit cloths. My insides ached and I'd silently plea for time to slow down. And time did in fact slow down. I can see it now.
It slowed enough for us to get very quiet in our summer days together. Boredom--or lack of anything scheduled--allowed us space to stop and be together. To do slow summery things. For me, "It" was the space I needed to hear our direction change. Now I know.
And so.
The little one's are at school. I have about fifteen hours to myself a week. And just as I'm starting to learn a new rhythm to my time and our days, I'm also learning that we've moved into a new place in life. Oh, my insides still ache, and I don't know at what point I'll make peace with a womb that will never feel another hiccup or kick, or when my head and heart will beat steadily together again. But here we are on this side, keeping up with each other, having these fascinating conversations, getting around easier, loving harder.
Last night I sat at the kitchen island with Theo and helped him with his homework. (Homework!) We were eating lemon ice box pie and a big bite dropped right on the paper. We looked at each other and started laughing hysterically. We laughed together while I cleaned the paper and I thought: this is it. This is life -- beautiful, messy, getting bigger, easier, harder--life. How far we've come. What a blessing!
