The In-Between

This past weekend my husband and I took our brood to a local reservoir that had paved walking trails. When you have to push two double strollers it's sort of a must have. Our four youngest (3 years, 2 years and the twins, 9 months) were along for the ride while our 4 year old got to be the big boy and walk.

I was watching him run with his big feet and skinny legs, his baseball cap was all crooked and I could see his sweaty hair poking out the back of it. He was being goofy and running with his arms up screaming "weeeeeee!" like you would on a roller coaster. He stopped to watch (and try to grab) a lizard that scurried across the path. He greeted all the passersby and was so uninhibited in every action. It was this total carefree play that reminded me that he is still so young.  He looked so small running out there in front of us. For a moment everything around us suddenly dwarfed him: such a little person in such a big world! 

We also visited what will be his elementary school for a brief meeting with the kindergarten staff to gauge his skill level and get a feel for anything we might need to practice this summer. Seeing him walk through the library and little classrooms made my heart simultaneously light and heavy. He is in this delicate in-between that I can sense is so fleeting. The last vestiges of toddler are ebbing away and he is growing into true boyhood. He will be taking bigger steps out of the world of women he's been raised in. Myself, Moms Groups, Preschool: it's all safe, planned and fairly protected.

What sort of twisted game is this whole parenting thing? We raise our children to walk away, to go out into the world and live their own lives. But man is it hard to let go sometimes. How can our children seem so big and so little at the same time? I look into his eyes and see those same baby blues that melted my heart from day one. It's scary to be constantly falling deeper and deeper in love with my children. It's like this ultimate and unending vulnerability and that's pretty damn unnerving sometimes.

I don't want to paint the wrong picture here, I am really excited for everything that's ahead of us. He is our oldest and has the distinct honor of having the first firsts for us, his parents. I so much look forward to watching him grow, learn and become the person he is going to be. There are so many wonderful times ahead. But he is only going to be asking me to play cars with him for a few more short years. He won't always ask for more kisses before bounding away. He will soon be taller than me and lock the bathroom door. He will want to spend more time with friends than me. And that's how it's supposed to be, if I'm doing my job right.

And so while his leg rolls and knuckle dimples are long gone, I see this kind, intelligent, silly, loving boy who is going to continue to show me the world through his eyes. He will keep me young at heart and always make me smile. I will enjoy this one-way ticket soak up all that I can. All the cuddles and battles and phases are part of this ride and as we pass through this flitting in-between, I will get in as many snuggles and extra kisses as I can.

Some Big Emotions

Control is such an illusion; I cling to it nevertheless. But as a friend's 4 year old daughter is fighting kidney cancer, another mom friend of mine is fighting breast cancer, and then the bombings at the Boston Marathon, I'm overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness; a feeling that pervaded my childhood. I am trying to be a mother to 5 little children AND cope with some hefty baggage. This combination does not a nice mommy make.

I guess I should pat myself on the back for (finally) realizing this. I am usually oblivious to the connections between my adult struggles and the wounds from my past. My hallmark reactions when negative emotions start to surface or I don't take time to deal with my baggage are irritability and control-freakishness. Everything annoys me and my temper is short. I micromanage everything and everyone around me in a futile attempt to restore balance. It's not a pretty sight and I'm not a very nice person in the midst of this. It's incredibly difficult to snap out of it.

Today I failed miserably at stuffing those feelings back behind the wall they're usually behind. I kept trying to ignore the rising wave of sadness that needed to break and instead ended up yelling at my boys and not being able to enjoy any of my babies. That makes me angry and frustrated with myself. So here I am at the end of the day with all these spectacularly powerful emotions swirling around and I have to figure out what to deal with first.

Helplessness: I watched my mother struggle through cancer and the poisonous chemotherapy rounds that made her sick. I watched one of my brothers conquer a serious drug and alcohol addiction. I fought my own battle with depression. All of this 'bad' in addition to other circumstances has solidified my fight or flight response as always be prepared for the worst. I constantly grapple with the false sense of control I get when I feel prepared. Prepared for a child's meltdown, prepared for a flat tire, prepared for an earthquake - anything. My husband can attest to the fact that I almost always have an extra of (fill-in-the-blank) for 'just in case.'

It's times like these, when so much inexplicable struggle and loss pile up that a part of each of us feels the sting of a memory where a piece of our childhood innocence evaporated. The weight of being an adult, especially a parent, in a world that sometimes seems like it's falling to pieces is crushing. I personally have to find a way to let my feelings quickly crest and then ebb so they don't brew and corrupt my life.

Tonight I crept into each of my baby's rooms and watched them sleep for a few moments. It's amazing to me that their actions can sometimes send me through the roof but they themselves are so grounding. I always say I am their rock, their constant. But the truth is they are my little rocks, my anchors to reality and keep me sane. I owe it to them to be the best I can be, every day. I am human and certainly not perfect, but my choice not to let my own brand of crazy tarnish our relationship is a promise I have to keep.