Not Working

Get a job you lazy mom. That phrase repeats itself over and over in my head the past few days. Specifically since 8:15 Wednesday morning when I walked both kids off at full day school. Thatcher and I woke simultaneously to the sound of our own internal clocks chiming at exactly 7:01 am. His was a cheerful ting ting ting while mine an anxiety laden shrill pulsating through my brain. I leapt from the bed and into the shower, Thatcher leapt onto Tessa's not yet ready morning face squealing with joy "it's a school day!". When she came too they were both elated, actually making their own bed and getting dressed in their laid out clothes. I packed their lunches frantically, one hand not knowing how to work efficiently with the other, my brain a jumbled mess. We managed a number of adorable pictures to post on Facebook, proof that they had been sufficiently groomed and donned in proper first day attire to be awarded with a few dozen congratulatory thumbs up.
And then they were off, like crickets they bounced down the path to the woods. At the door of the school they greeted their friends, Thatcher seemed slightly timid for a split second and then recovered     looking to his big sister for a little eye contact support. They hugged me, barely, and I disappeared back through the woods.
Here, at home, it's so quiet. People call and ask how I'll spend all this free time and it frightens me. I don't know how to have free time any more. It's been seven years since I've had nearly entire days to myself. Of course there's all the things I've been doing while the kids are here.. the bills, the grocery shopping, cleaning, dishes, laundry, mowing the lawn, going to the dump, changing over the apartment, taking the car to get fixed, taking Percy to the groomers, painting the kitchen, you know... Life. But somehow it doesn't feel like it's enough. The most difficult part of the tasks has been taken away, entertaining and keeping alive the kids. That was the number one job, all the rest was a circus act.
So I've been thinking about, looking and applying for jobs but the criteria I have come up with is limiting. I do not want to have the kids in after school programs every day, I don't want them in day cares during holiday weeks, I don't want to send them to camp all summer long. I still want to make them my number one job. I still want to prioritize money after children. If I had a specific dream or enriching work life it would be different but I don't and I'm ok with that right now. But the rest of the world doesn't seem to be. I know I'm feeling this pressure, this radiating anxiety because of the way I feel perceived. If I'm not career oriented or at the very least making money I must be a free loader. But what about all the jobs I'm doing for the family (not to mention the money I make from the apartment and waitressing)? As I was mowing the lawn and loading old box springs and garbage into the car I was going as fast as I could. I was thinking about all the odd jobs I had to do today and how I would rattle them off when Jason got home to prove that I am paying my way! What a ridiculous thing to feel I thought next and how truly I actually feel it.
It might be easier to get a job as a lunch lady just so I can say there, that's what I'm doing with my time, see!? Here's a piddly paycheck to prove my worth in society. Because that is what this society cares about, here are days and times that you should be generating an income, work more than that? Even better. These are the guidelines, follow them or be forever lazy. I've got just over two hours until the children return and my worth can be restored, I should go be seen being productive should someone think I'm wasting life blogging.

52

"How many weeks until Rockport?", they ask. 52. "That's not so many", Tessa says. And she's right. It's not so far off I suppose. It will have been 25 consecutive years next year that I've been to Long Beach. Walking the length of the 1/2 mile beach, painting rocks, beach Olympics, croquet, lobster dinners, grill outs, boogie boarding... Some of the very best memories of my childhood are on that beach. My most distinct are playing in the waves with my cousins and waking up to that piercing crack of light from the heavy curtains, the sound of lapping waves on the shore, the screech of a seagull and the murmur of the generations before me gathering quietly, planning for the day. I'd look out onto the porch and maybe Aunt Ethel and Aunt Jan would be there walking back from the office to their plastic deck chairs, Nana and Papa already walking Penny back up the beach, mom and Uncle Ned sitting down by the shore, just talking. Everyone playing their part, greeting each other so kindly, so happy just to be there.
Every year is different and every year some of the same. Some people can be there, some have other obligations that tear them away... like Jason, who missed it and felt as pained missing it as I would've. And some are gone forever but their prescience is never felt as strongly as it is there at that Inn. This is where I grew up, where I've measured years and my own life. Where I've weighed possibilities and found deeper understanding and connection to people I love than I could possibly find in a few hours over holiday meal craziness. I've watched great aunts play rummicube late into the night, heard pregnancy announcements and helped plan weddings. I've cuddled with my cousins children on lawn chairs and now I've had the greatest blessing of all... I've watched my children get as much joy as I have.
Last Sunday morning Tessa was the first one on the beach. Suit on, pail in hand, towel over her shoulder, she sauntered onto the sand and laid her claim. As she walked down to the water's edge I heard my Mom and Uncle Jim talking down the way, my brother, Brett, passed by with a coffee, Thatcher said hello to the office parrot, Bert. Tessa stood on a rock covered in seaweed watching the surfers, feeling the safety of generations at her back. A kind of strength in her that the ocean couldn't help but break in front of.

Dreaming

It's happened. They slept in their own bed.... ALL NIGHT LONG.  I woke at 4:30 am to no child's butt stinking hands in my face, no toe nails scratching my dry legs, no cries for water when the glass is 6 inches from them, no wet sheet soaking through the back of my shirt... I tried not to breathe too loud knowing they have the hearing of bats. I stared at our clock and did the math over and over in my head (it's two hours and seven minutes behind). I forced my eyes to shut and I slept like a grown up till 6:30, in my own bed.
Thatcher came in first so proud of himself rubbing the crusty sleep from his bleary eyes. "Mama! Me sleep alone! With Tessa! All night! Me super big now! Move over...." Then Tessa next, same thing. I was so proud of them, they were so proud of them. And hey! I felt rested! We all did.
Six and a half years of beautiful cuddling, warm breath, whistling snores, cold feet stuffed under my thighs to keep warm. I've loved it and worried about it, when will I sleep again?! This isn't the end of sleeping together completely I'm sure but it is the mark of a possible shift in needs. In everyone's needs being met. In recognizing the power of personal space. I think it will make me calmer, the kids will be less worried, surer in themselves, Jason and I can stop having the conversation of when and how.
It's just a little change in the grand scheme of raising a family but it's a mark on the timeline. I can perhaps start really sleeping again. Hmmm. Maybe I'm just dreaming but at least no one is waking me up....for now.

It's a new dawn...

So it's a new year again...I love this day. The feeling of renewal, of letting last year's heavy weight drop out of my clenched fist and breathe in the fresh new air of opportunity. The idea that we can start again new. I've decided to believe in it this time.
Last night I came home from work walking through the door at 12:02 to a terrified 6 year old, shaking from nightmares. I was so happy to see her, to be able to feel her relax when I brought her to bed, to listen to her heart slow as we whispered about our favorite moments of the past year and our dreams and wishes for the new year. I fell asleep pretty fast. Exhausted from a busy night working with a bunch of crazy, fun women. I rushed out of there without a drink worried about checkpoints and a missing headlight, the icy roads. Then the jazzy NPR countdown just moments from my door. Hearing that countdown was like talking down a tantrum. How appropriate it is for people to do just before the year changed. Count down... Let it all wash away, lessen the grip, absolve yourself of the burden. Start anew.... Scream! Smile. Sleep. Wake up in a new time. Make a list of hopeful change. Feel yourself grow. You've shed the old skin and now you can stretch.

Just Living

Just a moment... Just a night... A regular night but I'm nostalgic for it already. Shrimp curry mostly gone on the stove top, the rest of it comfortably settled into two little voracious bellies (and one decent sized one), filling the house with the scent of ginger, lime, garlic, making me fuller even after the dishes are done. Joni Mitchell's "Blue" on loop, the fire finally, finally roaring after days of tinkering and toiling, swearing and nearly crying because it just wouldn't get warm in here. Tessa writing in her journal unfamiliar words she's finding in "Charlotte's Web", Thatcher sniffling in a wing back arm chair, feet dangling looking through his books from back to front. Jason on his way home from a different world, weary and worn from a life I know little to nothing about. Percy scratching to come in, go out and tease the neighbor dogs with her freedom, come in again satisfied. Leftover Halloween candy brownies waiting to be devoured, resting on the counter. The tree lit, Christmas covering every wall of the house. Stockings hanging in the window, greenery sprays decorating the interior doors, felt stars hanging in the window, my sewing machine out on the floor along with unwrapped presents, paper, ribbon.... The house is a mess in exception for this night. The dogs sound chaotic every moment besides this one where their deep barks and the kids sudden cries of frustration and Joni's "California" are harmonizing.
Life is life. It is richer with every complicated day. With the long hours and the quick holidays. The preparing, preparing, preparing... for tomorrow. This life we're living... we're living.

Alone Time

I'm at the kitchen table, a mere two feet away from Thatcher who's dangling his feet off the edge of the kitchen island munching on a piece of toast he just venomously refused. He's having some requested alone time. I'm not to look at him or talk to him unless I'm spoken to first. This is of course all well and good. I figure I'll make the best of it and tip tap type away.
I think I've actually recieved my own quota of alone time lately. Tessa's in school five full days a week now and Thatcher is gone just two mornings to his picture perfect one room school house. Everyone is asking what I'm going to do with all this free time! And really 6 hours is pretty incredible for me. Grocery shopping is a leisurely hour and a half stroll. I've read the New York Times front to back on more than one occassion and am consuming more caffiene at the nice bright bagel shop in the middle of Brattleboro than anyone should dare. I've shopped, splurged, started my Christmas hoarding... and now? I'm done. It's been what three weeks? 6 entire mornings to myself and I've hit existensial crisis mode. Who am I? Is this really what my life is about outside of kids?
To top it all off I've just bought my first smart phone. I'm connected to this evil internet everywhere I go now. It's horrible. I'm like a herion addict who decided rather than kick smack she's gonna carry around a kilo in her pocket.  I should not be allowed to consume this much nonsense, no one should. It makes me feel dirty and bloated and honestly like a zombie all the time. On the brighter side my internet addiction is making my alcohol consumption look better.
So besides the shopping and the internet dripping into my veins my life looks like a postcard. It's all coffee cups and newspaper fingerprints. That is when I don't have the kids with me. When I have them with me it's more like wine glasses and excrement. Kidding! Maybe it's not entirely pathetic that they give my life all it's meaning right now but it does give me a good kick in the ass to get a move on with the other parts. I mean like the whole "me" thing. Like I'm a real live grown woman who's not contributing a friggin lick to society. Like perhaps learning a real life skill? Maybe I'll go be a carpenter, hardy har har. Something though really not just to fill the overrated alone time with  but to fill myself with something I can be proud of. Something other than these perfect children who are going to be grown up in a day. Or maybe two.

What?

And so life gets complicated... we complicate life or it complicates us... I haven't yet figured it out. What I do know is that I sit in a beautiful house, next to my sleeping dog, with my husband upstairs feeling vanquished or resentful or lonely getting our two children to sleep, one who is clingier than she's ever been before and teenage whiney at the age of 6 and the other, 3 1/2 and still struggling to speak and frustrated with the world for not getting it. I am sitting here... typing. Because I haven't in a really long time. I haven't written anything down anywhere of any signifigance, have barely said as much either.
I don't know which way is up or if life is linear at this point. I'm not sure why our house is for sale that nearly pays for itself or why we're living here in the first place. I'm not sure where in the hell we really want to go, what we really want to do, who we really want to be.
I heard this thing on the radio a few weeks ago. This guy was talking about "healthy families" and how "healthy families" should have a mission statement. Hmmm. I thought. That's intriguing. And I'm still thinking what that could possibly mean for us. I want our kids to grow up strong and brave and proud of themselves. I want them to be ready for life. And then I think and I nearly say "in a way that I'm completely not". And what the hell does that mean. I want to be less vague. I want to teach them actual possibility without someone else's idea of possibility intruding.
And then I heard something else.... A teacher asked a student to try to prove that they were alive without using another person to prove it. So I'm left wondering how... and why?