That’s where I was headed in 2005, with a roommate I’d spoken with for months over AOL but had never actually met in person. We had the lease to our apartment and I had a lead to a job as a script-writer with Dreamworks Studio.
Instead, I pulled the plug two weeks before I was set to move.
It remains to be, the road not taken for me.
In place of California. I lingered on the East Coast taking a room with a family of 6. In exchange for room and board, I provided care for the kids. As the youngest of 8, I had never had 4 younger “siblings” before and was terrified. Quickly, I adapted, finding myself taking particular interest in that first grader mastering reading.
I read the book What Color is Your Parachute by Richard Nelson Bolles and shockingly wondered if he could be right- were the childhood games I played as a teacher my destiny? Had I known and denied all along?
I moved back to my hometown in my own blissful, 1-bedroom apartment, and volunteered in the fourth grade classroom at my tiny, private elementary school, just to see if it was worth pursuing.
And, oh, it was.
I. Came. Alive.
Yes, this is where I was meant to be all along.
Until I had my own four children and stayed home to care for them. I quit my job as teacher and became Mama.
I started my own blog to continue my pursuit of writing.
A reminder of my failure to get her to sleep on her own like her three big sisters.
Have I become a statistic? The youngest gets whatever they want?
Or perhaps I am just too tired to fight.
Ha- let’s not play ignorance- they are likely one in the same.
I am tired and she was born to fight out of necessity.
So, here we are.
Prisoners in our own way.
Dependent on one another.
I remember convincing him that if he agreed to the fourth, she would be “mine”.
I took full responsibility, although he would never agree to anything but equal, which made me love him even more.
And yet, here I am. Lying next to her bed and as much as he has literally and physically attempted to take my place, there is no substitute for her of me.
I lie next to her and think, how I can make the most of this quiet time?
Unfortunately, it is forced, which is not a lovely place to be when you are trying to meditate.
So some days, I sleep. Others, I seethe in resentment of being on my 16th hour of parenting while he lounges on the couch.
And sometimes, I think, one day, I’ll miss this.
They won’t let me in their room.
Their room won’t be here.
I lie and wait. For that heavy breathing.
I leave, relieved, both for that she breathes and that I have the chance to catch my own.
Here she is. My eldest. Refusing to look at me as I encourage her to put the book down and get back in the ocean. The ocean with yes, fish. The fish she fishes for. The fish she eats. The fish she sees at the aquarium. The fish she has become suddenly fearful from touching her.
I get it. It’s unusual. It’s unique. But it’s not a reason to sit on the sidelines.
So, I push.
No treats the rest of the day unless you get back in.
You don’t have to go for long, but you have to get back in.
Tears. Exasperation. Begging.
In she goes.
You can’t see me having fun, she says.
Oh, but I can. For the next five hours straight. FIVE HOURS in the ocean.
No one prepares you for that in parenting. When to push, when to hold.
My husband didn’t want to make a fuss, but I wanted to make a point.
Our fears are not the end.
Yes, we must listen, but we also must know when to overcome.
And boy, did she overcome.
In spite of my insecurity – was I being too hard?- I realized, yes, I listened to my instinct and momma knows best.
Looking around, questioning the validity of everything I sense. What it must feel to walk on the moon. Like I’m floating out of this world. Not really here, but watching from the outside in. This is how it feels to live after loss.
And the more I realize I’m actually here, and she’s not, the more painful the reality becomes. Words like unfair. Too soon. And Why plague my mind.
The phrase “Be Kind for everyone is fighting a hard battle.” takes on a new meaning.
Suddenly, that asshole on the road is just another poor bastard doing the best he can.
And my child’s fit, is just that: a fit that will pass.
Love and Loss like spaghetti and meatballs, peanut butter and jelly- one not without the other.
And for a time, Kelly and Lauren. Best friends forever.
New Leaf Parenting 