Recharging the batteries...

So, the little ones were at their grandparents' house last night. It was a quiet evening, with a quiet morning. They're going to stay with my mom for the day.

I'm going to Denver to pick up a friend at the airport- a 2 hour drive with just me. I can recharge my batteries, with nobody "needing" me for anything. I can go at my own speed, get some errands done, and get some alone time.

Odd. I don't feel that way. I want the day to be over, and I want to be back with my children. It's strange- what I thought would be a chance to relax is actually very stressful. Then, it dawned on me. I don't need to be away from my children to recharge. Being away from them, I find myself listless, lethargic, purposeless... I need to be around them, around their energy, their vitality. THAT'S what fuels me, recharges me, renews me.

Sleepover with the grandparents

Last night we ate dinner in front of the television, watching a movie. The movie wasn't worth watching, but it wasn't the point of the exercise anyway. Togetherness was the point. Sitting close, legs touching, curling up together when dinner was done.

I slept in a little bit. Meandered downstairs to make some coffee. Checked my e-mail. Poured the coffee- I've been down here for 10 minutes, and the dog just came down. Normally, she's glued to my legs, but not this morning. Got her breakfast. One task finished before another is begun.

The pace of the household is off. One task finished before another is begun??? No. That's not my pace. That's not my life. My life is interruptions, noise, tasks left partially undone in favor of a more pressing, more immediate, need.

I feel their presence more profoundly in their absence.

HEY MOM!

The face is impish. He's six, and definitely up to something. What will it be? I search his face for clues.... does he have a bug behind his back? Does he have a secret? Will he come up and burp or fart at me? No. He has a gift. The most precious of gifts, an intangible yet priceless offering. The kind that I know won't last for much longer. He'll soon be too cool- too self conscious- to offer this kind of gift. As it becomes clear what it is, I accept it eagerly. Greedily.

HEY MOM! BETCHA CAN'T KISS ME!!!!

They're all our kids.

Recently we've had a couple of friends whose kids have been hurt- thankfully nothing super serious, as in a permanent injury, but still... you get the call that a child has been hurt, and you feel it. It's not your child, but you know exactly how that parent feels. It's not your child, but you would do anything to take that child's pain away. It's not your child, but you would gladly take that injury on yourself to take that pain.

And then you realize. If you took the pain of every injury, from every child, you would be constantly laid up. Maybe it's because we have two boys, but someone is always banged up in our circle of friends. We've got casts, crutches, surgeries, dentists on call... and we've all got the "Emergency Room Accident Rider" on our insurance policies. For boys, injuries are a part of growing up. Of becoming their own people.

We'll pick them up, dust them off, stitch them up, patch them up, and then send them out into the big world to get hurt again.

Simple Pleasures

Simple pleasures- trying to see the beauty of the world through the eyes of my children. As an adult, I get so bogged down with the minutae of day to day existance that I forget to enjoy living. I worry about the stupid stuff---- will I ever catch up on the laundry? Is the house clean enough?

I guarantee that, for my children, the house is clean enough. The laundry doesn't matter.

What matters is that we're about to play Monopoly for the first time. The sense of anticipation is palpable.

Update: 8 year old lost interest after about an hour. The younger... well, it was like playing Monopoly with a being created from the DNA of a deranged 6 year old, a shark and Donald Trump. Intense.