Wednesday, June 10, 2015
the mess is the thing
It's good to have friends who can encourage me on a week like this, where one night bleeds into the next morning without enough hours of sleep. I'm burning the candle at both ends. The twins are staying up way too late into the night jumping off their dress-up trunk and opening their curtains to wave at our neighbor's teenage son when he comes home from his shift at the volunteer fire department.
They bang on the windows in their nightgowns. His mom told me he waves at them. I was mildly mortified.
Felix has been restless at night since he started to crawl, practicing his new skill in his sleep and crashing into the sides of his crib as he dreams of whatever ten month olds dream about. Bananas? Little wooden cars going down a ramp? A breeze blowing the chimes outside and making them clink together?
Sam reads late into the night, playing at Greek-mythology-meets-Star-Wars, making vocal percussion blaster gun sounds as his little plastic demi-god men clash with their weapons held aloft.
In the morning light, the abandoned battle scenes look like choking hazards to me.
My body aches for sleep right now, so much that my eyes close involuntarily when I'm sitting down for any length of time, even at the dinner table or as I'm perched on Lucy's bed, talking about her day, tucking her in.
She needs less sleep than anyone else, so it takes extra time to wind her down at bed time. It's so hard not to rush her toward sleep when all I want is for them all to be quiet, behind closed doors in the dark, out of my immediate realm of responsibility.
How is it that the children in my house have become items on my to-do list? More than that, their needs have taken over the rest of the list these past few weeks, as they spread themselves over my waking hours, pushing sleep further and further away, ensuring that any found moments in the day are unusable for writing, or working, or planning...only useful, really, for sleeping or dreaming about sleeping.
Sleep deprivation is hard. It's cruel. There's a reason it is used as a method of torture. It makes me not myself, like some other dragon mommy monster has taken over my body and brain and voice for its own purposes. I'm cranky. I yell. I crave chocolate (which I can't have, because of the dairy restriction) and sugar and just want to go someplace dark and quiet where I can be alone for more than fifteen minutes.
I find myself wishing for some far-off day in the future when things will be easier, when I'll be rested, when the kids will be sleeping better or be less messy or be more responsible for themselves. I want to wish away the hard moments of tandem twin tantrums over the pink rainbow shorts and refusals to nap and end of day freakouts over the textures of noodles that are too close to the applesauce on someone's dinner plate.
But this is where we are.
Life doesn't begin in some future moment when we magically, finally have it all together. Life doesn't start on a random Wednesday in 2017 when my house is all clean with shining wiped windows and all the laundry folded, neatly put away behind closed closet doors. Life isn't holding its breath like I am, waiting for a moment when it's more convenient to breathe.
Life is happening.
This is life, right now, in all its imperfection and messy glory. The screaming fits and the sweet hugs, the gorgeous crayon art on construction paper and on the inside of the pantry door, the Star Wars theme hammered perpetually on the piano and sung loudly in the bathroom- it's all my life.
And while it's okay not to love every minute, I'm going to try harder not to wish it all away while longing for things to be other than they are.
Here's to noticing life as it is right now, the good parts and the hard parts and the messy parts...and, when things are just too hard to manage sometimes, let's remember that things will be different soon. In twenty minutes, maybe, or in a few weeks, we'll be facing a different challenge, and it will be hard in a different way. Let's breathe. Let's encourage each other. Let's give thanks. Let's not pretend that everything is perfect or wonderful or that we have to love every second of our lives...but let's notice the places where mess and beauty coexist.
There's no right way to do this parenting stuff...just lots of choices strung together like a messy macaroni necklace covered in glitter. We can only do the next right thing. As we do it, though, as we choose one right thing and then follow it with another choice, stringing one paint-covered noodle after another onto the yarn, let's remind each other- life is in the stringing. Life doesn't begin when we've finished the necklace. What we've got is what's in front of us now.
And coffee. Lots of coffee...without creamer.
With love and thanks to Mary Beth, Cori, Katie, Rosie, Cari and Laura, whose words got me through some of those tough and messy moments this week.