Friday, March 15, 2013

Every morning, despite a bedtime filled with lofty expectations, 
a healthy dose of motivation,
to set my clock and get up early before the kids,
you know, rise with the sun?
Nope.  Not happening.  Again.
My bed is just too inviting, holding me down like a harness,
one impossible to get out of without a little help.
Lying under soft, worn sheets and a fluffy duvet,
it has become my habit to override that call to wakefulness, hush it for a little while longer.
Instead my alarm is a little face, 
breathing in to my own, until I come around.
"Hey buddy."  I whisper.  Why'nt ya' come snuggle."
My first words every morning.
The shuffling of sockless feet and meaty, little thighs coming 'round the bed, clambering up with the ease of a. . .a 4-year-old.
Sometimes it's Grace, often times it's Charlie, my early riser.
Everyday, it's someone.
And I love that.
There's no time to be selfish and crabby and inward when you are forced to greet the day through THEIR eyes. 
With simpleness and innocence. 
We enjoyed a Saturday outing to the MOA 
(one of my least favorite places on the planet. . .although I'm coming around.)
Where teens run free.  {That world scares the shit out of me.}
And apparently, they offer yoga now.
(The VERY last place I would think to do Yoga and find my center.)
But the always booming monstrous-city of the MOA,
where innocence took a few more hits.
Sauntering by a Claire's Boutique, my husband asked, 
"Gracie!  Want to get your ears pierced???"
We both shrieked in response, "WHAT?  Brian!?  Are you serious?"
Gracie with excitement, me in shock.  
"I thought she had to wait until she was 30?!  Don't tease her."
"No.  We can do it."
I have no idea what came over him, but I went with it, 
although I could sense the hesitation and urge to rewind everything he just said.
"Honey.  You can change your mind.  She's only 6.  She can wait."
You know, sweet of you to want to do something special for her today, 
but I think we've done enough.
Grace, more in tune to other's feelings than anyone,
could see right through his beefy exterior, to the clear glass that lies beneath,
protecting his giant and fragile heart.
"Dad?  Are you sure YOU'RE ready?  I can wait if you're not ready."
I had to bite my lip to keep from sobbing.
My husband, the sappy Steve Martin in Father of the Bride character, whose baby girl is his life and watching her grow is painful and gut wrenching (like most good fathers,)
"I'm ready Grace.  You can do it."  He uttered, with heartbreak in his voice.
With that, she hopped up on to the big, vinyl chair, as if she'd been waiting her whole life for this.
Where it all begins.
Before the first hair cut, (the real one, not the one by the neighbor girl,) 
first sleep over, the car keys, the first date, the wedding, the baby.
All the dreams that run wild in a little girls' head.
It starts here.
I had to be the strong one.  But all I could hear was the soundtrack of a Taylor Swift song, whining in my ears.  Watching my baby waltz gracefully over another rite of passage, too, too fast.
But you can't go back.  As a parent, you have to allow the gravity of life to pull you forward,
surrendering as best you can.
A crowd had started to form, a nice distraction for us, to keep us from completely losing our shit at the click of each gun, poking holes in the innocence of our life.
A group of big, happy black men, sipping on their fountain pops like they had front row seats to the newest release. 
They, too, knew. . .this, was a big deal.
"GIRL??  YOU SO BRAVE!!!"  You scared???"
She just sat and smiled.  The crowd keeping her own tears at bay.
"Ah man!  She so brave!  Look at her!  She ain't even flinch!"
I heard them say, as I stared off at her future.  Too tight pink jeggings and sneakers with out socks in the middle of winter, with boys who's last names I don't even know.
"Mom.  I feel like a new woman."  As she bounded off the chair.
"Me too."  (Brian, doing his damndest to hold it together.)
In the meantime, it's spring break.
No where super exciting to travel, but making our own fun here at home.
With 6 inches of fresh snow, we adventure.
Like every other parent, 
try to out-do our own childhood,
introducing our children to things we never did or got to experience.
In NO way forcing or pressing upon them,
our own hopes and dreams. 
(Okay.  Maybe a little.  I just want them to be active and find things we can do as a family, that will bond us for life and make them never want to leave us.  Eh. . .anyway.)
It was SO fun.
Until it wasn't.
I quickly became a human fanny pack.  Mostly fanny.  And forehead.
As the children shed layers under the hot sun.  
"Mom?  I REALLY enjoyed that.  Can we go again?"  (Jack.)
Worth the load.
I tore my bicep pulling charlie up hills.
SO worth it.  
Introducing my children to a little piece of my world outside of theirs,
in hopes that one day, 
they too, will find happiness in nature and each other,
as much joy in themselves as they bring me.
 {A post-ski soak.}
Happy Friday.





B. Holmes said...

Hi Liz, thanx for the comment on my blog, I don't get many... Love yours, I've been checking it out for a while now (also not in a "stalker-ish" way :0) funny... Love the "human fanny pack" that is too cute. Looks like your enjoying the end of winter there as well. Take Care, B.

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