Livin' the Dream.

Saturday, May 4, 2013

{Some new tunes on here.  Turn up the vol.}
Livin' the Dream.
Always.
Pulled up the last of the April snow
to reveal green grass, patiently waiting its turn.
The ground forgiving enough to allow us to build a gargantuan snowman.
A man, 8-feet-tall,
that peered in the kitchen window at us for a few days 
before disintegrating to two misshapen blocks of snow.
A carrot, hat and soggy Oreos at his feet.
The squirrels were happy.
Slow weekday mornings, when the bed beckons, 
but so does the laundry, the lunches, the unopened backpacks from the day before, the list a mile long.
But nothing ever important enough to ignore these little nuggets of beauty and pure perfection.
I'll drop it all.
Catch my Charlie dressing himself.
In these silent moments between space and time,
I picture him as an old man, 
doing this very same thing.
At the end of his bed, bending over to pull up his black socks.
Us having long since gone, but hopefully having left a soft and beautiful imprint on his hopefully, long and happy life.
For now, I watch him grow and expand and do my best to let go and surrender to it all.
Finding warmth the remaining days of winter, spring,
whatever the hell we're in, in Minnesota. 
Weather can't seem to make its mind.
It's May now, but it's cold.  And snowing.
There are so many things we can't change.
But like our socks, our pants, our shirts,
we can change our attitude.
So I do my best to do that. 
Endlessly striving to achieve greater balance between my mind and my body.
Getting lost in my hometown yoga studio on empty afternoons.
Or in my bedroom, before the kids get up.
 
Rainy Friday nights, carved into restaurant booths.
Chocolate milk, chopsticks and beer to keep us busy while we wait.
Always, it seems, questioning our reason to take the kids ANYWHERE 
where they have to wait for anything.  
All the while, teaching US, to be the patient ones.
Constant reminders amidst the chaos, to enjoy it all.
To allow the upheaval of our living space to make dining room table forts when it's too cold to play outside.
Our days forever, it seems, 
blessed with milestones and tradition.
First communion.  Little man suits and ties and dress shoes.
Although we feel a little lost in faith,
we carry on with what we know.
Slicking his hair over to the left, like his dad.  
His cowlick in the back, fighting for attention.
Surreal scenes I just can't get over.
Moments that make my heart hurt and burst with happiness
all at the same time.
The beauty and joy and bliss in being a mom,
coupled with an overwhelming urge to stop it in its tracks.  
This "growing up" thing.
Some days, days like the above, time passing, 
feels as heavy and overbearing as I imagine a terminal cancer would feel.
You can't stop it.  The Growing.  It's just going to keep coming,
no matter what you do to postpone and prolong the inevitable.
So I say Goddamit.  Bite my lip.  Cry when they're not looking.
Take a million pictures so as not to forget.
Our first out-of-town hockey tourney.
A weekend trip for five, quickly becoming a trip to the Yukon for fifteen. . .for a month.
The Yukon being the Holiday Inn.  In St. Cloud.
Not the most "ideal" of locations, for Brian and I.
Um, let me reiterate.  Our personal hell.  We're complete snobs when it comes to our own comfort.  
Fluorescent lighting, crispy sheets, plastic lawn chairs, recycled air, teenage girls yipping in the lobby until 1am outside our door?
Dear God.
But we have children.  And for them, life is grand and overnight stays in hotels with indoor pools and ping pong and arcades, 
even grander.  
Never mind OUR distaste.
It's not about us.
We do our best to tag along and jump in.
Sometimes I DO feel like I'm wading on the edge of a pool.
Wanting so badly to jump in, but afraid of how it will be and feel.
Forgetting to trust it's the anticipation of the jump that's always so much scarier than the landing.
So just do it.
Continue to take lessons from the children,
who live and speak without fear or regret.
And then there's hockey.
A story each and of its own if you're a parent in Minnesota.
Or anywhere, for that matter,
where hockey skates are laced as soon as kids can walk.
It's serious business. 
But we're in it.
{Penalty.  Number 55.  Tripping.}
We do our best to be supportive, to not get too hung up on the details, the politics, the crazy parents.
To love and cheer and push (not too hard) and eat donuts while we watch.
Good luck "knuckles" from Dad.
This delicate world we live in,
where he looks up at the stands to make sure we're there.
To be sure we're watching and see if we approve.
Looking to us for a nod, a smile, recognition, anything.
Reminded in these moments, their sweet future is all on us.
The grown ups. 
Every look, every response, every hug, every effort we either give or take, 
makes or breaks them.
I looked over to my husband.
"Are we really getting in to this?  Hockey business?"
"I think so.  Buck up lil' camper."  He replied.  Or something like that.
So we add it to our roster.  Coaching our little people.
Showing up to help guide and form their little minds and bodies,
the best we can. 
Savoring the juicy moments of this time,
their minds and bodies full of life and energy and an endless yearning to see, do and be more.  
Always itching to jump in.
So we too, take heed and straddle the boards.
To get to the front row of this show, parenting.
To watch and yell and cheer.  Whether he comes in first or crawls in last.
We'll be there.
Making it a family event.
Making crappy hotels and Subway dinners, 
adventurous.
Forever grateful for the trip.
{P.S.  I love comments.  Say hi.  I love to chat even if I don't know you or don't get to do it in person.  So leave me a comment.  Even if it doesn't post at the bottom, I still see it on my account.  Happy weekend!} 


Love,
Liz









2 comments:

maxandlucie said...

Just beautiful, Liz! I love how you capture the joy, chaos, and monotony of parenthood. Thank you for sharing your gift!

gabbygrace said...

Plastic chair hallways- lol lol - :))) love all the pics!

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