Childhoodtake2!

Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second-thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on back.
Go.

At the end of a summer, it feels like we have to now get back into the swing of things. Back into routines and schedules. Back into packing lunches and emptying backpacks. Back into papers filling our home...back to structure.

There is a love/hate relationship with this time of year. I push/pull that I so often feel in parenting. A feeling of I can't wait to have you go back and yet another feeling of one more summer of childhood behind us and another transition to say goodbye to. This summer was filled with childhood, love, warmth, travel, busy, camps, weeks of time at home, projects, our house becoming a home, messes, sticky counters, crunchy floors, toys everywhere, messy rooms, laundry piling high, our house filled with people, our house filled with laughter, TV and movies, rainy days, lots of painting, reading dates, framily time, just us five, walks, runs, swims, sand, family on top of family, and childhood.

And now, we are back. Back to the grind, back to school for hubby, kids and back to me feeling like I'm not the only one back at it.

With all our love summer, you filled us full.

Stop.

Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second-thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on pace.

Go.

Since I can remember, I have set my pace to "full speed ahead". Everything that I do, I do with all of me. I give it all that I have, and then I find some more to give, and I give that too. And when I can't find anymore, I double down and search and search and search and then I just pour more and more out of me.

I do it with how I work, I do it with my workouts, I do it with my work ethic, I do it with our home, I do it with my writing, I do it with our plans, I do it with how I love. Full speed ahead is the only pace I have.

So, when this born 40-year-old finally turned the age she was always meant to be, I'm starting to play with a different pace, a slower one, a quieter one. A pace that allows me to function a bit more, sleep a little harder, and be. Not always do and be doing, but be.

Be with you, be around you, be present, be loving, be me, be happy, be proud, be kind, be kind to me...be.

I don't know what pace it is yet, I don't know what any of it looks or feels like, not yet. I haven't found the right rhythm. I just know I'm tired of always feeling like I'm about to have a heart attack and like "it" can't stop or else all of "it" will come crashing down...whatever "it" is for this week anyway. I'm tired of feeling like I can't stop or else all that I hold will collapse, I'm just not that important.

So, little faces, I'll figure this out with you. I have a few more months of holding on and then we will play with a differently paced mamma. One that has time to look at you the whole time you're telling me a story, the one that knows the names of the kids in your class and takes walks with you and holds on to the pace you have always tried to set for us.

Stop.

Morning lovies, this morning, I took another yoga class, and this one really focused on the word surrender, something your mamma does not do well. When you are always trying to fight and resist, surrendering is almost impossible. And so, I set it as my intention for the morning and really focused what it would mean to surrender to the rest of my year.

It would mean that I just lean into the hard. I start to get excited about the new. I get sad about the loss of a part of me, I get upset that I am saying goodbye to 20 years of something I worked so hard to build, something I believe in so very much. It means that I surrender my body to the stress and I surrender my bones to the tired. It means I go to bed when I am exhausted. It means I surrender to when I can't sleep. It means I surrender to when you two fighting brings me an annoyance that is so irritating that I can't function. It means I surrender to the chaos the next 4+ months will be, because they just will. Resist all I want, they just will.

It means I also surrender to the plans of my future. It means I surrender to the building of what is to come. It means I get to dream and hope and map out how different things will be for me. It means I get to surrender to you planning too...how different our summer will be, how different our time will be.

It means I surrender to a lot of what I thought I was, what I thought I needed to define me and I just am. I come out as something new, something completely new. It means I surrender to the times I make big mistakes, like being obedient when I should be strong-minded. It means I surrender to the times that my interactions haunt me, they should, it's how I learn. It means that I surrender to the feelings of blue, because the next four months will be filled with so much change, so much going on, so much I have to do, so much of what I need to keep doing, and I surrender to the madness of it all.

It means when I am in class, I surrender to that time...just me and my breath and I remember to exhale. I remember to melt into the floor, not just on it, but into it. It means I am grounded in my feet and from my root, I will rise.

It means when my feet hit the pavement I surrender to the different breath I have to find in order to find my rhythm in that day's run. It means as I start what might be my last half marathon training, I realize I can do hard things. And hanging up my training shoes is not giving up, it's finding a new me, putting aside the hard and finding what else I can do.

It means when I am taking a bath, I have to surrender to the warm water on me, I have to settle into the bath, close my eyes for just five minutes and be. And then it means I leave the full day right there in the tub and wash it down. It means I have to physically watch as it throws itself down the drain, today is behind me, honestly washed away.

It means during our reading dates, I surrender myself to our family time, to our connection, to what is important. It means when you ask for me to read to you, I put whatever I am working on down to be with you, you won't call for me much longer. It means when you want little guys I joyfully say, of course. It means when you fold into me, I allow you to and I rub your back and tell you how much you still look like the baby girl I brought home.

It means I surrender to what is coming. I have called for it and we are all ready.

Mom doesn't surrender all that well lovies. But today I took my first step and I know you will feel the struggle that is coming. But, we will hold hands and I will be reminded of your faces, your smiles, and your softness. I surrender to you.

I have been spending some time looking at older pictures of you both. Ones from years past, ones in which your smiles are ear to ear. You are the embodiment of childhood. You are happy, you are small, you are loving a little life that we have all created.

Each year, each day, I know we let go just a little more. And each year, I worry that this might be the last year that they are young enough to want to do this or that. But the one thing I have really noticed is that you are both walking slow. You too are holding on, not clinging but walking slowly. You have always been in charge of this dance, you have always led and I have followed. But, this is the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen, you somehow understand there is time for all of this that awaits and you have decided to walk slow.

Dearest Anna, my old little soul. You have always taken your time. You arrived on your terms, you did things at your speed. I choose to believe it is because you realize you will get to responsibilities, you will get to all that is on the other side of little. But, these days, this time, this little sliver of a window, it's fleeting and instead of rushing towards being older and wishing you could do more of this or that, well, you are walking slow.

Sweet Cole, my little monkey with a brand new heart. I choose to believe you honestly live your best life and every single day is your greatest. So, you want to stay right where you are, with love and playing and toys and make-believe and friends and chaos and surrounded by legos and books and childhood. You want to be covered in childhood. So although you don't know the meaning of the words walk slow...for this, you are taking your sweet time.

Selfishly, I choose to believe that you are giving me my greatest gift. The gift of lingering longer in little with you. The gift of dolls and playing and bike rides and legos all over my house and hugs and snuggles and smooches and hand-holding and "I love you" out of nowhere and reading dates and wanting to be read to and piggyback rides and being held and a want to talk about nothing that is your everything.

Although it is not for me, I still want to thank you. I want to thank you for taking your sweet time. I want to thank you for still loving childhood and all that comes with it. I want to thank you for believing in Santa and the tooth fairy and magic and wishes. I want to thank you for believing in happily ever after so much you made me a believer too. I want to thank you for proving to us all that love at first sight does exist. I want to thank you for filling this home and this jaded mamma with a second chance at childhood.

Thank you for walking slow.

Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second-thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on again.

Go.

I spent a week with love, and the sound of water, and the feeling of sand on my feet, and warmth from the inside out. And then I came home and it started all over...again. I felt the tension, I wasn't sleeping as well, I started to feel tighter, more concerned. I was at it...again.

I kept trying to find the feelings that were there just days ago. The ones that were light and happy. The feeling of comfort, the feeling of being surrounded by family and framily, the feeling of joy, the feeling of childhood. But the more I tried, the further away it all seemed. My littles faces felt it, my body felt it, my joy was fading and slipping away and it was being replaced with worry and being shut down...all over again.

So in my last few months of this year, I have a lot I still need to do. I am finishing my year of change and I still have a lot to complete. A lot to work on, a lot to change. And it will be tough, at times, it will be brutal. And that is why I really need to remember that I have to put down the things that are too heavy. The things I cannot carry. The things that are too much for me and I need to be an example to you. We are not responsible for everything and everyone. We are not responsible for every reaction and every decision. It is time I take a hold of my life...again.

Stop.