Childhoodtake2!

The different and the novel are sweet, but regularity and repetition are also teachers. –MARY OLIVER

This is the story of my life.
Oh sweet loves, the rituals, the repetition, the schedules, the routine.
It is what makes my world turn. It is what makes me tick and function.

This is the story of my life.
Since I can remember, I was drawn to the repetition and all the freedom I feel with it.
That's right, I said freedom. Having a schedule and routine makes me feel like I am free.
It makes me feel like I have a purpose. It makes me feel like I know what is next because I do.

For most of my life, I lived by every single minute planned out. For most of this time, I wore busy like a damn badge of honor.
But then I broke and I stopped fighting, spinning, surviving, doing, proving I can do hard things.
And I slowed my ass way down.
That's right, this crazy mother of yours started to really work a lot less, do a lot less, and focus on naps and walks more than not sleeping and racing marathons.

But the routine, that never changed.
But I never ever walked away from a solid schedule, and discipline, and repetition, and knowing what comes next.
Like a workout at the same time, a run at the same time, a walk at the same time.
Like days I take all the meetings and days that I just don't take any.
Like my to do lists and how and when I get them done.

The different and the novel, I still love those too.
I am not saying that I don't love something different.
I love to try new things and I love to be spontaneous and flex.
Oh, but a routine, how I adore and crave a routine.
How I love coming home from vacation knowing what I can slip into.
How I love the start of fall when we're all back on a schedule and I know you guys are off on your own schedules.

The repetition and rituals are teachers.
They teach us that we don't have to be motivated, we just have to stick to the schedule.
They teach us organization.
They teach us the definition of discipline with freedom and less concentration.

So yes, I fall into a routine and a schedule and the ease of repetition.

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 owe.

Go.

I owe you my happiness because you gave me mine.
I owe you my smile because yours is sunshine.
I owe you my heart because you make it beat.
I owe you my commitment to us because you are committed to us.
I owe you my joy because you gave me yours.

I owe you my motherhood because you convinced me to mother.
I owe you my kids' eyes because they are yours.
I owe you my home because you built all of it.

I owe you my soul because you brought it to life.
I owe you toes because they are happiest touching yours.
I owe you my hands because they are the happiest holding yours.
I owe you my health because you took care of me, you take care of me.

I owe you my hugs because you give the best ones.
I owe you my smooches because you are one amazing smoocher.
I owe you my time because 23 years is a long flipping time.
I owe you forgiveness because we all make mistakes.
I owe you apologies because we all make mistakes.

I owe you this life, the one we created, built, fought for, fight for.
I owe you.

Stop.

“Not of exhaustion, but surrender, as though he had given over and relinquished completely that grip upon that blending of pride and hope and vanity and fear, that strength to cling to either defeat or victory, which is the I-Am, and the relinquishment of which is usually death.” - William Faulkner

For you, your life, all of it was a battle.
A battle you fought no matter the carnage. A battle you felt you needed to fight, no matter the victims.
You fought, you were a fighter.
You fought the good, the bad, the every day. You fought what was wrong, what was right, what you thought was right. You fought for rules. You fought for control. You fought for your way.
You pushed.
You pushed away people, love, and normalcy. You also pushed towards a new life, a better one, one you thought would be better.

And so, when you found out, you fought, you pushed, you battled.
You fought us on how hard you were working, working at all.
You fought us on how to be spending your time.
You fought us on how you were not dealing with it, how you were dealing with it, how you dealt with us.

But then there was a moment.
There was one moment in those 13 complicated months of grief and worry that you had one clear moment.
A moment in which you understood and you accepted what was happening.
A moment in which you stopped fighting and you surrendered to the news, you surrendered to what was to come.

And in this one clear and beautiful moment, you surrendered.
Not to the pain, or fear, or chaos.
Not to the exhaustion or devastation.
But to the life you lived, worked for, the one spread in front of you.
And you looked so clear. So calm, so understanding.
You knew it was time.
You said your goodbyes.
You told us what you wanted to say.
It was fleeting, it lasted days, but it was there.

"Anyone who loves someone who’s fought this fight knows it costs all of you." - Lisa Joe Baker

Loving someone through this disease it changes you.
Loving someone through this reality scars you.
It is brutal, this time was brutal.
Add in the complication of us.
Add in the complication of language.
Add in the complication of what was happening.

At first, I watched you surrender without even realizing you were.
Your body was so tired and you wouldn't allow it to be. Your mind was so scared and you were so mad. The fear made you even more complicated.
At times, you were so beautiful, so present, so loving, so honoring of love.
At times, you were so resentful, so terrified, so overwhelmed, so in awe of all you were going to miss.

We were not one of the lucky ones.
We lost you before your next birthday.
We were not able to make your wine that fall.
We did not get to gather for the holidays together.
You didn't make it to be older than your dad when he passed, something you carried in silent fear since the day you lost him.

But somehow, we still got to find love.
I was one of the lucky ones because I felt comfort in my darkest and brightest days.
I was reminded of the love of family, gathered all around me, family.
Family that I fell in the arms of.
Family that picked me up off of floors and grounds.
Family that held me while I slept.
Family that tried to heal me.
Family that taught me how much we show up, even from afar.
Family that reminded me that we are always there for each other.
Family that cried with me.
Family that reminded me that I can laugh again.

So I hold space for grief.
Complicated, fascinating grief.
Grief that comes out in my runs.
Grief that comes out when I write.
Grief that comes out in my dreams.
Grief that comes out in my anger and my resentment and especially in my peace.

I have been thinking of you a lot these days.
Maybe because we are coming up on the anniversary of your death.
Maybe because I am once again going through it.
Maybe because she is crying a lot more right now.
But you are with me.

When you were first diagnosed, my friend forwarded me this poetic quote.
He reminded me of the beauty and fear of death.
He reminded me that love and death are a part of life.
He reminded me that you get this one life, and if you are lucky to get to the end and reflect on all you have lived...and then surrender.

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 chapter.

Chapter 8 - I realized things were different.
Chapter 14 - I started to put together a plan.
Chapter 17 - I started on my own, my life, my way, my rules, my anger, my rage, my time.
Chapter 18 - I met my agency and fell head over heels in love with a career path.
Chapter 21 - I adopted my first puppy and then one month later met and adopted the love of my life.
Chapter 27 - the rest of the family agreed we were family.
Chapter 30 - we met our daughter and our lives were never really the same. I met our happily ever after...how could it be the same?
Chapter 31 - I became the CEO of the organization and felt like I was exactly where I needed to be.
Chapter 33 - we met our son and our lives were never really the same. I met my one and only love at first sight...how could it be the same?
Chapter 38 - we lost our first baby puppy. The one that raised us. The one that lived her full purpose. The one that saw us through it ALL. The one that was our reason.
Chapter 38 - we brought love and light back into our homes six long months later and filled our hearts back full.
Chapter 38 - I started to feel like one chapter of my career was ending and a new one needed to begin.
Chapter 40 - my daughter hit double digits.
Chapter 41 - I launched myself full-time into my new business and I left behind what I always knew.
Chapter 43 - my son hit double digits and my daughter become a teenager so I bought myself a gift to celebrate my mothering.
Chapter 44 - I am living my purpose.

I'll be your memories, your whole world wrapped up in my little head.
I'll be your comfort, your home, your safe place.
I'll be your biggest fan, your most honest critic.

I'll be your warmth.
I'll be able to hold what you carry.
I'll be able to take what you have to say.

I'll be here, always and forever here.
I'll be willing to follow your lead.
I'll be in the car, or on a plane, or a phone call away.

I'll be your reminder of who you are.
I'll be dammed if you don't live up to who you are supposed to be.
I'll be on the sidelines, watching you be incredible you.

I'll be happy for you, with you.
I'll be heartbroken, and angry, with you and for you.
I'll be protective but also know you can handle it.

I'll be the one who listens.
I'll be the one who loves.
I'll be the one who believes you.

I'll be the one who shows up.
I'll be the one who will never ever give up on you.
I'll be your mom.

I'll be the one who loves like a mother.
I'll be the one who protects your childhood, well into adulthood.
I'll be the one who keeps you, holds you, carry you,.

I'll be a mother.
I'll be your mother.
I'll be yours.

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 deliberate.

Go.

It's how I move and operate.
I'm deliberate in my actions, I do things with clear intention.
That does not mean I do not act out of emotion or fear or chaos.
That does not mean that I am not at times spastic.
It does mean that my plans and my sights, they are intentional and come with thought, too much thought actually.

It's how I built my home.
With clear deliberate intentions.
I place things around me with the intention of sparking calm, and a feeling of love.
I place things near me that make me smile, and fill me with pleasure.
Because it is so needed in the day-to-day grind of this life.

It's how I built my new career.
With clear and deliberate intentions.
I was no longer going to be all consumed.
I was no longer going to be defined only by my work.
I was no longer going to have to prove that I can do hard things.
I was no longer going to wear busy like a stupid badge of honor.
I started this to be more available, and more able to find the right balance.

It's how I parent.
With clear and deliberate intentions.
I speak to you with thought, I work hard on not giving unsolicited advice and try hard to listen.
I work hard on not overreacting, not overreaching, and being someone you can just come to.
I work on us and work on being playful.
I deliberately lean into the second chance you have given me and I know, full stop, that our time with you is limited.

It's how I love.
With clear deliberate intentions.
I work on my relationships.
I love with reckless abandon and with intention.
I let go when I love. I let go of my walls and my hardness.
I fall into the mush of love.

I move with clear and deliberate intention because I am thinking of you, always.
I am holding you close to me, always.
I want you to know that I carry you, always.

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 soon.

Soon, I will clean my home and it will stay that way.
Soon, 4pm will not mean chaos and loudness, it will all still be quiet.
Soon, it will be dinner for two only.
Soon, we can watch what we want whenever we want to.
Soon, everything will get small...the grocery list, the laundry, the piles, the messes.

But not now.
Now our lives are loud and messy.
Now our rooms are filled with little and big.
Now our to-do lists are long, extensive really, and feel never-ending.
Now our dinners are filled with compromises and tension over who likes what, who is willing to try what.
Now our world is very much circling two little faces.

But soon, it will be less and less.
Soon, she will have a license, and be driving him around.
Soon, he will want snuggles less and less.
Soon, she will start looking at where to go to university.
Soon, he will start telling us of his plans, which will not include us.

That's how this life goes.
That's how it all goes down.
Our window is so so small, our time feels like a lifetime but it's really so short.
Their lives without us four is so much longer than this time together.
But it feels like a lifetime, doesn't it?
It feels like forever that we are in this together.

But sooner or later, everyone moves on.
We did, and we built this.
They will go and build something too.
So for now, I will breathe you in.

One day, now will be a long time ago.

One day, you were here.
You were small and made small noises.
You were sound asleep most of the time and your eyes were too big for your face.
You were learning and taking it all in. You were magic, that first year was absolute magic.

One day, you were walking and talking and into everything.
You had opinions, strong ones. You were strong-willed and determined and still had a deep deep desire to please. You wanted us to be so proud of you, and were beamed in adoration.

One day, you became a big sister and he took over with the small and small noises.
But damn, he was NOT going to be like you.
See, you wanted to stand out, be your very own Houser, be your own bag of tricks.

One day, you fell madly in love with her and you never ever turned back.
One day, you too were talking and singing and trying new things.
One day, you were so angry you couldn't walk and do as much as she could and then the next, you could.

One day, the days started to run into each other.
Years became blurry.
Your dad and I fought through a heavy fog and then came out the other side.
One day, I breathed all of you in, your smell, your little, your voices, your laughs, and then, one day it all went away.

One day, kids took the place of babies. Little baby equipment was replaced with sports equipment.
Little kid books were replaced with chapter books and then novels.
One day, you left elementary and you slowly and very gently entered middle school.
One day, you stopped letting me hold your hand in public and give little guy smooches and swoop you up.

Now, you, our first, are entering high school. A teenager, talking about saving for a car.
Now, you, our last, are leaving elementary and headed to middle school and we are forever saying goodbye to the elementary building that held you both for so long.
Now, friends are your whole world, and you found good people.
Now, sports are all you can think about, and connecting with your buddies.
One day, now will be a long time ago.