Today the sun was out, and it was actually warm. Me and the boys went on a little walk, turning around when Evan announced he needed to poop.
Later I sat on the front step and just soaked in the sun. I love it.
At 35, I am obsessed with the sun.
About the same time that I'm sitting here getting emotional about the sun, Jim is getting ready to take his oral exam.
He texted, "ready to roll. oddly calm".
Evan and Avery were at school and Andrew was taking the shortest nap in the world (eyebrow furrow).
I've been thinking these past weeks - being without Jimi - that maybe I've got motherhood a little under control. A year ago I was for sure drowning. Now I know it's just a matter of "non-stop". Always cleaning something, cooking something, putting away, putting to sleep, dressing, folding. I do a chore, take a break, do a chore, take a break. But it's never a finished thing.
When Avery was first born, I remember being hit by the realization that there are no more days off. This is forever and ever. I will never not be on duty. Even when they are sleeping or away at school, motherhood never stops. I am always thinking about them, planning for them, doing for them. This isn't a complaint...this is a lifestyle that I am fully immersed in.
We have these life events that we move from "to do" to "accomplished". Some are big (graduate, get married, have a baby), some are small (make it through Airbus training this winter). It surprises me when I have accomplished a life event, and have moved onto a new stage. It shouldn't surprise me, but it does.
(Did I really teach High School for six year? Did I really have three C-Sections?).
At 35, I am raising children. We are learning to read. We are learning how to brush our own teeth.
At 35 I no longer have a lap child on the airplane. All my children have their very own seat belts.
The other day I was watching Parks and Rec, and the opening theme song totally threw me back to my dim bedroom, middle of the night, feeding newborn baby Andrew. I netflix marathoned that show on my phone when I was feeding him every few hours. A total wave of nostalgia hit me.
I've come to realize that nostalgia doesn't necessarily mean you want to go back to that time and experience it again. It's just a strange sensation of love and happiness toward a time in your life that was special - a life event that has been moved to the "accomplished" section.
About the same time that I'm sitting here getting emotional about the sun, Jim is getting ready to take his oral exam.
He texted, "ready to roll. oddly calm".
Evan and Avery were at school and Andrew was taking the shortest nap in the world (eyebrow furrow).
I've been thinking these past weeks - being without Jimi - that maybe I've got motherhood a little under control. A year ago I was for sure drowning. Now I know it's just a matter of "non-stop". Always cleaning something, cooking something, putting away, putting to sleep, dressing, folding. I do a chore, take a break, do a chore, take a break. But it's never a finished thing.
When Avery was first born, I remember being hit by the realization that there are no more days off. This is forever and ever. I will never not be on duty. Even when they are sleeping or away at school, motherhood never stops. I am always thinking about them, planning for them, doing for them. This isn't a complaint...this is a lifestyle that I am fully immersed in.
We have these life events that we move from "to do" to "accomplished". Some are big (graduate, get married, have a baby), some are small (make it through Airbus training this winter). It surprises me when I have accomplished a life event, and have moved onto a new stage. It shouldn't surprise me, but it does.
(Did I really teach High School for six year? Did I really have three C-Sections?).
At 35, I am raising children. We are learning to read. We are learning how to brush our own teeth.
At 35 I no longer have a lap child on the airplane. All my children have their very own seat belts.
The other day I was watching Parks and Rec, and the opening theme song totally threw me back to my dim bedroom, middle of the night, feeding newborn baby Andrew. I netflix marathoned that show on my phone when I was feeding him every few hours. A total wave of nostalgia hit me.
I've come to realize that nostalgia doesn't necessarily mean you want to go back to that time and experience it again. It's just a strange sensation of love and happiness toward a time in your life that was special - a life event that has been moved to the "accomplished" section.
At 35, I cherish the memories of caring for an infant.
Later in the evening, I am making a zoo with the duplos. Evan waits patiently to get the go ahead to "ruin it". He smashes a car through it.
I get another text from Jim: "aced it".
Later in the evening, I am making a zoo with the duplos. Evan waits patiently to get the go ahead to "ruin it". He smashes a car through it.
I get another text from Jim: "aced it".
He makes things seem so easy. The past 48 hours have been especially stressful for him. We only texted a few words to each other in two days. I knew he was in the focus, study zone.
And then he comes out on the other side as if it was easy as pie. Such a stud.
We can't wait for him to come home tomorrow. We will go get some celebratory ice cream.
One last thing about me at 35.
I love the feel of my kids' skin. I always pet their little cheeks while they pull away in confusion ("why is mom petting my cheeks again?"). So soft. Especially Evan. For some reason his skin is like warm bath water.
And then he comes out on the other side as if it was easy as pie. Such a stud.
We can't wait for him to come home tomorrow. We will go get some celebratory ice cream.
One last thing about me at 35.
I love the feel of my kids' skin. I always pet their little cheeks while they pull away in confusion ("why is mom petting my cheeks again?"). So soft. Especially Evan. For some reason his skin is like warm bath water.
