I know I should be used to it now. that it should almost feel perfunctory, like a ritual that is getting too old. his black travel bag. his frequent business trips. but I woke up this morning brimming with emotion, and I thought God, please, help me get through this. I miss him. I miss him so much, I reflected, and the unbidden thought made me feel like weeping.
the way they grasp the rules and dynamics of social interactions and laugh appreciatively at SpongeBob's practical jokes provoke a kind of ecstasy, and delirious abandon. they amaze me. every day. yet watching them groom and unsaddle a pony for the first time, oozing unbridled joy and lit just right from within, I couldn't be more proud.
I couldn't be happier.
never had I imagined that carrying my sleeping child to bed would relieve that fog of doubt and exhaustion I hold around me. and that one could fall in love with a dryer.
it was hard, much harder than I thought. strangers in my house. engaging in hour long conversations with my husband about good energy flow and warm and cool colors while navigating the maze of Ikea aisles and home displays. trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice. ordering, cleaning, cleaning and ordering again. yearning for normality. and my legs and arms feeling as if there was no strength in them.
but then I would hear Sean and Will happily jabbering in their room as they changed into their pajamas, or my husband watering the geraniums, and life would feel infinitely gentle again. filled with opportunities to be hopeful, to create and to enjoy even during what sometimes seemed like weeks of domestic chaos.
this is our home.
there are still cardboard boxes here and there, tiles need to be sealed and some days I do wonder if we will ever see the end of it.
but it is ours.
after 228 payments, it will be ours.
"Sean, what are you doing?"
"I farted" he said. then he leaned forward, cupped bath water in his little hands and smelled it.
more about Love Thursday here.
we've unpacked the last boxes, wiped floors and organized shelves. we no longer feel compulsively elated nor emptied and exhausted. we don't have internet access or white, beautiful cupboards in the kitchen yet. but we play loud music and eat fresh cherry tomatoes every day. and Sean and Will are officially known as the kids with the blue booger wall. yes, we are starting to feel like home.
these past few weeks though I woke up in the morning feeling little pangs of failure. my life seemed to blur at the edges. English grammar had never been more abstruse. I didn't know how to silence my fears. fear of not being able to do what I really want to. that I will never be good enough. that I don't matter.
one morning I opened my eyes and watched the sun rise behind the pink shaded leaves of a tall oak tree. my new favorite thing. the capacity to be gentle with myself slowly growing into my conscious mind, I opened this book and read this quote:
"we have to build slowly. this is kind consideration. we acknowledge who we are in the present moment and what we need in order to continue (…) we never graduate from first grade. over and over we have to go back to the beginning. we should not be ashamed of this. it is good."
I sat at my desk and began to write. freely. senseless sentences. with no punctuation or direction. my need to write and share and tell a story getting bigger than my fear of failure. bigger than me. and I remembered. the little pleasures I shelter under my raincoat so that I can continue to create through moments of doubt. every time I compare myself with others, feel vulnerable and think that my writing sucks.
exploring flea markets and antic shops, gardening, reading. stop wearing my watch and knitting baby hats. fingerprint drawing with my sons.
and I remembered. that life has very little to do with being as talented, creative and successful as I wish to be. but is really about being who I am supposed to be now. and love and respect myself for that.
thank you all for the good wishes. I feel tremendously fortunate to be able to share this chapter of my life with you and I know I couldn't have done it without your support and caring, especially in stressful times.
we're all positively giddy with excitement here. I will be back as soon as I can.
Sean and Will spend most of their days at school which is opened during summer and provides fun activities for children whose parents work, or in my case, have lost the ability to deal with two four-year-olds who keep slipping in and out of the plastic drop cloths that have recently been laid on our new apartment's floors.
I don't think my life has ever been more disorganized. and nothing had prepared me to the daunting reality of house renovations and repairs. my heart pumping, carefully weighing the reasons for and the ones against, almost bursting with anxiety while I stood hesitantly for nearly half an hour before picking a bath faucet, and slightly appalled by the empty feeling that living between two places can give you.
yet some days I can sense that everything I've ever wanted is in my grasp. pancakes on Saturday mornings. laughing. white, beautiful cupboards. inventing. family traditions. new routines. blue walls. lit from within. a book. somewhere I will feel elated, inspired and safe. and I am shocked at the emotion this house still devoid of personal things can stir in me. encouraging me to keep unscrewing, removing tiles, packing, clinging, creating, dreaming and hoping.
in just a week today we will be moving in our new home.
Sep 21, 2006
