Raw Drip

Loyal Drips -

We may not all share the same beliefs, politics or opinions but, personally speaking, I can’t imagine my life without my partner at my side and I’d hate to think that if my Dick were a Jane, our partnership would somehow be regarded differently or carry less weight with the rest of the world.  Unity & commitment should be encouraged and celebrated equally – period.

That’s just my two cents, but if you agree, please join me in signing the marriage resolution.

Freedom to Marry | Sign the Marriage Resolution

Peace,

~ Sam

Posted using ShareThis

It’s easy to forget how simple children are.  I realize that statement is, at best contradictory and at worse downright blasphemous, so I’ll clarify.  Having children – parenting them – is extremely difficult, and gosh knows they can be moody little suckers, but every once in awhile they surprise you with their ease and leave you wondering…

Today, for instance, I had both kids at the doctor’s office and as we were leaving, the doctor offered each child a prize from the treasure chest.  Leaning over the tiny chest full of toys – army men with parachutes, race cars, balls, rings, tattoos, and compasses – it was clear Adam was looking for something specific.  Abruptly, he shouted out, “Yeah!” and began the goofy victory dance he’s perfected to taunt his sister.  

“I have the penciw shawpenew!!!”, he yelled with glee.

“Adam, we already have a pencil sharpener at home. Why don’t you see if you can find another toy?,” I suggested.

“But this one is shaped wike a basebaw and it can make penciws weawwy shawp!  Can I shawpen penciws when we get home, mommy?  Pwease?  Pwease??

“I was thinking we could eat some pizza and watch a movie together.  How does that sound?  Better than sharpening pencils, right?”

“Aw!  But I want to shawpen penciws!”

“How about you sharpen pencils while I get dinner together?”

“Okay, mama.  I’m gonna make ow penciws shawpew than evewyone ewse’s penciws. Ow penciws will be da best!”

Laughing at the notion that A) Sharpening pencils could ever be THAT exciting, and B) That the competitive nature of boys is truly boundless, I hardly noticed little Tabitha still searching through the treasure box.

“What are you going to pick out?,” I asked.

“I’m going to get this pretty ring!,” she beamed with a tiny, pink heart-shaped ring barely looped around her pinkie finger.

At 3 1/2, poor little Tabitha suffers from her parent’s affliction of being too big for her age.  The tiny, pink ring was clearly meant for more baby-sized fingers and the plastic tension band looked as though it would pop at any second.

“Sweetie, are you sure you want that ring?  I think it’s too small for you.”

In the quiet way that she does, Tabitha removed the little ring, tears welling up in her eyes, and placed it back in the box. I sensed an extended bout of crying lay just beyond the doctor’s office door, but just as I was about to work my mommy mojo on her, to my amazement, Adam stepped in and comforted his little sister.

“Don’t be sad, Tabitha.  When we get home we’we going to shawpen penciws with my new basebaw penciw shawpenew while mama makes dinnew.  Won’t that be fun?,” he said with arms draped over her shoulders.

For a moment, Tabitha looked as confused by Adam’s uncharacteristically considerate behavior as I did.  But like any smart woman, she knew how to seize upon a male’s generosity – don’t question it or it’ll go away.  

“Hooray for pencil sharpening!”, she cheered.  

All the way home, they took turns passing the pencil sharpener back and forth admiring it’s baseball-like appearance, commenting on it’s color (white), and making plans for all the pencils they were going to sharpen to oblivion.  It was bizarre.  Not only was their interaction harmonious, but it sounded to me like they could die that very minute as sublimely happy, fully fulfilled little creatures – for they had been given a cheap, plastic baseball pencil sharpener. Whatever.

Once we were home, Adam darted into the kitchen and ransacked my desk drawer in a hunt for un-sharpened pencils. Retrieving several, him and his sister spent the next 20 minutes dividing pencil sharpening duties, squealing with delight at their new found ability to transform a perfectly good 8 inch long pencil into a 1/4 inch stub of uselessness.  

Later, as I tucked Tabitha into bed, she thanked me.

“Thank you for what?”, I asked.

“Thank you for the pencil sharpener. I had so much fun sharpening pencils with Adam.”

Tabitha’s simple statement had the effect of rendering me a 6 ft tall wall of blubber.  How could I have forgotten about such simple pleasures?  Rolling down a grassy hill, playing Duck, Duck, Goose until your sides ache from the laughter, the sweet, spicy, slightly metallic smell of fresh pencil shavings, or the memory of a time when you were sad and your big brother made you feel a little bit better.  Absolutely everything is amazing and special when you’re a kid because everything inspires wonderment – just as it should.  

Of course, intellectually, I’ve always known this to be true and I’m sure my realization isn’t exactly revelatory to you, either.  But in a moment surely intended for a future book entitled, “Everything I Need to Know, I Learned from a 3 Year Old”, my daughter’s gratitude was the smack in the face I needed. All of my soul-searching of late has largely been a maudlin ritual, mulling over all my life that’s left behind.  But with Tabitha’s words, I realized that the only thing we lose that really ages us, is wonderment.  

Tomorrow, my kids may look at that pencil sharpener and say, “big deal” but today, it was a life-changing experience for them.   To my astonishment, letting go of my preconceived notions of fulfillment finally allowed their wonderment to replenish my own dwindling supplies.  No amount of Oil of Olay slathered on each night, nor antioxidant capsules sucked down in a cup of coffee each morning can make you feel as young as a good dose of that.  Besides, wondering about the past or the future is a futile exercise.  The real wonder years are today. Already, today is just another pencil sharpener to my kids.  One of a million small moments that will be replaced in their memories with things that are far more significant.  But for me, today was the first time they shared a sibling moment and took turns using a pencil sharpener – without me having to referee.  That was truly a wonder.

I’ve been in a circumspect mood lately, most likely boring you with too much nostalgia. Perhaps it’s the recent birthday or just the ongoing realization of what an incredibly imperfect creature I am that has me thinking. All I know for sure is that the old saying “youth is wasted on the young” seems more true with each passing day.

In my 20’s, I used to tell Dick that I felt like we were in a holding pattern, waiting for our turn to take off on life’s runway – and always encountering unscheduled delays.  First, we waited until we were both ready to be married (or more correctly, I became “ready” at age 26 and then rode his ass about it until he gave in at age 29). Then, we waited to settle down and buy a house before we started a family. Along the way, jobs, relocations and life’s ups & downs all threw bumps onto our little runway, but at least there was some steady, albeit slow, forward progress.

By our early 30’s we were married, we’d settled down, and even gotten pregnant. Life was lovely and there was a brief period between the end of early pregnancy non-stop puking and the beginning of the realization of the awesome responsibilities inherent in caring for your own, personal human being, when we were high on life – downright daffy with delight.  Our holding pattern was over.  Our plane had reached takeoff speed and we had begun to soar – flying along content in our belief that our entire lives were ahead of us.

As with all good things, that feeling ended rather abruptly.  With the arrival of Adam, the #1 engine of our fancy airplane began to cough and sputter. The moment we brought him home from the hospital and realized how incredibly overwhelming and all-consuming this destination called parenthood really was, I felt like scrambling back onto the plane and leaving all the new, little baggage we’d acquired behind us. 

As you’d expect, after a few months of engine exhaustion, we began to feel like we were adjusting to a new holding pattern – only this one was dominated by a tiny, bossy little creature with very specific sleeping & feeding schedules.  Yes, we were still flying on one engine, but Dick and I were staring to feel like pretty skilled pilots.  And then fate stepped in, no doubt to keep us from getting too cocky, and charted a new course for us – a course towards adventure. To our chagrin, I got pregnant with Tabitha. The engine #2 failure light began to blink ominously…

Fast forward 3 years and now I have the husband, the children, the home, the dog, the suburban mini-van of choice, and basically the life I spent the better part of a decade trying to assemble, only now I’m confused.  Where did my life go? Seriously, how can a chick get into a good, quiet, no-rush, no-fuss holding pattern these days?  I can’t even get into the bathroom by myself these days, let alone find down time to just stop and sort out my next move and rediscover myself. Did I, seriously, spend all those years pining for this?  Is this really “it”?  Have I reached the much discussed ultimate destination for all 30-somethings, only to find that it’s a costly, over-hyped tourist trap that everyone else is trying to flee?

Sure seems that way.  

Of course, being the circumspect creature that I am lately, I cannot entirely surrender to bitterness.  I also realize how fortunate I am to NOT be in a holding pattern any longer.  As crazy as my life can be, I do have two beautiful, healthy, wildly imaginative children and a husband who adores us all.  My dog is pretty cool, too.  And that mini-van is really, freakin’ practical and I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re judging me for being one of “those” women.  

If there’s anyone who’s still in a holding pattern here, it’s probably me.  No matter how mundane your journey or how anticipated your destination, sometimes you just have to stop navigating and enjoy the ride.  To carry on with my overwrought metaphor a bit longer – sometimes your plane is stuck waiting at the gate, sometimes it’s barely aloft and enduring a turbulent ride.  Sometimes it feels as though it’s plummeting to earth in a spectacular, flaming free fall. Occasionally, it feels as though your ride is skipping along brilliantly on buoyant clouds of promise.  

My challenge is to remind myself that no matter where or when I am, this is my life and it’s both nothing I’d every imagined it to be, and everything I’d hoped for.