It's a funny thing being away from the little faces and hands and toes that I spend my days with. Funny how hard it is to get used to free will again -- to eat, void, exercise and shop as one pleases.
I know it is only a fleeting moment of free will. Maybe that's why I am hesitant to settle in to it.
Tomorrow night, I will be standing over the sink inhaling a salad and making a mad dash for the bathroom when my bladder has reached capacity, 30 minutes ago. And I will go back to being a stranger to my beloved TJ Maxx & Marshalls.
I will long to take the time to trim and file my nails instead of biting them off because it is quicker and doesn't require finding the necessary tools.
I will plan to shave my legs, only to have the shower cut short, by a one or two year old needing a snack or another book or to tell me that they pooped.
I will make lists for shopping, and then find creative substitutions for the things we have run out of when shopping doesn't happen. (We use napkins in place of toilet paper quite regularly at our house.)
I will drink my morning coffee cold or not at all, as I toast waffles and cut them into bite size pieces carefully applying enough syrup to make them palatable, but not enough to induce diabetes or childhood obesity.
But that's ok. Really --
Last night in the hotel room I bit my nails because I didn't have a set of clippers with me -- yeah, I could have run out and gotten some, but I didn't.
And I left my razor at home, so the hair on my legs is only increasing in length, despite the uninterrupted showers.
And while I did go shopping today after class, I spent a large amount of time in the kids section of Target. And I did not buy a razor or nail clippers or a nail file.
And the coffee -- well, it just doesn't taste the same as when Rebecca helps me scoop it.
It's just fine with me because the little people I am doing it for are totally worth it. And this brief glimpse at free will reminds me it isn't as good as what I have going at home.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Friday, January 4, 2013
From what I thought I would be to who I am
It is Friday night. Since Monday, I have packed up and left the first house I ever owned. Moved to a new house in a new city and began to make said new house a home. And today, I left home to be away for several days at a review course for my nurse practitioner certification exam.
Needless to say, my head is spinning. I missed the turn off for the interstate because I was talking on the phone & generally not paying attention. With a long drive ahead I needed to regroup and as I scanned through the radio stations I found NPR's world cafe. Former classical, now rock cellist Ben Sollee was the featured artist. I had never heard of him. Or his music. But something about it lulled me & brought me to the reflective calm I so needed. And then he said something in one of the interview clips about how he was now 28 & transitioning from what he thought he would be into who he actually is.
It resonated.
Maybe because only hours earlier I stood in the dining room of my old house amidst boxes that were being brought down from the attic for me to sort and disposition. Many of them were boxes that had been in that attic since I moved in eight and half years ago, when I was a different person. And that person had a lot of ideas and plans and hopes. Many were based in reality -- not all however came to fruition. And it is ok. There are a lot of things I thought I would be that I am not. Things I thought I would do, but haven't. Nonetheless, particularly over the past two years of motherhood, I have accepted who I am & the life I am living, for better or worse. I consider myself well into the transition from who I thought I would be into who I am.
Then you open a box.
And a smell wafts up. And it is familiar, but distant.
And a picture catches your eye. And your blue prom dress sparkles in the image.
And you know what it is. Or do you?
It's the old boyfriend box. (I assume more people than me have one of these, I hope I am right, otherwise I am totally outing myself as a weirdo -- or if you know me maybe it is too late -- or maybe I don't even care, it is who I am)
Long story short, I peeked through it's contents and didn't feel a shred of emotion, except relief. When I boxed it all up and put it in that attic years ago, I still had plans for the things I would be. Now even that old sweatshirt and the tarnished locket couldn't take me back to the place I was then.
All I could feel was thankful that it was my husband in the attic mumbling about how I was a hoarder and my father-in-law in the hallway chuckling and passing the boxes on to me.
And out of respect for them -- and myself, that box went directly to the trash. I didn't even think about putting the sweatshirt in the donation pile. Some things are better just closed. Like that box.
It is normal to mourn the things that didn't turn out as we planned. Even spend a little time clinging to the ideas of the past. But if we are lucky, as I consider myself, we accept who it is we have become in spite of ourselves. The transition isn't always graceful or painless, but then again little in life worthwhile is.
If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans. ~ Woody Allen
Needless to say, my head is spinning. I missed the turn off for the interstate because I was talking on the phone & generally not paying attention. With a long drive ahead I needed to regroup and as I scanned through the radio stations I found NPR's world cafe. Former classical, now rock cellist Ben Sollee was the featured artist. I had never heard of him. Or his music. But something about it lulled me & brought me to the reflective calm I so needed. And then he said something in one of the interview clips about how he was now 28 & transitioning from what he thought he would be into who he actually is.
It resonated.
Maybe because only hours earlier I stood in the dining room of my old house amidst boxes that were being brought down from the attic for me to sort and disposition. Many of them were boxes that had been in that attic since I moved in eight and half years ago, when I was a different person. And that person had a lot of ideas and plans and hopes. Many were based in reality -- not all however came to fruition. And it is ok. There are a lot of things I thought I would be that I am not. Things I thought I would do, but haven't. Nonetheless, particularly over the past two years of motherhood, I have accepted who I am & the life I am living, for better or worse. I consider myself well into the transition from who I thought I would be into who I am.
Then you open a box.
And a smell wafts up. And it is familiar, but distant.
And a picture catches your eye. And your blue prom dress sparkles in the image.
And you know what it is. Or do you?
It's the old boyfriend box. (I assume more people than me have one of these, I hope I am right, otherwise I am totally outing myself as a weirdo -- or if you know me maybe it is too late -- or maybe I don't even care, it is who I am)
Long story short, I peeked through it's contents and didn't feel a shred of emotion, except relief. When I boxed it all up and put it in that attic years ago, I still had plans for the things I would be. Now even that old sweatshirt and the tarnished locket couldn't take me back to the place I was then.
All I could feel was thankful that it was my husband in the attic mumbling about how I was a hoarder and my father-in-law in the hallway chuckling and passing the boxes on to me.
And out of respect for them -- and myself, that box went directly to the trash. I didn't even think about putting the sweatshirt in the donation pile. Some things are better just closed. Like that box.
It is normal to mourn the things that didn't turn out as we planned. Even spend a little time clinging to the ideas of the past. But if we are lucky, as I consider myself, we accept who it is we have become in spite of ourselves. The transition isn't always graceful or painless, but then again little in life worthwhile is.
If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans. ~ Woody Allen
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