Yeah, so life has been a bit…crazy? No, that seems cliche.  Overwhelming? Surprising? Unplanned? Yes, I suppose all of those things.  I’m a person in transition and well, a person who likes plans definitely doesn’t like transitions. I couldn’t be more uncomfortable right now if I was wearing a coat made out of human skin.  The other day David sent me the following text message: “When shit gets real you’re the person I want to be with”.  The shit has most definitely been real lately.

David quit his job. We then spent the next three weeks in a heavenly bliss of unemployment.  A mini-vacation into Hakuna Matata world where everything seemed like a giant rainbow and bluebirds were singing on our shoulders. However, contrary to popular belief you really can’t pay the mortgage with singing bluebirds. ( know, who could have guessed that?) David got a new job and I went back to teaching.

Sigh.

David’s  new job has definite advantages, including a 15 minute commute (this is much better from the 1 hour commute he’s had for the past 8 years of our marriage). He has returned to working with some dear friends and that is always nice. However, it is still work and it is still advertising and so that still means long nights and big projects. We’re adjusting.

We’re still living in a house that is in transition and at the end of the day I think this is driving me crazy more than anything else. I have books stacked — EVERYWHERE (#1 problem faced by English majors and teachers around the world: book storage. We don’t ever get rid of them).  I have boxes packed and stacked and the garage is a tumbled combination of new, old and garbage. Every room screams for a new piece of furniture, artwork, carpet or now a cleaning. Every wall is blank, every window bare, and I desperately want order.

David wistfully mentioned to me how much easier our lives would be if we didn’t have children. Indeed, life would be simple. My house would always be in order and clean. We would always have enough money. David and I would always have time to talk about subjects and things that interest us.  As we both laid in bed and reflected on that alternative universe the selfishness of it all made me sick to my stomach.  I recognize that many people are very happy being childless. I, however, could never be one of those people.

My house is chaos, but that is because it is bursting with life.  That much life cannot be neatly contained.  Life must overflow, squeeze out around the corners and fill every crack and crevice. There will be enough time at the end of my life to enjoy a clean kitchen.  For now, I’m just going to kick the Hot Wheels out of the way, toss the Barbies off the kitchen table and sit in the moment.

(editor’s note: I wrote this post about three months ago. I suppose it is a reflection of how truly chaotic things have been that I’m only now getting around to publishing it. However, I liked this post, and I feel that it truly captures what my summer was like).

When you are in your twenties your life is filled with possibility and uncertainty. We all crane our necks trying to peer over the fence into adulthood wondering what it is going to look like, unaware that we are already there.  By thirty we KNOW we are adults and are filled with the confidence and certainty that this self-awareness brings.  We’re married, we have kids, houses, cars, careers and life seems rather simple for those who know how to “follow the rules”.  But the journey from thirty to forty is tough and exhausting. 

At 40 I’ve realized that having a “plan” for life is the silliest most fruitless thing ever. Plans are meant for those who have yet to come to terms with the fact that life is not something that can be controlled.  All the idealistic and optimistic visions of my early thirties have been smacked in the head with reality.  In many ways my life is better, more fruitful, richer and painted with more vibrant colors than I was capable of imagining at thirty. On the other hand I’m also far more humble.  I’ve been knocked on my knees, fallen to the floor and wondered “what next?” too many times during my thirties. I know not to take the good times for granted and that the unexpected tragedy is the other side of the rainbow that fills our lives.

What’s next?

I plan on spending my forties enjoying the seeds I sowed in my thirties. I’m looking forward to watching my children grow up. I want to wallow in my new career as an educator and watch my students blossom.  Most importantly, I’m looking forward to countless evenings sitting with David on our front porch, watching the moon, talking quietly about our kids, our jobs,  and laughing at life.

This past week our wireless internet connection got corrupted and I lost my internet access at home.  At first this seemed dire, frustrating and desperate.  However, by the end of the day I realized how much I had gotten done because I wasn’t distracted by the insignificant minutia that seems to constantly be demanding my attention on the internet.  This led me to consider the idea of consciously disconnecting during certain times of the day or week. What would happen?

My first experiment came Saturday night.  David and I were attending a “grown-up” party with alcohol and music and no children or even people who also had kids so there would be no swapping of kid stories. I turned my iPhone off and left it at home.  Think about that people. I TURNED MY PHONE OFF AND LEFT IT AT HOME. I WENT SOMEWHERE WITHOUT MY PHONE. MY PHONE WAS NOT NEAR MY BODY. Do you recognize the enormity of this ? Do you recognize the sheer craziness of me making that decision? Well, I did it. I went a total of four hours without access to the internet, facebook, email or text messaging.  And you know what happened? The world did not end and for once I wasn’t distracted by things that were peripheral to my activity but I was actually able to exist in the “now”. I made eye-contact, I talked with people, my mind settled and I focused on what I was doing.

This first experiment went so well that the next morning I decided to not bring my phone with me to church. Although at times I felt a small tug of disappointment that I couldn’t “check-in” with the world I overall was pleased at my ability to keep my attention on the people and things around me versus the “others”.

I like this idea of sacred space and have decided to start consciously marking sacred times in my life when I disconnect.  I don’t want to be checking my email while I’m trying to spend time with my husband, or playing a board game with my kids. I don’t want to hear the chime of a text message while I’m trying to have a conversation with a good friend.  Don’t get me wrong, I still am madly in love with my iPhone and I will not be giving it up any time soon.  But I’ve decided to reclaim my sacred space. I’ve decided to try harder at living in the now and not the later.

7:00 AM wakes up to me reminding him to not forget about Max’s lunch and don’t fall back to sleep

8:30 AM – 6:00 PM After an hour long commute that can only be compared to a slow death march he arrives at work where his schedule is usually non-stop meetings peppered with people complaining that he isn’t in enough places at the same time.

5:30 PM – 6:30 PM Receives approximately 20 phone calls/text messages from me asking if he’s left yet.

6:00 PM – 7:00 PM Death march commute in reverse

7:00 PM is greeted by me hysterical about who knows what and the kids simultaneously talking and poking him in the tummy.  There is no dinner. I made mac-n-cheese for the kids. The leftovers are in the pot.

8:00 PM he puts the kids to bed which is probably the only time somebody is nice to him all day

9:00 PM he gets back on his computer and works for an hour or more. He catches up on emails or freelance work

10:30 PM He returns to the family room to find me asleep on the couch and he’s left to watch The Colbert Report by himself.

Why this man has not run from the house screaming I have no idea. Every pregnancy is unique and the emotional upheaval of this pregnancy is quite pronounced. David is worried that I’m going to go all crazy after the baby is born and will pull a “Dooce” and end up in a mental hospital. I’m hoping I will find my way to medication before I get to that point but yes, the emotional carnage of pregnancy is scary and I am as worried about it as he is. In the meantime I’m so, so, so grateful that I have an awesome husband who, for the most part, cheerfully puts up with my crazy.

From the moment David and I met I have always taken great pride in the fact that I’m not a jealous person.  I have entertained and fed more than one of David’s ex-girlfriends.  I have watched him attend bachelor parties, happy hours, and other events without me and have never thought twice about it.  He has spent days at photo shoots with professional models, and his office is frequently filled with beautiful single women.  It has never once bothered me.  Why? Well, I’m pretty secure with myself and in my relationship. I figure if David was really bent on straying nothing I could ever say or do would stop him.  And yet, without warning, things are starting to change.

Before you think that somehow my marriage has hit rocky ground it has not.  David and I are as solid and in love as ever.  What has changed, is me, and it has a great deal more to do with those suspicious wrinkles on my forehead than I’d like to admit.  It all fell into place when I read this recent article by Mommy Track’d. I am more jealous of the women my husband works with and the time he spends away from the house. Why? Because I’m no longer the young, 20-something, career minded, sexy, independent super girl I was when we met.  No, my body now wears the scars of two children and four pregnancies. I have stretch marks, and cellulite, and wrinkles. The circles around my eyes, that used to be easily gotten rid of with some ice cubes and good eye cream, no longer vanish over night – or sometimes at all. That high-power, high-paying career that I had forged for myself is now a victim on the sidelines of my life.  I can no longer compete with the women that my husband interacts with on a daily basis and at 39 I’m all too aware of it.

David assures me that those things are no longer important to him.  He laughs and scowls when I bring it up telling me that in place of those things I have provided him with a home, children, a foundation for him to build his life. That we always have been and always will be soul-mates fatefully locked together.  I know he is telling me the truth. I know he means all the words coming from his mouth.  But I can’t help but miss that 20-something young super girl and wonder if sometimes he misses her too? I’m not mourning the loss of my younger body (because lets face it, it was never GREAT), but I miss the confidence that the younger me had. I miss the seemingly bottomless pit of belief and passion I felt within myself.

Perhaps that is what getting older and wiser is all about.  You lose your unshakable confidence because you more honestly recognize your faults and misgivings.  You no longer need the shield of false bravado to get through life but instead gain the greater strength of seeing yourself more nakedly than you ever have before.  And this honesty, this unfiltered vision, brings with it fear of who you REALLY are not who you were trying to pretend to be the first 30 years.  And just perhaps that is true wisdom.

This week my thoughts are more preoccupied with why the world of advertising takes pride in the fact that it doesn’t even try to acknowledge work/life balance and instead is boastful about their employees working 24 hour shifts? Being raised by a management expert this was frequently referred to as poor resource and time management not “trying to do the best work possible” because after all don’t we all do our best work between the hours of 3-4 in the morning? I’m scouring recipe books trying to figure out what I can possibly send in Lucy’s lunchbox that doesn’t include peanut butter, look like a sandwich and isn’t just turkey.  As of now she will be eating turkey rolls everyday until she branches out.  I’m torn up about deciding to send my baby to preschool – a choice we did not make for Lucy.  Is it the right thing to do? Is he ready? Am I taking the easy route? I’m sick with the fact that my school year starts on Monday where I will be using a new textbook.  A textbook that I didn’t choose, I haven’t read and yet I’m expected to write a lesson plan for by Monday. In the meantime I’m behind on every household chore possible and I have chronic acid reflux which makes me feel like I’m on the verge of vomit during most of the day.

This is 39.

Happy Birthday me.

The Ohio summer air was warm and muggy.  My friend Vicki and I had spent the day perfecting our rollerskating skills on my driveway. I had white skates with a big blue stripe down each side, and large blue pom poms with bells in the middle.  Vicki and I were sweaty and tired and tumbled into the house eager for a snack.  Our young, awkward bodies scampered onto the bar stools near the kitchen.  We explosively giggled as we gobbled up bologna and cheese rolled up and secured with a toothpick.  We washed it down with the cool, sweet, sugary syrup of Kool Aid.  The simple textures and tastes of childhood.  Vicki and I debated our next move; Barbies or dress up?

1987

John was handsome, popular, in drama club, and my first boyfriend. Why he chose to go out with  me instead of all the pretty girls in our school I still don’t know.  The mother of our friend Jamie owned a small cafe in town.  On Fridays she would open the cafe an hour early for Jamie and his friends to eat breakfast before school.  John used to always order coffee and it made him seem so grown up.  I desperately wanted to seem as mature and sophisticated as him but I couldn’t get past the bitterness of the coffee. I started ordering black tea. We sat around old restaurant tables with red vinyl chairs drinking coffee, tea and relishing homemade blueberry pancakes. For the first time in my awkward adolescence I belonged.

1998

He didn’t have any money to take me out. I knew that. We sat across from each other in a  small deli and split a club sandwich and a bowl of broccoli cheese soup. It was cold outside and it didn’t feel all that much warmer sitting in the booth. I don’t think either one of us noticed. We talked about everything, nothing, and things that now no longer seem important.  The soup was warm, the sandwich simple and as we walked out of the restaurant I told him to kiss me. He did.

2000

We collapsed on the small, stiff couch in the hotel room.  The “President’s Suite” was a disaster. The fireplace didn’t work and the toilet instantly overflowed.  This wasn’t at all how we imagined spending our wedding night.  I was still in my fairy tale dress and he in his tux.  I silently wandered into the bathroom and peeled off my wedding dress and slid on a pair of soft work out pants and a t-shirt.  I emerged from the bathroom to see him laying on the large bed holding two glasses of champagne and the stack of wedding cards.  I curled up snug next to him.  He handed me the champagne glass. We whispered, toasted, and the cold, sparkly, sweetness glided down my throat.  We laughed and told stories about our wedding as if we had been guests and not the people exchanging vows.  We delicately opened each card, reading the words out loud, and commenting on the giver.

2004

The cramping had grown worst as the night progressed and by 5:00 AM I gave up trying to sleep.  I quietly crept out of the bedroom and into our over-stuffed recliner. I tried timing the pains but I never could determine starting and stopping times.  David poked his head out of the bedroom and said; “are you okay? Why are you up?” He never heard me wake up before so I was startled to see him standing there.  I sheepishly replied; “I’m having some contractions, but I don’t think it is anything big.” A big smile spread across his face and he said confidently; “you’re in labor”.  I thought it was rather smug of him to be so confident when he wasn’t the one having the pains and I was a good five weeks away from my due date.  He grabbed a blanket and curled up on the couch, “I’m going to lay down here with you. Wake me up if they get stronger.”  I closed my eyes and tried to ignore them.  The fact that this strategy hadn’t worked for the past four hours didn’t seem important.  By 7:00 AM I knew we were going to be making a trip to the hospital.  I methodically took a shower, shaved my legs, got dressed and stood in the kitchen.  They woudn’t feed me in the hospital so I had to eat now.  Nothing sounded good to eat.  The house was eerily quiet as I poured a bowl of Cheerios. The loud crunching in my mouth felt like an intrusion into the moment. I was becoming a mother. Soon my life would be something I couldn’t imagine.  The bowl ceremoniously clanked into the sink. I woke David and we drove to the hospital.

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This is my entry for this month’s Write Away Contest at Scribbit.

Because I don’t see my parents on a regular basis it is as if we have to adjust to being two new people every time we see each other. I am no longer a child, and my mother is no longer the happy hummingbird buzzing around our lives. My mother, long wracked with the pain of arthritis, stenosis, and fibromyalgia, is frustrated, uncomfortable, tired and weak. She is occupied with finding new homes for old memories. As I shuffle through pictures of me with a parade of old boyfriends sitting on the same couch, with the same windows in the background, it makes those memories seem pointless. They are pictures of a life that seems to have existed in a parallel universe with a person that was not me, but only looked like me.

However, for my children, this is a magical location. An enchanted forest filled with toys, adventures and new things. Grandma’s house has secret cupboards that contain curious things to explore and mysteries that need to be unfolded. Her pantry swelling with treats to eat and sweets that need to be eaten. Their little hearts bursting with the love and adoration that comes from standing in the light of two people who adore them, and yearn for them to be the center of their universe.

This is what growing up is all about. As I mature and see my parents as the raw humans that they are, my children see them as the perfect, glorious people of my youth.