Saturday, April 20, 2019

Wash, Dry, Fold, Repeat

I know you hear me complaining. I know you hear me when I sigh and say the laundry in this house never seems to end. It's true, you know, it doesn't. It started out small. Little socks for little feet. Tiny shirts for my two little boys. Blueberry stains, applesauce spots, orange juice spills. 
Wash, dry, fold, repeat. 

As the years moved on, the hamper seemed to fill faster and faster. Bigger socks for bigger feet. Larger shirts for bigger boys. Grass stains, ketchup spots, grape juice spills.
Wash, dry, fold, repeat. 


Before I knew it you had both grown so much that you needed your own hampers. Soccer jerseys, baseball pants, ski clothes. Different clothes for my boys who were changing and growing right before my eyes.
Wash, dry, fold, repeat. 


The truth is that behind my complaining is a mom who is desperately trying to remember the smell of your baby pajamas. I remember folding rompers and bibs. I remember losing baby sock after baby sock because there was no way something so tiny was surviving the sock monster that clearly resides in our dryer. 


I remember cleaning skinned knees and kissing boo boos, then hoping that the bloody knee spot would come out of your new cute toddler pants.
I cheer you on at your baseball games knowing full well that the hamper will be full of grass stained pants, ketchup stained shirts, and smelly socks. Sure I roll my eyes, but the truth is I will miss this. The other day as I grabbed all of your clothes out of the dryer I had a flash back to the days of the two of you lying in the grass, waiting for dusk so that you could catch fireflies. I remembered the smell of your clothes after a full day outside. I remembered folding the clothes of my two small boys and feeling happy and content about the day.


The truth is one day I will open that dryer and it will no longer have your socks, or your shirts for me to fold. The two of you are already helping so much with your own laundry, but late at night when you have both drifted off to sleep, I sigh and open the dryer. I sit and I fold your baseball uniforms. I look at the piles and I know that one day they will no longer be there. I look at the piles and I see the both of you. I see your hobbies. I see your favorite shirt that I beg you to stop wearing every other day. I see your pants that you are about to outgrow. I see your sweatshirt you begged for on vacation. I see you. I see who you are, and I remember who you were. As I drift off to sleep I see two little boys lying in the grass waiting for fireflies.
Wash, dry, fold, repeat.

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Dear Mom, Before They Were Mine, I Was Yours


Mom...
Before they were mine, I was yours.
Before they wrapped their tiny little hands around my finger I wrapped mine around yours.
Before I knew how to walk you taught me I could fly.
Before I learned to doubt, you taught me to always believe. 
Before they were mine, I was yours.

Mom...
When the world felt too big, you made it feel like home.
When the journey felt too long, you reminded me to take one step at a time.
When the heartache felt unbearable you reminded me to breathe.
When my dreams seemed far fetched, you helped me reach higher.
When the world felt too big, you made it feel like home.

Mom...
When it rained, you made me look forward to the rainbow.
When I felt stuck in the storm you handed me an umbrella and told me to dance in the rain.
When the sun was shining you made sure we soaked it in together.
And together, we jumped into the ocean, and leaped into the lake. Together, we chased fireflies, and picked dandelions.
When it rained, you made me look forward to the rainbow.

Mom...
Before they were mine I was yours.
Before someone called me mama, you showed me what it was to be a mom.
Before I felt my heart grow, you taught me it was possible.
Before I held my sweet baby boys for the first time, you told me they would be the best gift I had ever received. You were right.
Sometimes when I hold their hands, I remember holding yours. I remember you brushing my hair, and telling me the world was waiting for us, and sometimes, I remember our days at the lake...when the world stopped for us.
Before they were mine, I was yours.

Sunday, September 9, 2018

The Space Between


There was a time that I counted your little toes because the time seemed to allow for it. There was a time that I used to pull your head slowly into my neck so I could breathe you in. Oh how I miss that. There are pictures that remain in my mind, and they are full of baby pouts, chubby cheeks, and moments that seemed to move in slow motion.  They are moments I didn’t realize I should have been recording. They are the moments that defined me as a mother.

Somehow, despite the amount of warnings I received telling me just how fast time was going to move, I didn’t quite grasp it until I myself was caught up in the time warp.  So here I am watching you. Here I am trying to figure out this time we are currently visiting. There are all these people talking about babies, toddlers, teenagers, and college kids, but you don’t fit into any of those groups. You are somehow residing in the space between.

You are still a little boy, but you are trying to navigate a bigger world. You are holding onto your forever friends, while finding your crew.  You are still excited to see your mom and dad, but equally excited to wave goodbye.  The funny thing is, you’re aware that the wave goodbye makes me sad. You are still okay with making sure we are okay.
You are currently in the space between. You are not yet old enough to venture off on adventures of your own, yet not young enough to have us navigate them for you. These are new waters for all of us. No matter how prepared we feel there are moments that make us realize we fell short.

No one told me about the space between. No one told me how fast we would wind up here. No one told me that there was a time between chubby cheeks and teenage angst. No one told me. So here we sit in the space between. Here we breathe in. Here we breathe out. Here we talk about things that don’t involve baby toes or teenage love. Here we talk. Here we fight. Here we love. Here we try the best we can to navigate the next steps. Here we laugh. Here we stay silly. Here we teach our boys about forgiveness. Here we teach them about love.  Here we stay. Here we remain. HERE. Here, we embrace the space between.