A bit of a break

So for the first time, I know in a way how my husband feels when he returns from a trip. We were away from Grif for 10 days, and suffice it to say, he changed a ton during that time. I swear he was talking much, much more and definitely more clearly in that short week and a half apart. It was disconcerting almost. And, to top it all off, I'm beginning to think we may have been away for too long for his age. Do I regret our Colorado trip? Absolutely not. But it was hard on Grandma, and really hard on Grif. All of which made me sad -- he schedule was so disrupted, he had real trouble sleeping and now he's back-slid more than a little when it comes to his calls of nature.

Which is not the point. The point was perception -- I get it a bit better now. When Jim comes home after being away, I understand his sometime frustration that routines and patterns have changed. That Grif seems less interested in playing with him. That Grif seems a bit more inclined to throw a fit or have a meltdown. It was kind of an eye-opener, and one that I'm not likely to get another chance at. It hurt my heart a little, to see how fast that little boy changes, both adapting and resisting. But for as much as it was hard on him, it was so very necessary for Jim and me.

And the break from my daily blogging? Easy to forgive the breaks. Not so easy to get back into the swing. Ah, vacation. How effectively you wield that double-edged sword. Love you when your on, but killer when trying to recover when you're over. Makes me think there's something to be said for home. It's where the heart is, after all. Most definitely.

Long time coming

So begins our vacation. We’ve been away from the boy before, and I’m not usually one of those overly emotional clingly mom types who cries and wails whenever we leave the “baby” -- granted, this is the longest we’ll have been away from Grif, and the longest he’ll have stayed with grandma, but that’s not what had me in tears. Cuz yes, there were tears when I walked away from Grandma’s car, his little life of toys and clothes and bunny and dog filling up the back of her car. What choked me up had to do with, as usual, time. 

I’ve finally come to a point in the year where the freelance work is done (but hopefully more coming down the pike), so no outstanding work or obligation or task is pulling me away from the boy’s constant cries of “come play with me, mommy.” The holidays are over, the baking, shopping, wrapping and traveling are over as well -- so much so that everything is put away and stored for another year. Most of the laundry is done, caught up, as is the house in its current state of “pretty clean.” The packing and prepping and double-checking for this trip is complete as well... and so this afternoon came the time to finally, fully relax. The time when I could finally put everything down, not have anything pressing me to get done, the time when I could finally focus all my attention on the boy... and then we left. 

Which is not to say that I’ll be in any real crazy insane working mode when we return. Sure, they’ll be the obligatory unpacking and putting everything away and the new batch of laundry to do, but time-wise, I’ll still have the same (luxurious, glorious) copious amounts -- no upcoming events, no crazy side-work, nothing to prep and pack for. And maybe, hopefully, after some time away, time where I can catch up on sleep -- lots and lots of sleep and napping and movie watching and yoga and hanging with friends and skiing and all the rest this lovely, magical place in the mountains brings -- hopefully I’ll be more refreshed than ever, so the times I’ll have with the boy will be that much more fun and focused and free. He deserves it, and so do I. 

But for now, I miss him a little. I miss the time that I’ve already wasted trying to get to this point, sometimes at his expense. I miss his smell and his little face and his heart-melting laugh. But I’ve missed my pilot too, and with the craziness of editing and working and holiday rush, we’ve missed spending good time together as well. We’ve missed each other, and for this trip, I’m so thankful that we have the time to recharge and relax with each other, for each other. So for as much as I miss the boy and the fact that this “down” time could be solely dedicated to him, I know -- and am soooooo very thankful for -- this time is just for the pilot and me. Cool, no? 

No comparisons, no opinions.

No judgments, no opinions. This what my yoga teachers always remind us throughout class. That's not why we are there -- we're there to do yoga (and all the things that entails), not spend 75 minutes focusing on what's wrong with our body or that pose or make mental comments about we look or how far we can push....That's not the point at all. But it's hard not to do that -- both in yoga (in front of a huge mirror) and in everyday life. It's so easy to look at someone else's work schedule/job/hair/weight/body/house/children/life and not hold up your own examples in comparison...even easier to find your own somewhat lacking, easy to think how much better your own whatever would be if you could have just a little bit of what they have.

I've been making those comparisons a lot lately. Too much, frankly. And I've been letting myself come up short. Which is not only unhelpful, but truly just silly. I was looking at a friend's hair the other day and thinking to myself how great it looked (do I have to say also that I was wishing my hair looked that good all the time?). About an hour after we met, my friend sent me an email and mentioned how much she loved my hair and wished hers was more like mine. I thought that was hilarious -- how telling, a sign from the universe? a reminder? whatever, it was hilarious.

I have lots of other friends that post pictures of their kids all the time -- on blogs, on Facebook -- taking the time and effort to honor this progress (to catch it on film) and I find myself wishing I could do -- had done -- more of that with Grif. It's hard for me not to listen to my stay-at-home neighbor when she goes on (and on) about what her 2 year old can do...then worrying about things that Grif hasn't yet mastered, or isn't ready for, or doesn't know....how hard it is not to take all her praising and pride for her own brood and put Grif up next to them...hard to not think he's not measuring up in small ways within my strange mommy brain and somehow blaming myself for these "lacks" because I'm working full-time. Because, of course, if I could work part-time or freelance from home (like so many of my friends do) all these things that I find troublesome in life would magically fix themselves and Grif would be reading Shakespeare next week, right? And my hair would be perfect too, and my weight where I want it and my house clean and....funny how completely ridiculous these comparisons (and the thoughts that lead to them and away from them) seem in print....

I've been on vacation twice now in the past month with two lovely friends (in locales that required swimsuits, so that didn't help with the no-comparisons-no-opinions thing). Both thin, thin, stay-at-home moms. Hard not to draw comparisons there, right? And yet, as much as I found myself envying their time with their kids, their time to workout, their time to do things other than juggle work and daycare with groceries and cleaning and laundry and life, I realized that I didn't want their lives. Not even a piece of them (ok, well, living in the UK would be nice, but not something I'm dying for). I love my life -- I'm ready for it to change, change radically, and working hard to make that come true, both in my work situation and therefore the time and life I have with both the pilot and the boy, but that doesn't mean I've forgotten to be soo thankful for everything I have. Because I am -- so very thankful. I have so much -- and that's not to say more than anyone or better than everyone, but just enough today, for me. And my life. Comparisons be damned.

So, I'm done comparing my weight with that of the females in my life. I'm done comparing my current work requirements and schedule with all the people in my life who are doing it differently (or not at all). I'm done comparing my car, my hair, my dog, my kitchen, my beauty, my wardrobe, my pictures, my blog entries, my legs, my eating habits, my looks, my style, my everything with the people in my life. I'm done finding all these things not quite good enough or sad that I feel like they could be (should be) better, more, most. I'm most especially done comparing my sweet boy Grif to all the other kids on the block, or in his school, or with those of my friends. I think we both deserve better than that. No, I know we deserve better than that.

No judgments, no opinions, no comparisons. Done and done.

Tomorrow

I've been thinking a lot about my next post here -- specifically, that I haven't even mentioned my life with books (so you know that one will show up simply because it is long, long, long overdue). I have lots of opinions and passions to share in that department (as those of you who know me will most definitely agree). I've also been thinking a lot about Colorado, and how raising my child in that kind of atmosphere (politically, ecologically, spiritually) would be (will be) so different than our current surroundings in Northern Kentucky. I even started that one. It's called "Rocky Mountain High." I'll finish it soon. Then you know I've always got something to say about the boy -- so I'm sure there will be yet another post waxing poetic about him, and being a mother, and a wife, and most importantly, being so very thankful for it all.

But for now, for tomorrow, this one is short. Simple. Obvious. Tomorrow, I go to the beach. Tomorrow, I journey to the shores of Alabama (by car, which means lots of napping and reading while my husband and our friend drive -- yes that's right, I probably won't contribute there at all -- call me lazy, whatever, I always offer to drive and always get turned down, which, honestly, I've grown exceedingly accustomed to). Tomorrow, we go to a place that is starting to feel the affects of the oil leak, and to which all the proceeds of this funky little hippie music festival will now go (cool, no?). Tomorrow, I go to the sand. And the ocean. And that smell of salt and sun and sea. Tomorrow I go to a place where when the wind blows, I'll be left with an oceany residue that I can feel and taste on my skin and clothes. Tomorrow...

It's been way too long since I've been to the ocean. And although I'm a mountain girl by nature, there is simply nothing in the world that can compare to that truly awesome power the ocean carries so easily on its blue, blue back -- the gigantic crash of the waves, the inexorable pull of the tides, the smile-inducing salty smell in the air itself that is so unique, so tangible, so memorable (you simply have to relax and smile as soon as you take that first deep breath of it). The thought of it overloads my senses (not to mention the thought of the great music, fun people and general mayhem that will naturally ensue).

Tomorrow -- so soon -- I go to the beach. With my husband. Just the two of us. Grif's first beach vaca will be in June on Cape Cod -- this one is just for me and the pilot. And while I will miss the boy fiercely, I am looking forward to a getaway with Jim, the late nights and lazy mornings, sand in the bed and the feeling of tight, tingly skin from too much sun.

Tomorrow is vacation. And we're going to the beach.