If I only wrote when I was belated, lets face it, this blog would be sappy. It wouldn't be real- a web of lies crafted together to impress who? I'm here to tell the truth, to learn to tell the truth more often and more willingly. So, here it is: Sometimes, I'm sad. I get lonely. I got pulled over again. After spending the entire day working on my car, I had a stinking head light out. I sometimes forget to pray. In the midst of all this trial and tribulation, I stand strong but when the door closes I am a heaping pile of sheets and wool socks, shaking and calling out God, where are you?
This is absolutely ridiculous, of course. God is always here, he never goes any place. There, in the crooked smile of Kade's face, the way he clapped his hands and danced in the glow of the police lights- there is God. There is faith and hope and love. And the most important of these is, you know the verse, love. And those nights, when I'm reduced to a small pile of rice packs and wet hair, there is Kade giggling in his sleep- serenading through the baby monitor and filling to the brim every inch of air around me. You see, for every bad, there is a good. It's all about balance, baby. If we knew everything- if we never faced bad days, never battled to have our way- we would never think of Him. The idea is to trudge through the mud with a grin on your dirty face. In my case, imagine a baby building mud pies beside me, his yellow raincoat squeaky clean and his face a rosy red.
Moving is a huge task. Boxes fill every square foot of my apartment. Impossibly making it smaller than before. I fret around Kade, terrified that a box will come tumbling down. This is unlikely, granted. I am Super Mom, Packing Professional. I whisk about the house putting heavy things in the bottoms of boxes, blankets in the top, stacking perfectly even, never more than two boxes high. It's a Lego maze, little trails of Cheerios guide you in and around the living room. A tippy cup is tipped sideways atop a small box, cars line the edge of another. By the end of tonight we will be in a new place. There is a part of me, small but unwavering, that is sad. I was ecstatic to move into this apartment- the vaulted ceilings, the way Kade's room is just a stretch of the living room. I decorated in warm colors, I bought colorful food, I did my best to make this a home. And it is. So while I'm looking forward to starting fresh, there is a nostalgia here. It's already seeping into the walls, my memory soaking up the textures, the smells, the sounds. Storing it all in a safe to be re-opened on a particularly long night. A treasure box of remember when...
It seems like February is my transition month. For three years now, the only way I can describe February is drastic. Here I am, unemployed, moving, single. A year ago? I had just gotten a new job, my relationship was blossoming, I was moving into my own apartment. We found out Kade had a heart defect.
Maybe it's the winter. My mind is numb, my nerves are deadened. I need some stimulation.
Well, I certainly got it.
Moments ago, I sneaked ever so quietly into Kade's room. I perched myself upon a box and watched him sleeping, sighing. His new glow in the dark pajamas shown bright and he wiggled his sweet bum in the air, tucking his legs in tighter against his chest. He has ketchup on his face, left over from our dinner date. Because of a late night at grandmas, we skipped bath time, slid directly into lullaby's and tucked ourselves quietly into the still of the night. We didn't even bother turning on the bedroom light, my hands have dressed this baby often enough that they need not be guided by light, but only by memory. This warms me. This is something I never want to forget. Something to write down and read back to myself in my old age, reminding myself of my sweet baby boy and how well I know him. I could dress him in the dark, probably in my sleep.
Admist the sadness, smack dab in the middle of a dark, suffocating hole of lonliness, there is a comfort that there will always be something I know. I know my son. I know what he likes and doesn't like, what makes him happy and what comforts him. I know how to tease him into a volcanic eruption of giggles and squirms. I know that he likes to talk when we go on walks, babbling and squealing and inquiring "Dat?" an airplane; a fire truck; a heart shaped rock;
Times like these are when I make lists- lists of things that make me happy, things that have occured lately that are precious and soothing.
Like a trip to Ikea with my sister, a "road trip," giant pieces of pizza and picking out plush vegestables for Kade to cook with.
Teaching Kade his body parts. Kade, where's your nose? Marveling at how incredibly bright he is.
Hours of "Bananagrams" with my grandma and sister. Learning absurd words and laughing hysterically when I knock down Emily's pyramid.
Late night trips back and forth to and from the laundry mat, smelling like tide and eating oatmeal cookies.
Plain and simply: watching him grow.
The theme of this post is a back and forth kind of deal- some things are hard right now. Some are simple. But I'm swaying somewhere in the middle, which is where I'm supposed to be.