The Stable Bow

Yesterday was one of those tough days.

A day when reality was all about frustration, sadness, confusion, overwhelm … and whining.

Mama was all of the above.

Well, so was Primo, but with a day’s hindsight, it’s clear that Primo was my mirror.

A day later, I see that Primo was empathizing with me. Feeling my feelings, and not being entirely comfortable with them either.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t have his own feelings. He does. But kids (and I don’t know what the cut off age is here) have no filters, so when they encounter feelings, they feel them. That includes other people’s feelings, especially people they’re connected to.

Earlier this year I contemplated moving out of this house. I wanted a fresh start, didn’t want to live with the memories of life with their dad. I found an apartment and put down a deposit. But when I went back to look at it with my friend Peggy, we saw the threadbare carpet that they had promised to replace and the broken bits that the previous tenant said they’d never fix, and smelled cigarette smoke from a suite downstairs. I questioned my decision.

Was moving out of our house really the best thing for the children, or was I running away from my problems?

Primo always came to sleep with me in those dark days. The night that I discovered the unsuitability of the apartment, he dreamed this: we were lost and came upon two doors. We went through the first door and it was a trap! We managed to escape and when we got through the other door, we were home safe in our beds.

When he told me his dream early the next morning, I knew the answer: we would stay at home in our beds and deal with ghosts in the attic and skeletons in the closet and whatever other scary old patterns might arise.

And yesterday I was sad. I mourn my life as a full-time stay-at-home mom. I grieve the “loss” of my children. I am sad that they don’t live with me all the time. Anguish overwhelms me so that I often can’t work or focus when I’m not with them. It’s worse when the depression levels me even when I’m with them.

I ache to be with them when I’m not. I fear losing connection with them. I fear missing out on their milestones. I don't want to miss important information. Will they still learn my values, share my beliefs? What about when they want their mama? This is their time of life to have me.

They’re good company. I’m used to being with them. They make me laugh and love and sing. They leave a hole when they’re gone.

From my five and a half years with kids I know that there’s always going to be another chance. They are so real, full of life and love. They learn -- and teach -- every moment.

Life with kids, even if it’s not 24/7, is crazy. There’s always plenty of opportunity for learning and growth, for patience, and pleasure. Yesterday started in tears and ended in laughter. As our bedtime snack ended, Secundo’s clean up attempt inspired a Jackson Pollack-type design in milk and soggy rice crispies beneath the kitchen table. “But I just mopped that floor!” Andy exclaimed. And then he laughed.

There’s always ample opportunity to laugh. And laughter, as they say, is the best medicine. My day full of tears ended like this: on a bathroom floor slick with bath splashes, I turned to sit Secundo on the toilet and skidded on the wet floor. We never made it to the toilet. I wiped out with Secundo on top of me, in the middle of another expressionist painting, this one done in poo.

The laughter felt good, an antidote to the pain in my coccyx and the suffering of the day.

I am their mama. I love them when they’re with me and I love them when they’re with their dad. It’s not an easy balance. But it’s our life.

On Children
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let our bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Kahlil Gibran