Staying with family feels like coming home. But you can't go home again, "they" say, and I think I see why. You've changed. They've changed. Everything else has changed. That's normal, and I seriously was reminded of that quote while watching The O.C. for the third time and it's funny because the dumbest character says it.
You grow up. That doesn't mean you handle everything with logic and grace. When I open the gates even a little, often the flood comes out.
I was telling Jules again the other day how it's OK to cry. She says, I know but I don't like to cry. Hm. Yeah. Good point. It does suck. I pretty much never feel better. Maybe mentally but not physically and that kind of ruins it.
I miss my co-parent the most. Because we can still talk, text or email, I get my best friend back now and then. But because he's not here to parent, I don't always get his dose of a second opinion when I need it. (Though I did make him put them to bed the other night, listening to his stern voice through the phone while I cleaned up.)
I was coaxing Cole out of my parents' house to go to my siblings' over Thanksgiving break, and it just built and built and I had told my parents to wait in the car, and Jules the peacemaker had stayed over with cousins, and he was fighting me so hard. I wanted him to see he was hurting me, making it hard. So I let myself tear up. His face softened but he didn't budge much. We sat staring at each other and breathing heavily. Me with tears streaming, wishing my husband and his dad was there with us right then and now instead of serving everyone else.
It seemed like everyone always loves hanging out with Jules but not Cole.
Cary would've said, it's just because he's only three. He's not old enough to do full-on sleepovers and be more manageable yet. Remember it's us against the world.
However I couldn't think of that in the moment, on my own.
I couldn't remember how much I love that sweet, wild child exactly as he is at every stage unconditionally always and forever. Couldn't vent. Couldn't download. Couldn't be embraced and supported the way only his father knows how to do best. Not perfect but best.
Yet I'm tired. So when we returned to sunny California from my homey northwest, my angel of a mom-in-law and Grammie-in-law watched the kids while I went to the spa, sitting in the foggy steam room till my eyes felt better finally and where I couldn't even see the sporadic other person in the tiled space.
Then I lay on a pool chair while reading as I watched people ice skating at The Del in bikinis.
Everything isn't so bad.
We all got back in our beloved routine filled with tiny San Diego excursions which breathe life into all of us. Things then continued to get jacked up by random COVID scares. Which always give my heart palpitations and stress despite my best efforts but also moments with my children I wouldn't have had otherwise – which I know one day I'll wish to live twice. I want off this ride but it's life so I guess I don't.
We saw family again another weekend in my husband's hometown. I ran into old college friends while wearing Grammie's coat since she was worried I wouldn't be warm enough at the park (she was right), which was adorable but probably not the coolest item.
Donkeys were everywhere from the Loma Linda hills so Grammie and I dodged their poop with the kids.
I drove out of the way with the kiddos to hit up and stock up at my fave Mexican spot in grad school and realized I feared for our lives. The kids had a blast though taking quarters from a determined homeless man to work the games and vending machines.
Cary's mom came down so I could go to my work holiday party for free but traffic was murder and I still had to leave early to get them from school and daycare. However for that one hour it was so nice to talk shop and not deployment or kids too much. Though when I did with Liz we commiserated over our tough boys, and my heart swelled and kept healing with mutual understanding.
We got matching really cute Christmas pajamas for once this year but mine looked funny on me, Jules' ended up being too tight she admitted though she powered through for 24 hours, and Cole's were adorable but he didn't have the patience for the buttons or the heat. We got some of my favorite, horrible pics though. #worthit
Then Jules got a light-bright type art thing for Christmas and it looks cool in the dark, so while I'm cooking Christmas morning breakfast she calls me and Cole in to check it out. It's dark and needs to be darker; Cole closes the door. We all admire the lit-up drawing. I turn around with spatula in hand to find the door locked from the outside. Shit. I panic for 15 seconds. Jules says it's OK, I can go out the (high, tiny) window. My friends are out of town. One neighbor I know too. I picture us all burning to death from our breakfast or at the very least the fire department showing up or CPS again. LUCKILY, I had my phone on me. So I called my other, closest neighbor (the couple who takes my barrels out and in every Wednesday and it breaks my heart with glee), and she follows my instructions to get in the still-locked-from-the-night house and save us all. Not even making me feel bad. Then brings over goodies they had gotten the kids and I.
God bless them.
I fix the doorknob, figuring out how to turn the knob around the right way with a Phillips and some jimmying. *pat on back*
I fall into bed every night.
Though I hate going to sleep because when I wake up, Cary won't be awake till later afternoon. It's sad and lonely when the person who cares most about us isn’t conscious enough to care.
And what is it about being a parent maybe that makes me cry in every damn movie?
Cary must miss the kids so much.
And we keep losing people in real life. Which breaks my heart for everyone involved.
My heart feels like it can't take much more. Then it can. Like the Grinch's.
I can't go home because I'm this different person who cries in movies and has heart palpitations and stress without being an essential worker or working on Wall Street, but also shuffles through the day rock star style. I think of my Grams sometimes, who would come help these days if we could live and feel good forever, and if anything she would tell me she's proud of my own bravery.
Even though bravery can be selfish, giving can be self-serving, and serving can be a sacrifice that's too much, I still think, Fly Navy. We're almost home.
1 comment:
Good good story stuff🎈
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