June 2014: It's the day after Father's Day and I've got some of that quiet reflection time I was hoping for here at home. Watching my baby boy sleep, he's transitioning from two naps a day to the long afternoon nap, and I think of how he's growing up. But I'm not thinking of it in a sad way. People ask how my children changed while I was away for seven weeks. If they look different, did they noticeably age in my absence? Sure, Bryan's hair got longer, Eryn got a haircut, Bryan got his first two teeth in, Eryn got new shoes. Bryan grew out of most of his outfits, but he didn't look bigger or feel heavier.
Mother's Day is not a simple holiday. Countless emotions are going through the heads of people. Some are easy to read. Some people keep their emotions to themselves. Some pride themselves on remembering the holiday. Others block it out, or just don't find it that important. This Mother's Day evening was spent in Hunt, Texas at a lodge on the Guadalupe River. It was too late in the day to swim, but we put our feet in and watched the sun set. The closest restaurant was at least 3 miles down the road, so we skipped dinner, but planned on a good breakfast. We drank wine from coffee mugs in a cabin built in 1923; Mike taught me how to play Scopa, an Italian card game. During the night, I was woken by rain on the roof, and a peacock's yell. I'm pretty sure I never checked my facebook that day, but I did call my mother.
While I was away from my children, I never stopped noticing others' children. The little girl with her McDonald's happy meal toy, anxiously awaiting her mom to open the bag for her. The baby sleeping in the car seat next to the table. A boy in his front yard, waving at us riding by. A toddler crying because she got 6 M&Ms instead of 5.
Mother's Day is not a simple holiday. Countless emotions are going through the heads of people. Some are easy to read. Some people keep their emotions to themselves. Some pride themselves on remembering the holiday. Others block it out, or just don't find it that important. This Mother's Day evening was spent in Hunt, Texas at a lodge on the Guadalupe River. It was too late in the day to swim, but we put our feet in and watched the sun set. The closest restaurant was at least 3 miles down the road, so we skipped dinner, but planned on a good breakfast. We drank wine from coffee mugs in a cabin built in 1923; Mike taught me how to play Scopa, an Italian card game. During the night, I was woken by rain on the roof, and a peacock's yell. I'm pretty sure I never checked my facebook that day, but I did call my mother.
While I was away from my children, I never stopped noticing others' children. The little girl with her McDonald's happy meal toy, anxiously awaiting her mom to open the bag for her. The baby sleeping in the car seat next to the table. A boy in his front yard, waving at us riding by. A toddler crying because she got 6 M&Ms instead of 5.
Being springtime, I noticed the ewes, the cows, the mares, the hens, the does. They had that sense of heightened awareness in our presence. The animals that I presumed were not parents curiously came closer to the fence. The maternal ones looked for their offspring, making sure all was safe.
Reflecting on this now, more of the strangers' comments make sense to me. They're parents too, and they had some sort of unspeakable connection with me that made them think of their own children. A man in the airport mentioned his teenage daughter, and wondered out loud if he'd let her go on a trip like I did. Somebody in a hotel lobby, talking about their son who had completed the MS 150 mile bike ride on the east coast. Something stirred in the psyche- the village is still there. People watch out for each other.
Reflecting on this now, more of the strangers' comments make sense to me. They're parents too, and they had some sort of unspeakable connection with me that made them think of their own children. A man in the airport mentioned his teenage daughter, and wondered out loud if he'd let her go on a trip like I did. Somebody in a hotel lobby, talking about their son who had completed the MS 150 mile bike ride on the east coast. Something stirred in the psyche- the village is still there. People watch out for each other.
This mothers day, I experienced all those typical mom things- an audience in the bathroom, a toddler stepping in dog poop in his bare feet, nobody could find matching socks. I'm not exactly sure what took up most of our day, but it was busy. I did manage to get a good nap in the morning, with my favorite cuddle babies. They're so cute when they're sleeping, mostly because they're quiet and not in an "up to no good" sort of way.
