Stepping into Uncertainty

When I was in 5th grade I was invited to a horseback riding party by a friend from school.  What I remember most about it was the drive there.  We drove down a road I had passed all my life, but never knew where it led. As we pulled into the parking lot of the horse sable, my brain quickly drew a new line and destination onto my mental map.  Before that day, it showed a dead end on that street, just blank space. There was actually something spectacular just beyond what I had been able to comprehend before.

This upcoming fall feels to me like that road I would pass all the time.  I just simply have no concept of what might be there for me to discover.

Once school starts, I'm not sure who I'm going to be.  I have been at home with an infant, baby, toddler, or preschooler for the last 13 years.  I am anticipating something completely foreign to me: an empty house for many hours each weekday.

I don't know what this will be like.  I'm not sure what I want to do.  I'm just not sure what the near future holds for me.

Three of my four kids will be starting new schools in the fall.  Joe will be going into junior high, Natalie will start at the middle school, and Ben will begin his elementary school years in kindergarten.  I won't be the only one stepping into something completely new.

I have always been a planner, and have spent a lot of time trying to imagine what will fill my days.  I am not really interested in getting a job right now (and am fortunate enough to have the choice), but that doesn't mean I never will.  I know I want to take this first year to try to figure out my role, both here at home, and in our community, church, and the kids' schools.  Maybe I will spend some time renewing my teaching certificate.  Maybe I will join the group of Deacons at church who host funeral luncheons and after-church coffee hours.  Maybe I will spend time painting room after room in our house.  Maybe I'll volunteer at my kids' schools.

Uncertainty makes me nervous. But I can also feel an excitement building that there will be so many possibilities.

I have to keep myself from trying to fill it up with something familiar before I even get there.  Often I think something like "I'll go back to school in the fall!  That's perfect!".  But when I step back and really consider it, I realize that I am just wanting to go to school because I already know what that is like. Having no real plan scares me.

I was supposed to be celebrating my empty house by visiting with Sue.  We had plans to meet for lunches, shop for kids' clothes together, do whatever we felt like doing.  When it became apparent that she was getting very sick, I had planned to help take care of her while my kids were all in school.  I could bring her lunch and we could still spend time together.  Now all of my plans involving her are gone. Navigating this change alone was not what I wanted.

I am working on surrendering to the unknown.

The fall is a blank slate for me, I'm nervous.  But I can also see that there just may be a hidden treasure at the end of this uncharted road.

I have linked this post to Heather at The Extraordinary Ordinary (a blog I love!) who has a weekly segment on her blog called, "Just Write", in which she encourages other bloggers to sit down and write about what is on their mind right that minute, without over-thinking or editing.  I'm happy to join in!

Just Write: Bed Time

I finished reading the last page of Ezra Jack Keats' The Snowy Day, closed the book, and kissed the soft, spikey top of Ben's head goodnight.

Sometimes we just really miss Auntie Sue

"Mommy, I need to tell you something about your sister, the one who died.  My Auntie Sue. I remember her.  I remember we went to her house and we brought her lunch.  She smiled at me and we had strawberry smoothies that day, remember? We brought one for her too. It was a fun day."  He paused, and caught his breath.

"My cousins, their mom died.  And remember when you were sitting on the stairs and you were crying and I was so sad because I am sad when you cry and I don't like it."

I took a deep breath and pulled him into a hug, "Yes, I remember that day we brought her lunch. You are right, it was a fun day. And yes, your cousins have lost their mom. It is sad, and that's why I cry sometimes. I know you don't like when I cry, but I need to cry so I can get better. But it is not your job to worry about me. I am okay and I love you."

We finished our good nights, and he rolled over, stuffed bear in his arms.

I sat down and thought again about how I wish we all didn't have this hurt on our hearts.  But what a gift we have in our memories of happy lunches, smiles, and strawberry smoothies.

I have linked this post to Heather at The Extraordinary Ordinary (a blog I love!) who has a weekly segment on her blog called, "Just Write", in which she encourages other bloggers to sit down and write about what is on their mind right that minute, without over-thinking or editing.  I'm happy to join in!

Just Write: Benny Moments

I have linked this post to Heather at The Extraordinary Ordinary (a blog I love!) who has a weekly segment on her blog called, "Just Write", in which she encourages other bloggers to sit down and write about what is on their mind right that minute, without over-thinking or editing.  I'm happy to join in!

 Ben likes to poke his head into a room, flash a huge smile, yell out, "Enjoy your popcorn, folks!" then run off. We don't know why he does this or where it originated, but it makes us laugh.

Several times a day he brings me a chapter book, snuggles in beside me, and announces that I need to listen because he is about to count.  He counts each page out loud, this morning reaching 120.

He answers most directions with "I don't want to." and a lady next to me in a waiting room chuckled as I answered (for the 50th time today) "It's okay to not want to do it, but you will do it."  More and more this approach works.

He was so upset in a public restroom today because the toilet he was using had an automatic flush, and it kept flushing while he was using it.  He cried, big crocodile tears running down his cheeks, "This is just not working right!"

He keeps saying that he has decided to not go to Kindergarten this fall.  "It's because I already know everything that I don't want to go." he says.

His feet are dirty all the time.  We wash them, and they are immediately dirty again.  He runs around the backyard playing with the dog, rolling in the grass, building "houses" in the sandbox, and climbing trees.  He is so tan.  He can play with the hose for hours.

He climbs onto the couch, then into my lap.  "Will you hold me like a baby?"  he asks.

"Of course!" I say.

 And I do.

Just Write: Her Kids

I have linked this post to Heather at The Extraordinary Ordinary (a blog I love!) who has a weekly segment on her blog called, "Just Write", in which she encourages other bloggers to sit down and write about what is on their mind right that minute, without over-thinking or editing.  I'm happy to join in!

It is cooler than normal today, but sunny.  I am taking a few minutes to myself while the kids put away the groceries for me.  The eggs, bread, and cheese will all end up in weird, unexpected spots, but I don't mind. It is still better than doing it myself.

I'm checking the time, I have a half hour before my mom brings Sue's daughter over to play.  I think about how every day I wish I was being a better Aunt to her and her sister and brothers.  When I promised Sue I would help take care of them, I had no idea what that would be like.  There was no practical plan in either of our minds.  Sue's mother-in-law has quit her job to be with the kids during the day.  I am grateful for that but also sometimes feel that it is a failure on my part.  I told her I'd help, but what am I doing?

So I just keep writing stories about Sue.  My self-appointed job is to write down all the memories I can before I start to forget.  They might want to read these stories when they are adults.  They might want to know all about their mom the way I knew her.

I stumble along, not sure of anything on this journey, and I know I sometimes fall short of who I want to be. I am completely sure of one thing, though. I am so thankful that she left us with these two boys and two girls, they are like a healing balm for my aching heart.

All the cousins, November 2011