Hold My Hand?

Last night I had a mini-breakdown as I stirred spaghetti noodles. The day had been crazy with a capital K and by 8:00 I had sworn off Wednesdays for the rest of my life. 

We have tweaked and re-tweaked our fall schedule and it looks like we're going to overhaul it yet again. Sometimes you just don't know how it's all going to work or not work until you make like Nike and just do it. Some things are working. Some things have been a train-wreck. I remind myself that it's not failure or even crazy, it's simply trial and error. 

It's also change.

I've always been just fine with change. Change invites opportunities to reinvent and makeover, to embrace new and exciting and fun. At pivotal moments in my life, I've moved across the country, made new friends at schools where I knew no one, tackled topics and endeavors about which I knew nothing, and traveled to countries where I didn't speak the language. I currently have three different colors of paint on my living room walls. For 39 years, my motto has been Bring It. 

But when it comes to my kids and change? Well, I become a ball of fear and sadness and nostalgia run amuck. My motto goes from Bring It to Stop It. My bossy mantra refers to the clock, not my kids. {Though I do tell them to Stop It quite a lot.} 

I watch my younger sister and sisters-in-law mother their younger ones and I want to switch places. I want to take the knowledge and priorities I have now and get a big fat do-over. I want my days to be filled with nothing but read-alouds and playing outside, legos and PB & J's. And also nap-time.  

As they get older, they get busier and that means I do too. As more is required of them, more is required of me. Older moms reading this are probably thinking, Just wait 'til they're in high school! Younger moms are thinking, I never get a moment's rest! And you're both right.

Maybe I'm simply approaching the realization every mom faces sooner or later. The days that used to feel so hard were actually much simpler. And right now, I equate simple with sweet. Sure, they were hard in different ways--temper tantrums in the middle of Target and calcified baby oatmeal stuck to the walls, sleepless nights and diaper blow-outs in the car-seat. Every stage is hard in its own way and I'm sure we look at certain seasons through rose-colored glasses.

But last night I watched my younger two play with neighbor friends in the driveway while I fixed a late dinner and counted down the minutes until I had to retrieve our oldest from youth group. Not so long ago she would have been out there with them, writing with sidewalk chalk and playing "spies." 

And this is why I wept in the spaghetti. I'm sure that the day's relentless schedule and various mishaps contributed to the tears, but mostly I was just rebelling against the hands of time that will not stop ticking. 

I'm no good at acceptance and I do know that clinging too tightly to anything has a strangulating effect. Maybe that's why it feels hard to breathe, why I choke up a little when I watch the "baby" of the family scale the flimsy limbs of the Crepe Myrtle in his Spiderman costume and I want four to last forever.

And this is why we will revise and revise again until we've squeezed out the most possible time for family and the least possible time doing the run-around. The days are precious and they pass so quickly. 

Driveway tennis and tiny super-heroes remind me to savor the simplicity {mess and tantrums notwithstanding} of the younger years. Commutes to school, just her and me, remind me to drink down these days when she's in the passenger seat. I'll blink and she'll be driving herself to school. 

So if you think I'm a mess now, I will really need some hand-holding then. 

And maybe that's what we moms need most from each other. I'll listen to your advice, I'll find comfort in your stories, I'll try not to compare or judge or envy. But what I really need, what we all need, is just a bit of understanding and consolation. Motherhood is hard and change makes me cry. So give me your hand. And also a box of Kleenex.