I wrote this about a week ago:
About a year ago, I drove out of one world and into another. I thought then that I had left certain aspects of the old world behind, but I failed to see the invisible trailer attached to my black Honda CR-V, the one carrying the pieces of who I had been. When I started writing here I wrote as if that trailer didn’t move the 3000 miles along with me, as if it was just The New Me here, the one that didn’t feel as if it had walked out of the two-dimensional world of a Mother’s Day card.
In the past year I’ve been rewriting what it is for me to be a mother. Writing and rewriting and endless editing, mostly from within my head and from 3000 miles away, connected by infrequent phone calls and the thick strong cord that forever links us heart to heart. I’m not the mother I was. But not only can’t I escape being a mother now, I have no desire to. I love my children. They are a part of me, and most assuredly I am a part of them.
Two of them are here with me now. We have a week together, not to make up for lost time, but to enjoy the time we have.
Want to know something sorta scary? I have absolutely no memory of writing those words. Oh, sure, the sentiment. Yeah. I remember that. Something something my kids are here and it’s great and something something I’ve been writing for a while as if I have no kids and something something the times they are a-changing something something. Right?
Something like that.
It was a good visit. Too short and also just long enough. 3% of the year. You can pack a lot into 3%, apparently. Like hiking up vertical slopes to regard pristinish mountainish lakes. And hikingsliding back down again. Like skipping through vertudinous* mossy fernlush verdant forests. Like breathing in air dusted with seasalt, pine needles, and ripening blackberries. Like endless shouting games of Wii Tennis and Wii Bowling and wee Wiiness. Like 19 pounds of freshly-picked blueberries and thirty bluestained fingertips. Like tooshort airport hugs and awkward pleading looks.
*made up word
I am a mother.
For a year now I’ve been exploring othermotherhood, alternatives. Just as they, my progeny, my heartspawn, have been exploring their own otherness, their Selfness. They are good Selves, strong Selves, capable Selves, those heartspawn.
I blow them 3000-mile kisses, hoping that can be enough.
So, do you like my new look? [twirling a little to show the newness off to its full advantage] I adore this new theme but have not yet found a way to wrap long post titles. Variety makes life interesting, and you’ll just have to guess at the ending.