Fight or Flight

How I wish I could have glimpse at what life was like for my mom when she was a young mother.  She had three little kids when the Army sent my dad to Turkey for a year. A whole year. In the 80's, when there was no email, texting, or FaceTime.  There were letters and occasional phone calls, but I can only imagine the lonelines, anger, sadness, and strength and support my mom felt as she navigated that year alone.

Or my mother-in-law, who supported her husband's firefighting schedule of on-for-24-hours and off-for-24-hours.  She says she had a lot of sleepovers at her mom's house, so her kids got to know their grandma really well.  But I'm sure there were still hard days, and I would love to read what she learned from them.

So I continue to write on my blog. I like to think that I'm writing both 'to taste life twice' and also to give my grown children a glimpse into what life was like, for me and for them, way back when.

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When it comes to Jason traveling in the winter, my flight or flight syndrome is especially strong.  Stay alone with the kids, waking and sleeping, bathing, dressing, feeding, entertaining and disciplining them all on my own?  Or pack up and tag along, driving for endless hours, eating out and sleeping in a hotel room together, living out of a suitcase and hoping to find enough to do each day to keep ourselves busy and justify skipping out on real life?  An occasional escape from real life is essential, but this time I chose to stick around for the fight.  And I'm glad I did.

Jason's first trip this year (to Puerto Rico) was an awful one for me.  It was so cold and gray.  He was gone for a long time.  We didn't have enough interaction with other people or get out of the house enough.  I slacked on my household duties and the house looked and felt awful.  It was a hard enough time for me that by the time he got back I wondered if maybe I was dealing with postpartum depression.  But after Jason's return and some good conversations with wise and experienced friends, I feel confident in saying that this was not depression.  It was situational despair.  Once the difficulties of the situation were remedied, I immediately began feeling a hundred times better.  And this time around, I felt more prepared for Jason's absence.   I bought enough groceries to last us months.  I invited friends over, lined up baby-sitters, planned a few surprises for my kids and stocked the kitchen with chocolate.  I checked the weather and made sure to take advantage of sunny (albeit windy) days.  I've kept the house clean and kept in touch with family and friends.  Jason has been more accessible this time around and he sent me these beautiful flowers.

The week is flying by, as most weeks do.  We've got one more Daddy-free week ahead of us, but I'm confident we'll be able to survive.

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Life is good.  And it's hard.  I like the tale of 'The Very Bad Bunny', a story that recounts all of the accidental mishaps a bunny has that shock his family and convince them that he is 'a very bad bunny'.  Then another bunny comes to visit and teaches them all that 'a very bad bunny' is in the eye of the beholder.  He breaks things, paints on the walls and locks everyone out of the house... 'And he never even says I'm sorry.'  When the visiting bunny leaves the original bad bunny says, "Now that was a very bad bunny."  And his family agrees.  

I feel like so many of my days and problems are like this- all in the eye of the beholder.  Yes, it's hard that Jason is traveling so much for work, but he does have a great job that he loves.  Yes, days when Noah cries non-stop the instant I put him down seem like they will never end, but they always do.  It is ridiculously cold, but we're able to stay warm.  I worry about the way that my kids hop up and down from the table, torture each other, pick their noses, develop hard hearing when I tell them it's time to get ready for bed, and run through the house like crazy people when Noah is napping... But they certainly aren't breaking anything, painting on any walls or locking me out of the house.  Or worse.  They are very good bunnies.  And this is a very good life.