next, please

There are shoes all over my kitchen and somehow we no longer own any spoons.

I thought this summer would be the one where I’d post regularly. I’m in a writing groove. My kids are older. This is my moment to build this space. Instead, it’s been almost six weeks since my last post, my car is never here and I drive around in a truck designed for people who don’t have to hoist themselves into the driver’s seat, and my calendar is less predictable than when all four of my kids were under my roof.

I want to shake my own shoulders and say, “Dude! You mom’d four kids for decades. Why is it so different having only two home now?”

I’ll tell you why it’s different. I don’t make snack trays mid-morning filled with a rainbow of food groups. I don’t design a summer schedule and sign them up for summer camps. I don’t apply the sunscreen. And I don’t tuck them in at 9pm. The boundaries are theirs and the wheels have come off my bus.

Now, I go to the store and guess what everyone will want to eat. I stock the fridge with hope and then go back to the store with solid ideas. On good days I learn the schedule the night before. On regular days, I find out after I’ve left the house. And bedtime, what’s that?

I mastered my old role. Passed it with flying colors…because I held all the cards. But nowadays, I’m back to page one in a rulebook I didn’t write.

Sometimes I’m the provider of funds. Sometimes I’m the keeper of secrets. Sometimes an easy excuse. Sometimes a thorn in their side. Sometimes a short order cook. Sometimes a stain remover. I’m always an open door. And, with any luck, I’ll forever be their lighthouse.

Time is vicious and precious filled with airport pick-ups and teary ferry good-byes. My days are no longer filled with things from my own color-coded schedule. Instead, they’re filled with whoever walks through the front door.

xoxo,

julie