Growing Pains

Yesterday Chris was being a pain around the house, and I took him out for some "Mommy - Christopher Time" which is what we call it when just he and I go out without Norah and Ben. Right now he is going through some challenges because his body and his emotions are very much appropriate for his age, but his brain is leaping ahead of both of them, analyzing, finding patterns, experimenting, and taking on frightening amounts of vocabulary and scientific principles. There is a mismatch there, and while it has always been there in one way or another, now it is becoming more noticeable to him, and he hates the fact that his brain is somewhat "held back" by his age and size.

He has articulated as much to me, which is another sign that his brain is jumping wildly into the future -- he says things like "I am a big boy, but I am still smaller than some big kids, but I am NOT a baby, and I want to be in charge of the things that I do, and grown-ups always tell me what to do. I am frustrated at being a kid." Yesterday, Norah was having a 2 year-old temper tantrum because she wanted to do something her way, but her way was dangerous. Chris came up and patted her on the back and said, "I know what it's like to be frustrated at being a kid, Norah." So, at least we have empathy on lock-down?

I totally get it. I had almost the exact same frustrations, although I remember it hitting me when I was more like 8 or 9 rather than 4. I hated things that were meant for kids, and I never wanted the same things that other people my age wanted. Chris wants (needs?) desperately to be in charge of something, but he just doesn't have quite enough experience for me to really let him loose on anything major. So I let him be in charge of little things wherever I can, and I am always trying to think of new ways to let him "take the reins." I basically need the 4 year-old equivalent of that thing when you are 14 or 15 and your dad lets you drive the car for a few hundred feet down an empty country road. But what might that 4 year-old equivalent be? I have no idea.

When we arrived home after our field trip (unhurried trip through the ice cream shop/toy store), I had a moment of momgrief. Not long ago at all -- just a few months -- every time we went out for Mommy - Christopher time, Chris would say, "Since it's Mommy - Christopher time, you can carry me!" When he was younger he loved this aspect of M-C time, because Norah spent her first 18 months pretty much in my arms, so he loved having some of that space to himself. Today, almost-five and so much taller than he was even at the beginning of the summer, he didn't say that, and the fresh, baby-bright quality to his voice was gone as well, flown off in the wind. He is taller and gangly, and moody, feeling the corners of his ever-expanding self bumping against the edges of the space the world has hollowed out for him. He is chafing at its boundaries.

My mom-heart aches because I can't fix it all by carrying him to and from the car on an errand anymore, and because I know that feeling, of knowing that everyone around you just sees a child when they look at you, but inside your mind and heart you are twenty feet tall, an invincible universal spirit. They don't understand it, and they won't, for at least fifteen or twenty more years. Being Chris's mom shifts from being his protector and nurturer to being his advocate, like a lawyer for his spirit, making my arguments and presenting evidence, but in the end it is not up to me who wins the case. The force is strong with this one, though. It delights and terrifies me as I see him now in his nascent stage, this seething, electrical ball of potential, shooting off sparks in every direction, sulking in the backseat as we pull up into the driveway.

I watched Jane Eyre today

Okay, so I admit that I bought it for Fassbender, who broods appropriately as Rochester and also bears a resemblance to my own beautiful husband, which makes him even more compelling on the screen. But in the end I was won over again by Mia Wasikowska’s Jane, who is the best Jane I have ever seen, and is the closest in spirit to the Jane that you read when you read the real novel. Jane in the book feels something for Rochester and yet fights it, gives herself sort of “anti-pep talks” in which she teaches herself not to hope, not to be attached, not to expect anything. It is the way she has lived her whole life, and she keeps herself in check even in a very compromising situation.

So why, sitting back at naptime and enjoying the lovely Blu-Ray version of this great film, did I find myself 

WEEPING

as Jane runs back to Thornfield from the tiny church, ripping off her wedding dress, buttoning up in her greys again and putting her impassive face back on?

Rome has been tugging at my heart lately, in that same old siren-ish way that she has, the little mental land mines she has planted in the past 30 years exploding like tiny fireworks in my head at key moments, keeping me tied to her no matter how far I run over the windblown moors, my name echoing across the hills as she calls out for me from her burned out castle.

I still love her, but it’s the muted love of old love, the way you care for someone who you never see anymore. As I climb out of the pit of illness and exhaustion brought on by clinging closely to her, as I see how much healthier I am each day since the last day that I saw her, how being far away makes me healthier, I feel a new wave of grief for the woman that I wanted to be, and more than that, the woman that I vowed to be, on my knees, kneeling in front of the altar as the blessing was pronounced over me:

Father, by your plan man and woman are united,
and married life has been established
as the one blessing that was not forfeited by original sin
or washed away in the flood.
Look with love upon this woman, your daughter,
now joined to her husband in marriage.
She asks your blessing.
Give her the grace of love and peace.
May she always follow the example of the holy women
whose praises are sung in the scriptures.

It is a strange blessing because it was only for me, not for Ben; the priest explained it in his tiny office full of fish tanks as he said it was an anachronism; a prayer left over from the times when a married woman’s life was hard, when she could very well die, when she would have a child every year and become old and tired quickly from scrubbing floors and nursing ten or twelve children, half of whom would live and half of whom would die. Looking at my own decline in health as I answered the call of my vocation I cannot help but think the prayer was not only appropriate but desperately needed.

I was crying on the wingback chair in front of this film because this blessing which very well may have sustained me through two bouts of postpartum darkness, a premature child, and the gaining and losing of fifty pounds over and over again, this is a blessing that I have to turn my back on as I walk away from the church. She helped to cause my illness but she gave me the salve to smooth over it as well; is that not love? It is not.

My love for my husband is deeper now than it was on that day when we married. It is true when they say that love deepens over time; it is not a separate thing anymore, it is part of my body. It’s in my bones. It is my bones. I dare to see it as a thing separate from the priest’s hands held over us, Rome’s hard-won benediction.

I look back over my shoulder like Lot’s wife and it confounds me, this thing I left behind. It is a beautiful angel and a monster all at once. It tried to kill me, and it tried to save me. I wanted to be that wife, the one that knelt down and took the blessing that would make me invincible through life’s danger. I wanted to be her with all my heart. But Ben never wanted me to be her; he only wants me, happy, healthy, and together with him for the rest of our lives. Unlike Jane I have this to lean into as I walk away.

When I decided to save myself and cut the cord, to decide that I had individual worth, that my health mattered to me not just because I was needed by others but because I was needed by myself, the first wire popped like a violin string wound too tight, and the rest rose and fell and broke as well, like the old grainy movie of a suspension bridge collapsing. The water rushes over it but the wreckage is still there. My heart is at the bottom of the river.

Adrenal Fatigue Update!

I thought I would take a minute to post an update on the Adrenal Fatigue recovery which has been going on for almost a year now. I think I have finally turned a corner toward steadily improving. Of course, there are supposed to be lots of setbacks, so I am not going to overdo anything right now, but for this moment, and for a few solid weeks now, I have the following good news to talk about:

-I have done yard work without collapsing afterwards
-I have been doing some strength training
-I have had a more steady positive mood overall (takes less time to get out of the dumps if I get in them)
-Good afternoon energy levels (although I need a break sometimes)
-Being nicer to the kids (I think?) Less overwhelm, less frustration, less of that awful panicky feeling when the house is a mess and both of them are screaming, etc.

I think that these things are due to lifestyle changes:

-Sleeping at night (who knew??)
-Limiting my work to certain hours so that I have time for other things (this is super hard. More on this later.)
-Hacking my to-do lists down to almost nothing, on purpose
-Cutting back on energy-draining things
-Asking for help when the problem arises instead of when I have exhausted myself from trying to fix things without any help
-Going on vacation (ok so this isn't really a "lifestyle," although it would be awesome if it were, but the mental state of being on vacation -- being very much away from work at times -- is getting more important to me)
-Avoiding all wheat and dairy, always. Whenever I try to bend the rule, I end up feeling awful. Not worth it.

Some bonus effects are that now that I have limited my work hours, I get to hang out on the sofa with husband more often, which I like! I hired someone to come and clean my house a few times, which felt very strange and aristocratic and weird at first -- I was raised that you basically don't hire anyone to do *anything* you could do yourself -- but after seeing the results, I think it's worth it to have someone come as often as possible, when I can afford it. And it's really not that extravagantly expensive. About the cost of a night out with Ben.

I have discovered that I have some traits in common with workaholics (as in, I am probably a workaholic, although I am pretty ready to let it go, so maybe I'm not quite a *raging* workaholic... we'll see how it plays out. Anyway. Hush. I can quit whenever I want to... I totally have it under control...)

Overall, I feel cautiously positive about these changes. I know how quickly things can turn around, either for better or for worse, so I know I have to stick with my lifestyle changes and prioritize health and sanity.

It's hard to end a positive post with a kicky punch, but hey. It's nice to be able to do things without being constantly worried about running out of energy. So yay! :D

Darcy and Elizabeth... a few years later.

"Have you seen my favorite writing quill? I have to write to my Aunt."

"Really? She still expects to hear from you, after all this time? After the way she scorned our three sons for 'polluting the shades of Pemberley'?

"She is my Aunt, nonetheless, and I am a very loyal--"

"Very loyal companion, blah blah blah. Yes, yes, I know. Believe me, I know."

"I don't know why you are so sour just because you have to deal with one aging aunt of mine."

"Lady Catherine is more than just an aging aunt, my dear, and you know that as well as I do."

"Well, yes, but she did lend us her carriage when ours broke last winter, and the carriage-mender sick with dropsy."

"I still say we could have hired one from town, to avoid being beholden to your aunt."

"Yes, but if you will recall, the driver from town once tracked mud into our front hallway and kicked the dog out of his way, and my good opinion once lost---"

"Your 'good opinion once lost is lost forever.' YES. WE KNOW."

"You know, I should never have overcome the inferior circumstances of your birth and married you."

"Well, I shouldn't have forgotten that you were the last man on earth I could ever be prevailed upon to marry."

"Fine."

"I'm going for a walk."

"Have the driver take you to town, if that's where you're going."

"No, I'm very fond of walking."

"YES. YES, I KNOW."

"Oh, no. I'm not going anywhere. Here come Bingley and Jane, down the lane."

"Pfft. Happy as larks."

"They make me sick. It has to be an act. They stare at each other like puppies. After ten years and ten children."

"Well, you know what, their oldest boy looks like a monkey."

"I believe he does. You know, I misjudged you. We're so much alike after all."

"I love, I love, I love that about you."

"And like you always say, 'I knew you would do me good in some way. I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you.'"

"What did you say?"

"I... I mean... isn't it about to rain? Look out there..."

"Rochester??!?"

"No! I.. I just, I was talking to Jane and she said it, and I just... I always prefer to remember the time that you and I were... walking in the moors, and you said to me that it was just like when we were children, and..."

"Heathcliff, too?!?? You said that was over YEARS ago."

"I just saw him in the village and we just had tea and dinner at his inn. Nothing happened."

"At the inn???!? And I suppose Rochester just happened to be strolling through town as well??"

"Well, no, I saw him in Brighton."

"In Brighton?"

"Last April. With my aunt."


"That was supposed to be a trip to have a new summer dress made, not to go... gallvanting around the countryside with that half-mad libertine."

"Well, at least he knows how to treat a lady."

"And what, pray tell, is THAT supposed to mean?!?"

"Well, let's just say he never let his aunt force me to play the pianoforte."

"I bet he didn't have to force you to do much of anything, did he."

"Excuse me?"

"He'll lock you in the attic, you know. But, then, you'd probably like that."

"No, you're the one who would like that. Sitting here writing letters all day..."

"I do not have the talent of easily conversing with strangers."

"Gee, really?"

"What do you want me to say? You knew I was like this when you married me."

"Well, for starters, how about this -- why don't you ever take me anywhere interesting?"

"What, is it time for another trip to Brighton?"

"No, it's time for another trip to Rosings. I already wrote a letter to tell your Aunt you were coming."

"You wouldn't."

"I haven't sent it yet, but I will if you don't back off about Brighton, right now. And you know what? You're lucky I don't ask you what you were doing while I was gone."


"For your information, I was off saving your sister from ruin. Again."

"Oh."

"Look..."

"Kitty has gone a little wild since Wickham has been out to sea, hasn't she. I just..."

"I... don't cry. Look, it's all arranged now. No one will know she tried to run off with the butcher."

"Oh, I think that cat's out of the bag, don't you?"

"I'd say so. Ha!"


"Why are you staring at me?"

"You know, you're very pretty when you laugh. Even when you've been crying."

"Don't try to sweet-talk me, Darcy. I know your ways..."

"Come on, I know what you need."

"A big glass of that nasty wine your gardener makes?"

"Our gardener, and no, that's not what."

"What, then?"

"A visit home to see your family."

"Oh, Darcy, do you mean it?!?"

"I've grown my hair and sideburns extra long, so I won't even be able to hear your mother talk. Come on, let's go."

"You have bewitched me, body and soul."

"Hey, that's my line."

"Well, it's mine now. Or, at least it is until you die and it gets passed down to your next male heir."

"I love you, Elizabeth."

"And I love you."

"Is there any felicity in the world superior to this?"

"What did you say?!"

Eastbound

On Sunday afternoon the kids were refusing to nap, so I gave up and packed the kids in the car and took the long, arrow-straight drive East along US 90, and sure enough, within 5 minutes they were asleep, snoring softly in the backseat.

I like driving, in the right conditions. When I am not in a hurry, when I am not trying terribly to get. some. where. Something about the miles just slipping away under the tires. When I can't get away by myself, this is a good substitute.

Sometimes things gather like clouds and I have to clear them out of the way. This week I have been very careful about my diet, avoiding caffeine, alcohol, wheat, dairy, and excess sugar, so by Sunday I was missing my various vices and feeling that hard edge of too-much-intensity that is hard to dull without them. But the drive was doing it. Something about that stretch of road never really seems to change. Its character is the same as it was when I was 17, 19, 20, and now 31. The crepe myrtles are bigger but they are in the same places; the boxwoods between Monticello and Greenville are still oddly placed like dropped marbles, but they are as tall as houses now instead of little dog-sized sprouts. 

The day before, I had my first physical victory: I have been dealing with problems with exhaustion, thyroid problems, and adrenal fatigue for a few years, and on Saturday I did a bunch of yard work, and made it. I have been sleeping well finally and feel myself getting better. One thing that has happened -- something unexpected -- is that as I come back to myself, more and more, I also feel my raw edges more strongly. I have so many tattered-edge ambitions, like this novel I want to finish writing (but when?) and the fact that I always want to keep my house clean, but I just can't hold all the little lists of tasks together in my head or on a piece of paper. And I never know where my phone is, and I have needed to clean out my purse for two weeks and still haven't done it. And I have been losing and gaining the same three pounds since February.

I have the energy to make things a little better every day, and it makes a difference. But sometimes the rawness gets to me and I have to "run away," even if that just means putting the kids in the car and driving for an hour or two. Yesterday I was feeling the goodness of blessing and the struggle of the road ahead as well, both in equal parts. The hazy green miles went on and on, and after a while I felt the goodness outweigh the struggle. That clench in the pit of my stomach let go and I turned around and made the trip back home.

On the way back into town, I was behind a semi truck, its giant white trailer scraping branches off the trees as it went. As it passed beneath the crepe myrtles, it knocked little flurries of flower petals down on my car: rose, coral, and white. I felt like some kind of funny bridal carriage, for miles and miles, showered in the tiny flowers. And we emerged on the other end. The children stirred awake, rested and calm, and the surroundings became more familiar.

And now that his heart didn't feel quite so tight

I like the scene in How the Grinch Stole Christmas in which [SPOILER ALERT] the Grinch hears the Whos singing even though he stole all their presents, and the little heart measurement thing shows his heart growing bigger and bigger until the frame around it breaks.

I am feeling a bit of that right now.

Back when I was first expecting Chris, and then Norah, and even when I had first met Ben, I felt like there was a little something inside my heart, stretching it from the inside and making more room for love and happiness. I feel that way with my family right now.

To put it mildly, it's been a very up-and-down high stress year so far. It has been good, and many good things have come of the struggle, but there have definitely been some rough moments! Now that things begin to come together again, I have been "waking up" at these moments with the family and suddenly realizing that I am head-over-heels in love with my kids. I am just in awe. It's that cliched thing, but it's so true.

Chris especially is amazing me right now. He has really left the terrible twos behind him for sure, and he is noticing so much about the world around him. We were at the beach today and he asked me if I wanted to go on a beach walk with him, and he started a conversation with me. "I like crabs the best. They are my favorite thing that lives in the sea. What is your favorite thing that lives in the sea? Is it crabs, too?" (It's killer whales and dolphins, just FYI.) It's these little things that make my heart burst just like the Grinch's did. I absolutely love it. He says hi to people all over the place, and is less shy than I am. He notices if Ben is napping and asks me to turn down the TV so Daddy can keep resting. He helps his sister all the time, about half the time without even being asked. Today we were making our way to the car over some bumpy terrain at the beach, and I turned and saw Norah instinctively reach out her hand to him, and he took it and helped her. I mean, they are 2 and 4. What amazing gifts.

I'm sorry, this is just becoming a stereotypical mom post. But holy cow, what an amazing pair of kids I have.  I love them sooooooooooooooooooo much it hurts, but I like it.

The Business of Life

I have been a full time worker for a few months now, and while it may leave me with less time to blog, I have to admit that I really, really enjoy it. For me, it's the peripherals that really make the job worthwhile. Being in charge of my own time, for one thing, is fantastic. I love being able to work as long as I want, then take a coffee (decaf tea) break, and then go back to it. I love being professional. I even like meetings. (Yes, I know. I'm weird.)

This experience has been challenging in many ways, and it's hard for me to get a handle on it, which is part of why I haven't written in so long. I am not sure what conclusions to draw, so it's hard for me to really write about what's going on. All I know is, when I am working this much, I get along with myself and with my family much, much better. I find that I am a better mother when I am not doing the 24/7 parenting. I really like not being in charge of everything with the kids. In a lot of ways it has helped me be less neurotic. I didn't realize before this just how much I worried about the kids, and even more, about myself with the kids. (Am I a good enough mother? Have I done the right things? Have I properly compensated for the things I have not done well?) Now, I have a general sense that just living a normal, everyday life is good for the kids. They are more self-reliant these days. They are creative and they can make their own fun for certain periods of time. Ben and I joke that we are doing our best to give them a 1980s upbringing in the middle of the 2010s. 

Letting go of the neurosis is a huge gift. Seeing bigger numbers rolling in on my paychecks honestly makes me feel good. I don't know why I should feel that this is not a good thing -- to be satisfied to be earning -- but I do like it, and I sometimes I have to fight back should-shame (not real shame) that I feel this way. But I do. Maybe I have always liked a little quantifiable progress. I don't get grades anymore, so paychecks have to stand in. It's not an obsession, but let's be honest. It feels good to make some money. And friends, it feels good -- SO good -- to use my whole brain again. It's like I'm breathing air for the first time.

After writing all of this down, I can see that there really is a moral to the story, and a thesis for my self-essay. But it's a thesis I am a little afraid to admit, because of the myth of motherhood I tried to dive into headfirst, tried to draw up around my shoulders like a fur coat, tried to acclimate myself to in a thousand tiny ways. The truth, though, is that I hate being a stay-at-home mom, and I love being a working mom.

When I really think about it, it makes sense. My whole entire life I have been a worker. I set my mind to achieve things that didn't matter at all in the grand scheme of things when I was a girl. I was the first kid in my class to read a "chapter book" in first grade, and I did it more out of pride and spite than out of any real desire to read the biography of Ben Franklin (yep, that's the one I picked. Wonder where the Professor gets his inner drive?). I put my own nose to the grindstone all through school and was never happy if I wasn't achieving one thing or another.

I could look at this as a pathology, and I suppose I could dig up some deep-seated reasons why I feel "driven" to work. Or I could see it as something that has always been a part of me, and turn it into a strength.

I will always have to watch out for working myself too hard, and I will always have to carefully guard my sleep even though I sometimes have an open disdain for resting. And at times I will have to be careful to keep work and non-work separate, so that I stay fully engaged with my husband, children, and friends. But in the end I am a happier bird when I work. So, I will work. Paradoxically, it's one of the few things I do almost entirely for myself.