Weary ramblings

It's been a rough week - Christmas is coming, my kid has been very sick, and I'm amazingly tired. Life is wearing me down; not such a surprise at this time of year. But I'm surrounded by really cool people and it's not so bad.

I've been growing my hair out again. It's not the best look for me but it's easy and functional. Officially, it's getting long so that I can make a lengthy donation out of it; the truth is that I'm kind of lazy and cheap so I've missed a bunch of hair cuts. Long hair is awfully familiar.

I got out of the shower this morning and dressed quickly in comfy jeans, tennis shoes, and an old flannel. Standing at the mirror, brushing my hair, I felt like I truly knew myself. The image looking back was one I've seen so often before it was a little like coming home again, and I sighed a bit in relief. It seems odd, I know, but many times I'm surprised by my own reflection. In my mind, I seem to remember myself differently. Today I felt and looked like someone I remembered fondly. It was both startling and peaceful. Startling because until this morning I didn't realize how very often I don't feel like I know myself. And such a wonderful sense of peace that came with knowing that person standing there.

Like so many moments that stick in my head, the underlying commentary is significant. I'm so stressed all the time about carrying these responsibilities around. I never realized how hard I would strive to be a good mother - it's harder to be a good mom than I thought, I try harder than I thought I could, and I see constant room for improvement. And it's such a monumental job. Seriously, these two little human beings look to me to be something.... almost superhero-like. I'm looked to make everything better, from favorite broken toys to heartbreaking loss. And while I'm trying to be a superhero, I'm trying to teach them that the world isn't always what we want it to be or what we think it should be. It's like walking an invisible line while following rules no one told you about. And no, I'm really not trying to reinvent the wheel here. Moms are universal, good ones and bad ones and mediocre ones.

But it felt good this morning to look in the mirror and see my old, flanneled self staring back. To remember that it's not all earth shattering, monumental decision making. Some days should just be comfy jeans and flannel shirts.

In a different vein (in the spirit of my sort of stream of consciousness mode), I had one of those moments the other day. When I missed all the things I can't ever have back. I wanted to hug Mom just one more time. Throw the ball for Simon again. Those moments don't happen often but it seems that it all hits at once and I'm driven to my knees. And I've learned to pray while I'm there. It's not coherent, it's a flinging of emotion too big to hold on to... There's poetry in that somewhere. But I'm not sure where. I hope to find it soon.