Sometimes I forget that I can't go back. I mean, I know that I cannot age backwards and I'm really fine with that fact. And as much as I miss those fleeting baby years from my kids growing up I'm pretty much OK with leaving that in the past too.
What I forget is that I cannot have my old life back. Ever.
Sometimes I feel like I am just passing the days until things "go back to normal." That I'm just in a temporary stage or a season of sorts and eventually things will fall back into that comfortable, familiar place again.
It's easy to deceive myself.
I keep looking ahead, not to the side or behind. Keep doing the things. Go through the motions. Check off the days. In due course I can stop holding my breath and everything will be normal. I will be able to breathe again. Inhale. Exhale.
Bullshit.
This is not the interim. This is not passing. Nope. This is perpetual and standing and constant. Hard words to get my feeble arms to embrace.
I got out the Christmas decorations the other day because what kind of Mom would I be if I didn't decorate for the holidays? Personally, I like to think I'd be a more sane, relaxed Mother but I doubt I could get my kids to hop on board that idea. So like most families I have a hodge-podge mix of Christmas decorations. Kid's homemade ornaments, family heirlooms, trinkets picked up here and there, even items from Bill's and my childhoods. Our decorations would not be featured in any magazine spread but the overall presentation of our baubles is a great representation of our lives.
That is, until the mice ruined everything. Freaking vermin. All our memories, packed into Rubbermaid totes, covered with mouse crap. Mice nests in the creche. Christmas books covered with mouse urine. Stockings chewed up. I'd like to send Rubbermaid a picture of the devastation and tell them that their product sucks.
As I tried to salvage what I could and burn the irreparably ruined items I was struck by how easy it was to throw it all away. Oh sure, a lot of this stuff held great memories of happy times. But it was just stuff. (Stuff that was going to give me hantavirus now) I understood that what happened to the contents of these few totes was out of my control. Kind of like the circumstances of my life were also out of my control. Putting it out at the curb with this week's garbage was probably easier than trying to clean it up and keep it. Am I going to miss the ugly table runner or sock snowmen (that I made when the big kids were tiny so they couldn't break anything) or ceramic Santa figurine? Maybe. But not much.
Hey, don't think for a minute that I'm comparing the fleeting significance of mere stuff with the importance of life. I am not. But the act of throwing seemingly important things away without suffering major regret has just got me thinking.
Complacency, though comfortable, is no way to live life. Or so I'm finding. Don't confuse responsibility and complacency. They are not the same. One is self-satisfying and one is a mature choice in taking care of what is yours--and taking care of it to the best of your ability. Sometimes that hurts and is hard but it's what big people do. It's easy to use complacency as an excuse. And that is why I threw away the Christmas decorations and found a replacement that better fits my family today. I'm sure there will be a little pissing and moaning but at the end of the day, it's all good. There is a tree and lights and a few familiar memories.
And some space for stretching out.
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