perspective

 Every once in a while, I lose perspective.

 When these kids are driving me crazy, and I am pretty sure that God gave me twins to test my sanity, I lose it. I forget that someday this will be a memory. I forget that every moment with these boys is precious.  That while I am agonizing over the mold in the bathroom and the fact that I can't use the bathroom alone anymore, they are growing up.  My babies are becoming boys who will turn into men.  I forget that someday I will have my house back. Someday I will have my body back. Someday I will have my hobbies back. And, perhaps most importantly, someday I will have my sleep back.

And just when I've really lost perspective, and I am beating myself up for not being the perfect parent (... for yelling, for working too much & not playing enough...) God takes the most unlikely opportunity to shift my focus. 

Yesterday it was at the 10:00pm showing of The Kids Are All Right in Clackamas with my mom & sister.  We had spent the entire afternoon in a childless bliss; shopping, eating, having uninterrupted conversations... it was delightful.  And to top it off, we shared some late night Panda Express & bought tickets for the movie.  The movie was, um, unexpected & interesting. I loved it, though. Despite the nudity (!) and unique story line, it spoke to me. 

Basically a lesbian couple has two children (one born of each mother) and the older daughter reaches 18 years of age and chooses to contact her sperm donor.  But this is all despite the point. In the movie, it's her last summer at home. Come August, she packs up and heads to college, where her moms & brother leave her to start her grown up life.  And it was in watching that moment, the departure of her parents, that I realized how fleeting our time with our nuclear family really is.

This nuclear family that Josh and I have created is all I ever wanted in my whole life. Yet, in reality, if I'm lucky, it will last about two decades. That's it. Twenty-ish years of being "Mommy" and having children's laughter in my home everyday.  Then they will leave my nest, following their own life-long dreams, and seeing them through to fruition.

 {My first birthday, November 1983}

When thinking of my own nuclear family, where I am the mom, I can't help but think of the nuclear family where I was the daughter. 

{Dallas & I, at our first house}

I think of my mom and my sister. Of my brothers. Our pets. Our homes. Our memories.
It felt, when I was in it, like it would last forever. 

 {Me & Roxanne}

And then all of a sudden it was August 7th, 2003 and I was upstairs in my sister and I's beautiful 1926 bedroom with the vanity & creepy attic door, packing. I remember shoes. Shoes were everywhere.  And I kept trying to call the radio station to have them play us a song. It felt like we were breaking up. Like within the cosmos, a shift was occurring and someone needed to take note. I knew that nothing would ever be the same. That bedtime would no longer entail the recounting of three days (mom's, mine, Roxanne's). That it would no longer mean giggling until Dad came up to yell at us. That I would no longer have someone to tell me which necklace went with which shoes. I knew it was the end of an era. And I was heartbroken.  

 {August 2007}

How, then, will I feel when it is my children leaving the nest?  When I am the one left behind. Not the one with the adventures to be had.  Because as much as I was saddened to leave my girls, I was overjoyed to finally (!) be Mrs. Cunningham and live with Josh. To fall asleep with him each night and wake up next to him each morning, to share our meals, to share our life. Everyday. At least I had that.

 {Jack, Mommy & Logan - 2 weeks old}

I told Josh tonight that I will be that mom. You know the one... She's crying at the first t-ball practice, the first day of school, the first poop in the potty... I'm totally gonna be that girl. Oh, lordy, help us all!  

 {Kisses for Jack}

I joke, but honestly, I needed this reminder. That over time I will ever so slowly shift back to "Shelly". That "Mommy" will be a smaller part of my life. It is bittersweet to imagine. I love the idea that I will once again scrapbook or mop. I love the idea that I will have phone conversations without interruptions.  But I can hardly bear the thought that my boys will have entire lives that I may know little to nothing about. That I will pour all my energy for the next sixteen years into these boys, praying that my love will be enough for them, that they will grow up to be honorable, respectable, successful men, only to stand on the porch waving as they leave me.  

 {Kisses for Logan}

Today, just knowing that someday I will look back upon this time in my life as "the time of my life", I found an extra reserve of patience, an extra bounty of hugs, and a new awe for their eyelashes, fingers and toes.

 As Jack tattled, "Mommy, Logan open dryer," I thought, "How amazing that he knows I need to turn it back on!" And as Logan put his boots on the wrong feet, insisting he do it himself, I thought of how tiny his feet were when I first brought him home, and none of the socks we had would stay on his toesies.  

I found that in looking forward, I was also looking back.

 That in anticipating the future, I was also discovering how far we've come.

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"The happiest moments of my life have been the few which I have passed at home in the bosom of my family." 
~Thomas Jefferson