Regrouping

“Why don’t you go for a run?”

Those were Chad’s words to me this evening after dinner.  It didn’t matter that it was a humid 88 degrees outside. It didn’t matter that simply walking outside and breathing in the air took your breath away.  It didn’t matter that I had already run six and a half miles that morning.  It didn’t matter that I was dead tired physically and emotionally.  Chad knew I needed something and typically, a run helps.

It had been a really long day.  Truthfully, it has been a long few weeks.  I must preface by stating. . . I love being a Mom and I wouldn’t change this season of my life for anything.  Just last week I talked with a Mom who is entering the Empty Nest stage and grieving the time that has passed.  I get that these are precious days. . .

. . . but they are also challenging.

Oh, sweet Meadow seems to have entered a new stage and while she doesn’t speak and can’t tell me what she’s thinking, I suspect it goes something like     this. . .

MOMMY?! MOMMY?! Why aren’t you holding me? Why are you more than two feet away from me?  Mommy, I need you and you are talking to Charlie/Chanelle?  Mommy, why do you think you need to get laundry done or dishes or do anything but sit face to face with me and hold me, feed me, play with me. Mommy, don’t think you are tricking me by handing me to Daddy, I know you are still near and you are the one that I want and need and have to have.  Don’t you dare try to trick me because I’ve got you figured out.  Oh, and Mommy, since I can’t really say all these words to you I’m going to do the next best thing. . . I’m going to scream bloody murder in the highest pitch that I can find and I will scream until you come and pick me up.  Oh, and Mommy?  There will be tears. PERIOD.

And that is how our days have been going.  We have found momentarily relief by traipsing up and down our neighborhood street.  For some reason, putting Meadow in the stoller and walking seems to calm her for a time. . .

. . . but just for a time.  The rest of my day is usually spent trying to figure out how to balance her needs and Charlie and Chanelle’s needs and, truthfully, my needs.

I am a lover of quiet.  Solitude revives my soul.  Writing, reflecting, and processing is where I find peace.  Our current situation does not allow for that.  (Really, what Mom gets that, right?)  I’m doing my best to hang on, but really, today I was near losing my grip.  I think that’s why Chad encouraged me to run. 

That’s what I did.  I slipped on my running clothes and shoes and pulled my hair back and, in minutes, stepped out into the sweltering heat.  I didn’t really know where I was going, but I just let my feet take me where they would.  As I ran I got lost in my thoughts and tried to reflect on the day.  I felt defeated.  I tried to pep-talk my way through it. . . come on, Summer, get some perspective.  Before you know it Meadow is going to be less dependent on you and then you will miss these days.  You’ve got what it takes to thrive though this.  Dig deep. . . dig deep. 

My pep talk wasn’t helping.  I felt like I was playing that Strong Man carnival game.  You know the one?  The one where you hit the target with a hammer as hard as you can and that thing is supposed to travel up the entire length of the game and the “Strongest Man” will ring the bell?  Well, I felt like I was hitting the target with all of my might but still there was no movement on the game.  I was stuck.  No amount of perspective or pep talk could pull me out of my feeling of defeat.  Four and a half miles later I returned home to the sounds of Meadow’s screams reaching out to the sidewalk. 

If a run doesn’t help. . . what will?

We decided to take a quick trip to the Dairy Queen.  We piled the three kids in the car and sat outside while they devoured their twist cones.  Even Meadow calmed herself enough to partake in the treat.

Charlie and Chanelle finished their ice cream just as the golden glow of the sun seemed to be at eye level.  Chad began to put Meadow back in the car and Charlie followed suit.  Chanelle didn’t head for the car, though.  She remained seated and looked at me. . . Let’s walk home, she said. 

She’s four years old.  Perhaps it is just a coincidence, but I don’t think so.  I believe that Chanelle somehow knew exactly what I needed.  As the guys drove away with Meadow, Chanelle grabbed my hand and we began the half mile walk back home.  Just the two of us.

Despite the traffic that passed by, it felt like the streets belonged to us.  We strolled lazily down the streets as if we had no where in particular to be. We talked about our day, we talked about puppies, Chanelle found a quarter, we paused to watch our shadows dance in the grass and everything about that walk felt perfect.

Suddenly, a feeling of peace and contentment flooded my heart.  It came with such a rush and with such clarity that I knew this night had gone exactly as it should.  Walking along the streets with my wise four year old daughter and feeling her small hand gripping mine tighter and tighter with each passing step reminded me that this Mama thing is worth it.  We are making memories.  We are watching lives unfold.  We are passing love down from generation to generation. 

In a moment, the day didn’t feel so bad.  The future didn’t look so bleak.  And you know what else?  I think I can give it another go tomorrow. 

I have regrouped.