Goodbye land of the grass so soft I would choose lying in it over most anything else, to the home of good shampoos, to the evenings of supper being cooked for me, to morning help, to chatting with family and neighbors over nap, to bike rides downtown, to quick dips in the sea, to front porch sitting, to dog shows and cat walks, to the occasional sleep in pretty late, to the lovely built-in babysitter, to taking a drive with my mama, to reading the paper with my daddy, to surfing with my brother, to running with my girl, to just being here. Where I am supposed to be.
Hello to the land of my husband thinks I am beautiful, to the sounds of the south, to the wild in the refuge, to my chickens and dog and cats, to the rhythm of a regular day, to drinking less juice (smile smirk), to drinking less…ahem… wine, to seeing my new girls and their lovely families once again, to crafting, and baking, and gathering eggs, to bird watching and figs and pecans and all things that are a little intimidating and little bigger and a little wetter and a little more dangerous down there in the southland.
My man-friend voiced his concern over my utmost confidence and absolute obviousness of getting my hopes up on the arbitrary date of February that I picked when we will indeed be moving back to the place I crave: New England. Poor guy. The pressure is on. I explained to him it is not a matter of me getting my hopes up. It is not about me being disappointed or not. The truth is, I told him, this must be thought of as my religion. Sure, I had quite a few glasses of wine. But I meant it none the less. I am only allowing positive vibes about us scratching our way back up north. There is no room for doubt, for I am sending it Out. To. The. Universe. We will. We will.
So there it is. There it will be.
Oh but my trip meant so much more than a firm understanding that we indeed need to be here with family. It brought me back to a self-assured me in the confidence in parenting skills. In my survival methods if you will.
I headed up this way with my tail between my legs. I felt that I was waiving the white flag of surrender and that I so desperately needed help and advice on my parenting endeavours. I looked folks in the eye and asked. I let others teach and remind my boys. I allowed them lots of time away from mama and lots of time with personalities and energies much different from my own. In doing so not only did I see the value in this, but the layers of burnt out exhaustion began to peel away, and right there was me. I saw that you know what? I am not doing so bad after all. My boys are sweet, and excited, and interested and funny. They are loving and cuddly and healthy. They are inquisitive, and active, and kind. And I am so proud. Proud of me for being there for them and oh so proud of them for every smile they crack and every accomplishment they hurdle.
Coming this way has been good for my soul. I am not going to lie, I am scared to the bone to head back south and face this thing alone once again. But, I think I gathered strength and patience and courage to be the mama I so want to be for my little guys growing so fast.
Thank you mama, thank you daddy. This month I revisited my sweet life as a child through my eyes and those of my own babies. It was rejuvenating. You were nothing but kind and understanding and loving to us. You two are my inspiration.