I can be honest. The first time I laid eyes on the man I know reside with, I fell. I mean it. I tried to do some sort of handstand (in the bar he worked at mind you) and crashed. I am sure this was my juvenile attempt to impress him. Thoroughly embarrassed, I didn’t let this stop me. He may have wanted little to nothing to do with me for many months to come, but eventually I wore him down and he was able to see clearly- there is no one like me. Whether this be a good thing, or bad, it is what it is.
Shortly after I convinced him to not be afraid of my stalker like courting techniques, he asked me to move in with him. (Woah, he is an all or nothing guy huh?) And this wasn’t just any move. It was a move from one end of the country, clear across to the other. What did I do?
I thought, hell, what else am I doing? I was waitressing. No, I wasn’t. That’s right, I had recently been fired. I had a cute apartment? I drank loads of coffee at the local coffee shop? I played pool? None of these reasons were enough to keep me where I was. So, one morning, I sat on the hood of my bright blue Toyota Tercel, feeling the warmth of the spring time sun fall on my face, and just decided to go for it. Just like that. I mean really, when it all boils down to it, I had nowhere else to go anyways.
And it was magic. That cross-country road trip was gloriously fulfilling. We had more fun in those four days than I knew what to do with. We made fools of ourselves in Nashville and Amarillo, and many other cities along the way. We ate candy bars until our stomachs hurt. We smoked cigarettes. (sorry dad, its true- it was that kind of road trip… blame it on Lee) We sang along with every classic rock station loud as can be, the windows rolled down and my toes hanging out of that giant moving truck.
Oh, that magic feeling, nowhere to go.
Today, I was sitting cross-legged by Rowan’s crib holding his hand, lulling my boys to sleep, singing the entire white album for the one millionth day in a row, when I came across those words. I paused. I had to smile.
It is now the end of a long day and my house is nothing if not filthy. I just ate a half a lion, each bite dipped deliciously in apple pumpkin butter- still hot from cooking. I checked on my little cherub faced boys soundly sleeping, and the cat is curled on my lap. Lee is still studying in his cold office faraway I am sure, my hard-working saint of a husband, and quite frankly my brain is fried.
And I have nowhere to go. Even if I wanted to go somewhere, I could not. But still, not a place to go off to. Back porch maybe, to peer at the giant chunk of cheese glowing in the sky. Or to the coop to close things up. Sure, there is always the dishes or the laundry or the sewing machine. But instead, I just sit here. Quiet and content.
How different things are now that I am a mother. How clear-cut obviously and drastically different they are. And then all kinds of similar too.
I suppose what I mean is, by up and leaving my cozy little apartment in a tiny town in the south, just to travel all the way across this big old hunk of north america, I had to trust my ability to be completely open and present. To be content with my choice, and see what it would bring. And now? On day three of a sick boy at home, with literally not a footstep off our property, I once again have to believe if I open my eyes wide enough, and dust the fog from my brain, I will be able to feel that same sense of peace and joy.
So, I notice the weight of my growing boys head on my lap while we rock on the porch swing. I let my little sick man eat every meal from the only place he feels solace- cozied up close to his mama. I hear the sound of my Rowan vroooming every little stick and leaf and acorn through the dirt.
I feel that same warm sun on my cheeks that I did years ago, and for some reason that similarity is all I need.