Teach your children what you believe in.

Sometimes when I'm anxious or overwhelmed by whatever the hell Life is trying to throw at me, I start cleaning.  Right now, I'm back in a cycle of insomnia, too, sleeping for just a few hours a night before I wake to the sounds of my cacophonous head, which is constantly worrying about logistics and money and how I'm going to take care of my children and myself. 

I've been cleaning since around 5:00 this morning.  That means my head has also been churning since well before dawn.  I decided to take a break from the smell of Murphy's Oil Soap to get some of it out.

Between loads of laundry and dishes, but before I started laundering the mattress pads and sponge-cleaning the kitchen cabinets, I woke my boys and got them ready for school.  Most mornings in our house are an hour or more of what we call Rage Ballet—a frantic, complicated dance of breakfast and medicine and teeth-brushing, carefully choreographed to a loud, constant chant of, "Stop touching your brother and put your shoes on your feet!"

As much as it feels like Dagwood Bumstead's rush out the front door most mornings, I do love this time with the boys.  They're fresh in their day and often share the most exquisite moments of Little Boy Truth with me while we're driving to school or waiting at this bus stop.

This morning, my younger son, Tricky, and I were discussing his 9^th birthday, which is coming in a few days.  It's my weekend with the boys, and I want to make his birthday as special as possible for all of us.  Money, however, is incredibly tight right now.  I won't go into detail, but suffice it to say that things are getting a little desperate.  I'm feeling an incredible amount of guilt for not being able to have a birthday party with his friends or to take the boys to laser tag or to ride go-carts or whatever. 

But we were talking about going to one of his favorite restaurants on Saturday, with a gift card that my mom sent to him for his birthday.  (No, I will not expect him to pay for anyone else with his card, though he happily would.)

Tricky:  And then on Sunday, it'll be my birthday, and there will be lots of presents!

Me:  Well, I do have a really great gift for you, but it's not a whole lot.  (I'm trying to make sure he's not expecting that $400 electric scooter he really wants, though I know he will adore what I picked out for him.)

Tricky:  That's okay.  Besides, having you is the best present of all, Mama. 

I pulled up to the curb in the carpool line just then, and he opened his door.  I told him I loved him and blew him a kiss—I'm not allowed to kiss him in public where someone he knows might see it.  He gave him his sweetest smile, with the dimple to match mine, and told me he loved me.

As I drove away, I burst into tears. 

I hate not being able to give the boys everything they ask for.  I don't mean super expensive toys or impromptu trips to DisneyWorld.  I loathe telling them that I can't afford an extra pack of gummy bears today or to take them to see the new Thor movie when it's still in the full-price theater. 

Through this entire process of divorce, I have fought to keep them grounded and healthy, to edify all of the lessons I'd been trying to teach them since they were born—to be kind to one another, to show your love to the people who matter, to apologize when you make a mistake, and to just try your best no matter what.  I've told them time and again over the last year that it doesn't matter where we are or what we're doing, it's the being a family that matters most. 

This morning, I got confirmation that they hear me, deep inside, and that those lessons are being learned.  With so many things going wrong right now, it was a blessing to be able to see something that's going right.  And my babies are so, so right.

They fight and argue like all brothers do.  They have smart mouths and are too loud and messy—they are my children, after all.  But I also see how they curl up together to watch Doctor Who, how they make a point to still call each other "Bubber" (which is something they developed themselves years ago), and they always kiss each other goodnight.  They are sweet and affectionate and open with each other and with me, and this morning was just a moment of confirmation that I am managing to hold the most important thing together in the midst of so much chaos. 

So while I hate the financial situation we're in and know it may go on for a while, I am thankful to know that my children are coming through this okay, that they are comfortably relying on me to be their sun in a vast, dark universe and that I am helping them to blossom through the cracks. 

That means there's a little less mess to clean up, and a little less to fret about in the middle of the night. 

Comments

[Robert McCrary]

What a nice read, and I am very sorry you are having to go through that - I hope the job hunt is successful. I wish I could help. I do know this feeling. I won't get into it right now, but I do.

But.........you had to ruin it with that song, didn't you? JEEZ.

;)