Regret

When I woke up this morning I deleted this entire post (well, not this one, obviously, but the first draft of it). It wasn’t because it was poorly written. On the contrary, it opened up with an entertaining account of the time I recently ate cat food during a grown-up game of Truth or Dare with my three sisters and it was so vivid that it would have left you with the urge to pick tuna and liver flavored granules from between your teeth and choke back that awful aftertaste. Then it went on to explain how sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be me. It was a story of choices and of regret. I had written about three-fourths of the post before I went to bed last night, but then I woke up this morning stricken with pangs of guilt and shame and I immediately rushed to the computer to erase all the evidence of my loathing self-doubt.

Ironically, that rejected post that was filled with so much emotional despair was actually spurred by an incredibly satisfying experience.

Yesterday afternoon the kids and I ventured to Kelly’s house for our much anticipated dinner date with her family. (You may remember that I declared this to be my little victory from a couple weeks ago.) Kelly, her husband Thomas, and their three kids Ava, Griffin, and Eamon are the friendliest people I have ever met. Spending time with them was so fun and so easy. Their back yard is literally a playland paradise- treehouse, swing set, slide, sandbox, play house, pool, sprinkler, ride-on toys of every shape and size and even an adorable pet bunny. Josie, Jamie, and Johnny thought they had died and gone to heaven.

Our kids played together for hours and Kelly and I had a chance to really converse for the first time in a fully social atmosphere. It was wonderful! Our friendship is so new that we got to start from the beginning by asking each other those big questions: Where did you go to college? How did you meet your husband? When were you married? How old were you when you had your first baby? And on and on and on…. I’m pretty sure that we covered everything, starting back from childhood and looking ahead to retirement.

Recapitulating my life for her in this way and in that setting really got me thinking. By the time we had said our good-byes and as I was driving home I found myself scrutinizing every major life decision I had ever made. And then I wondered, if I’d chosen differently, could I be living Kelly’s life?

I know, I know. “The grass is always greener on the other side.” But from my perspective it sure seems like Kelly is living the dream life. She has a well-kept house and a gorgeously groomed garden. Her husband is devoted to his home improvement project but he stops his work so that he can energetically play with all the kids, and then he only takes a break from playing in order to grill dinner for everyone. Kelly and her family can live together in that same house, near family and where they've made memories, for as long as they want. Kelly is a patient, loving mom and an intelligent, professional working woman all at once. Her kids are gracious, articulate, and adorable to boot!

And then in contrast, there’s me. My house is a wreck and my yard is overgrown. My husband is who-knows-where and hasn’t fixed a thing, played with our kids, or grilled dinner since I-can’t-remember-when. There is no permanence in our near future and I have no idea where we'll end up. I’m a frantic, impatient, emotional wreck on all fronts. Just about the only thing that Kelly and I have in common is that my kids are adorable too. But in general my current state of being leaves something to be desired. So when I got home last night I began to write about regretting the decisions that lead me to stray so far from that dream life.

However, before I could post it, I deleted it. I woke up feeling like an awful person for even considering such thoughts. “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house.” Right? I’m a sinner. Yes, this is true. But as I thought some more about the subject I started reconciling with myself with the idea that people are designed to scrutinize their pasts. God endowed us with the beautiful gift of free will. The ability to choose comes with the obligation to analyze and evaluate. I would even go so far as to say that He calls us to regret. Without regret we would never see the error of our sinful ways and turn to His mercy for salvation.

So after I came to terms with the fact that it is okay to question myself and my decisions, I felt at liberty to follow that thought process to wherever it may lead. And this is where it brought me: Even now knowing that I would spend half of our relationship separated by endless spans of ocean, I would not choose to have never fallen in love with James. If I’d never fallen in love with James then we never would have been married and if we were never married then we wouldn’t have moved to New York and had children together. If we’d never moved to New York then we never would have bought a house that we wouldn’t be able to sell and if we’d never had a house we couldn’t sell then I wouldn’t have been left in New York without him for an extra year. And if we’d never had children then we never would have had a son with a speech delay. And if I’d never been left in New York for that extra year and we didn’t have a son with a speech delay then I never would have met Kelly. And if I’d never met Kelly then I never would have been sitting on her patio, summarizing my life, and admiring her dream-like world. And if I’d never done that then I never would have sat down to write this blog post and if I’d never written this post then I never would have come to this ultimate conclusion…. I have no regrets!

I don’t regret becoming me. I love my life; more specifically, I love the people in my life. I love my husband, I love my kids, and I love my friends. Sure, there are some aspects of my current circumstances that I wish I could change, but I do not regret making any of the decisions that made me me. Well, okay… there may be one exception. Eating that cat food was a very bad choice.

Good Old Fashioned Fun

Our red wooden wagon and I have a history. I begged and begged James to buy it for Josie around her second birthday, but I didn’t want just any wagon. I had to have a classic Radio Flyer with the wooden rails. I didn’t want one of those tacky plastic things you see so often nowadays, that fade to a dismal pink shade after their first summer of being left out in the sun, that have a dozen different upgrades like cup holders and seat buckles and canopies, the ones you can find at practically any garage sale. You’d be surprised how hard it is to find a new, traditional style wagon. Those you can find come with a hefty price tag on them. Yet somehow we gifted ourselves with this little luxury.

I toted little Josie around in this red wooden wagon day after day after day. We went around the block, down the hill, up the street, and back. This is the same wagon I used to put myself into labor when I was 38 weeks pregnant with Jamie. I pulled Josie on a never-ending wagon ride until my body had no other option but to begin contracting….and my son was born that same night. By the time Jamie was a few months old I had plopped his chunky butt in a Bumbo seat and started bringing him along for wagon rides as well. We’d even load up the dogs from time to time and it wasn’t uncommon for me to get a silly glance from an occasional passerby. But as children do, Josie and Jamie got older and as they got older they got bigger and as they got bigger they got heavier. My beloved red wooden wagon couldn’t take the strain. So it spent most of last summer in pieces and the kids would actually fall out the end if I came to too abrupt of a stop. James was never able to find the time to repair it (he insisted that it wasn’t worth the trouble and that we might as well just trash the old thing) so I eventually fastened my metaphorical tool belt, in true stubborn Navy wife fashion, and fixed it myself. Then the harsh winter hit us hard and my poor, old, beloved red wooden wagon spent six months under ice and snow. As much as I loved that wagon, it’s future was looking grim.

As a part of our moving preparations I drug out the wagon from under the patio deck earlier this week to decide whether we would take it with us or leave it behind. Jamie’s face lit up the instant he saw me pulling it into the sunlight. It was filled with dead leaves and a huge puddle of dirty rain water, and it was laced with spider webs and dead bugs, but the kids didn’t care. They dropped whatever shiny new plastic toys they were playing with and rushed to the wagon’s side like it was their long lost puppy dog brought home at last. I asked if they wanted to help me clean it out and their answer was a resounding “yes!” In fact, I don’t think I was able to turn on the hose and find the scrub brush fast enough. We took turns spraying and sudsing and scrubbing that wagon, then we patted it dry with some old bathroom towels.

The moment I said, “Okay. We’re done,” Jamie had already clambered inside and found himself a spot at the front of the wagon. Josie took the back seat and little Johnny was placed in the middle.

The same amount of enthusiasm that Josie and Jamie showed for taking a wagon ride, Johnny showed for NOT taking a wagon ride. He cried and screamed…and then just when I thought he was beginning to enjoy the ride, he screamed and cried some more.

But the older two sat more serenely than I can remember them ever doing before. They stared over the old wooden rails, off into the distance at the sky and the trees, as if they were contemplating some philosophical thoughts far beyond their maturity, like maybe the writings of Henry David Thoreau and the transcendental movement.

And I stared at them and enjoyed the simplicity and the peacefulness of it all.

Our house is filled with a lot of shiny new toys, with the flashing lights and blaring sounds. Fisher Price and Little Tikes have profited greatly from James’ paychecks. Josie’s My Little Ponies and Jamie’s Imaginext airplanes are some of their favorite toys. But no amount of brightly colored plastic can compare to the simple charm and good old fashioned fun that a rugged old wooden wagon has to offer.

Sunset Swim for Two

One of the only disadvantages to having a lot of children is that it’s very difficult to spend quality time with each one. There’s never enough Mommy to go around. Our play is usually group centered instead of individually tailored. Most of my time seems to be spent meeting everyone’s physical needs- clean diapers, clean clothes, full bellies, etc.- which means that less of my time can be spent fulfilling everyone’s emotional needs. As a result, I often sit down after a long, busy day and reflect on how disappointed I am that I wasn’t able to connect with one or more of my kids on a more personal level, even though we were together from sun-up until sun-down.

A mom with this type of problem has to make the most of her opportunities. And that’s just what I did today. While Johnny was in the midst of a three-hour power snooze, Josie and Jamie were boycotting their afternoon naps and I was concocting a secret plan. I knew that, having not had their naps, Josie and Jamie would be due for an early bed time around 6:30 pm, but having taken such a long nap, Johnny wouldn’t be ready for bed until well after 7:00 pm. This would afford me the perfect opportunity for some one-on-one bonding time with my baby. But it gets better…. The thing I had planned to do in the afternoon when all the kids were sleeping was clean the swimming pool, but since there was no coordinated nap, there was also no cleaning. With the early bedtime there would be plenty of daylight left for me to jump in the pool before sunset. I would clean the swimming pool while spending quality time with Johnny. Perfect! This is the way a master multi-tasking mom’s mind works.

I tucked Jamie into bed and gave Josie a kiss good-night then tip-toed out of the room and down the hall. I dressed myself and Johnny in swimsuits and we headed for the pool. This was Johnny’s first real swimming experience. Last summer he was a tiny newborn sleeping soundly in his infant seat, completely oblivious to the rest of the family’s splashing.

 

Oh, how much has changed since then!

I was nervous about how he’d react to the cool water but it was actually the perfect day for a first swim- hot and humid. The refreshing water made Johnny smile. He had no hesitation, no doubts. He loved it! We swam around together for awhile, bobbing up and down and twirling around making waves. Then I lifted him into an innertube and he drifted lazily around the pool, his chubby little arms dangling over the sides, his face plastered with happy contentment.

Johnny lounged in the lapping water while I successfully vacuumed the pool, stopping every now and then to tickle his toes or spin his tube in circles.

When the sun had finally begun to disappear behind the trees I decided it was time to bring our evening swim to an end. Once inside we hopped in the shower together to wash off the chlorine and bugs. Again, I was proud of myself for combining my daily chore of showering with my wanted bonding experience with little Johnny. Skin-on-skin contact is one of the most (if not the most) comforting connection that a mother can have with her child and the assurance of multi-task accomplishment is one of the most (if not the most) rewarding satisfactions that a mother can give herself. What did you do tonight? I cleaned my swimming pool and made a memory with my baby.