Today I am prepping my own breakfast in bed, never thought I'd be doing that. What I want for Mother's Day is to pout and be a bad sport because the man who promoted me from wife to mother isn't going to be here. Tomorrow my kids want to treat me, so I'm helping them. I want their memories of Mother's Day when Papa was gone to feel like a success. So my toaster is out, coffee is premade, the English muffin has already been cut. The skillet is out and has been sprayed, eggs are on the lower shelf in the fridge. They will make me an amazing scrambled egg on an English muffin and I will love it. I will wish the coffee were hot and that I'd be waking up next to my husband, but this situation will have to do for now. I want the day that is mine because I have children to be good for them, they have always been good for me, after-all.
I'm now the good and bad cop. I think it's what I get for ever complaining that Brad was always the fun parent. I now see that being the "fun one" is certainly not as easy or as fun as I once thought it was. It takes a lot of energy to bring joy. My husband is the king of joy in our family and I am scrambling and struggling, trying to fill his size twelve empty shoes. I didn't realize how much thought he put in to surprising us and making the weekends seem fun. A lot of prep work goes in to turning seemingly ordinary days into life long memories.
The kids are dealing with Papa's absence in their own ways. Their moods vary as much as my own from day to day. By far, no matter how sad and selfish I am feeling I can still look outside of myself and see just how much this affects the smallest TBC. Tater is such a Papa's girl. They have a bond that I just can't replace. Since Papa left she lashes out at me, she is more emotional, and she argues with her brother more. She just can't deal with her feelings. I completely understand and I ride those same waves of emotional confusion with her.
Turner is my strong little man. He misses Papa, but he shows it in different ways. He locks the house up at night, he shuts down the TV's and lights, he tries to keep the grass mowed, he takes out the garbage. He too is trying his best to fill those un-fillable shoes.
Our house is out of balance. We are lonely, but we worry for Papa too. Who is taking care of the husband I made into a father? I hate the thought of him alone with no one to drive him nuts. I hate that no one is smiling at him when he gets home. We have our routine down pat. We wake up together, I make his breakfast, I pack his lunch, he kisses me good bye and all is right with the world. I miss it. Sweetness is such a big man, he gives so much. He deserves to be taken care of and I just can't do it from a thousand miles away.
What I want for Mother's Day isn't cold coffee and stale toast, I want to get to be a wife again. I want to cook for my husband. I want to be irritated with his mess. I want the TV too loud and the house to be a wreck because he is his own tornado. I want him to get the kids all stirred up right before bedtime. I want man size clothes to fill up the washing machine. I want clods of dried clay in the carpet when he walks through the house in his work boots. I want to watch him mow the grass. I want him to take the kids' side and let everyone stay up far past bedtime. I want the chance to take him for granted, but I promise I will never take him for granted again.
Four months is a long time. I hope it is long enough for the lesson God is trying to teach me. I'm blessed to have friends who have adopted my family. We are with them for holidays. They have hugged me when the tears I can't hold back roll down my cheeks. They have my kids over to play. Their husbands help Turner with baseball. They are our cheering section, support group, family, and my sanity. If God is showing me that family can be found anywhere, I understand. If He is trying to make me appreciate my husband, I promise, I understand. I am scared it's patience He is trying to teach me...... He has brought me to this lesson before. I've always tried to hurry through it. I'm scared of God's timing. I know I am supposed to trust in it, but I just don't know how to. Our life is so up in the air, I actually thought I was doing OK. No roots, no certainty, it was OK as long as it was the four of us. Now our anchor is gone and this ship is adrift. I miss my anchor.
