Free

I was joking with a friend the other day.

I told her that I wasn't trying as hard with the second one. I told her it didn't matter as much to me how he turned out.

It was a joke, but it got me thinking.

I devote most of my energy to my kids. I save some for my husband, 'cause he is pretty cute. I get out by myself, enjoy my own interests and time with friends, but the majority of my energy is devoted to teaching, shaping, loving, feeding, cleaning up after, and caring for my kids.

I have two now and I find that life with two is easier than life with one.  A lot of things contribute to this. I have more experience, a better support network, I'm older, more mature, better looking (j/k, though I do keep hearing that the long hair is much preferred to the short). All those things are true but they aren't the real reason things are easier. The real reason is that I care less then I did before.

I cared so much when Aubrey was little. I didn't want to mess her up! I wanted to give her this perfect foundation. I wanted to prepare her and protect her and . . . is the whiff of obsession gagging you yet? I meant well, oh so well, but I was slowly killing myself. I was depriving myself of all the fun things that give life its flavor and excitement. And I was ruining what mattered most to me. Being a Mom became almost too oppressive to enjoy.

Desmond saved me from all that. I couldn't keep up that standard with two. I had to let some things go, I had to care less and it set me free. If we have a bad moment, conversation, tuck in, or heck a whole day I move on, do better next time. It's life. This is what makes life interesting, what makes us unique.

If you are starting to get scared here, let me reassure you that my children are still cared for. They do run around wild and naked from time to time but I believe childhood is the best, most appropriate, time to do such things. They are not neglected. They are loved, cared for, taught, and corrected, but they aren't my whole world.

I am me again. A better, wiser, mom-a-fied version. The me I always wanted to be.

Capable

I took the kids to Las Vegas for a few days.
By myself.
We flew in a plane.
They both had colds.

Des, oddly, woke us at 5:30 in the morning that day. He cried and screamed when I had to hold him, my lap child, during taxi and take off. The first day he had only a twenty minute nap in the car to sustain him through air travel and a trip to the circus. That night both kids woke up about five times each, and I was sharing a room with them.

Parts of the trip really sucked but we kept going and it got better.

Yes, Desmond hollered, protested and wailed for maybe half the flight, but we survived and no other passengers harmed us; though I'm sure they thought about it. Still, despite the auspicious beginning I had a great time. We got to visit one of my dear friends, who is referred to as Auntie Nina around here, and my kids were able to play and get to know with her twin girls. And that was a dream come true.

I am capable. We can do this. We can have adventures. We can bend the rules, cry and scream, and recover.

This might not seem like a revelation to any of you reading this, but it is a big one for me. I tend to be conservative about our adventures. I don't like the kids getting "over" tired. I don't like feeling strained. I don't enjoy losing my patience (the kids don't enjoy me when I lose my patience). On the flip side I don't want to live the same day over and over. I want to experience new places and see loved ones who live far away. I want my children to learn flexibility and how to find their rhythm in new places. I miss living out of a suitcase and living with only today in mind. It was great to get a taste of that again.

It started with Vegas but this is just the beginning.

The kids playing at the airport.