Something as simple as a scrambled egg...

I think, as adults, we all kind of realize at different points how quickly time is passing by. And it seems so cliche to comment on it, but we still do, because it never ceases to take us by surprise.

I was talking with some of my mommy friends the other night about how sometimes, looking back on my kids' baby years makes me slightly sad. It's a bittersweet feeling. I love everything about watching them grow and become who they are today, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss them being small. Those babies they were--they meant the world to me. And the kids they are now do as well. It's just such a indescribable feeling because I'm excited for the future and longing for the past at the same time. I wish I had the ability to scoop those babies up and kiss them one more time. I wish I had the ability to go back in time and savor the moments even more than I already did. I wish I could sit up another night with one of them and instead of thinking about how little sleep I was getting, be thinking about how little time I was going to have with them that small and making the most of it.
But I can't. I can only try to savor each moment now--but is that truly possible?

We hear "live in the moment" as moms, as adults, all the time. It's not simply a parenting thing. We're reminded every day about how quickly the time is passing by us, and how "these are the best days of our lives". We're told that these moments won't ever be relived, so we should embrace them or else we'll find ourselves looking back regretfully at how much we took for granted.
But here's the thing--it's not possible to love every single second of the day. It truly isn't. We are human and we're going to get upset, frustrated, and tired. It's not possible to sit with a sleeping baby in your arms, every night, completely exhausted and not think at all about how much you'd just love to go to sleep for 18 hours straight. It's not possible to never get overwhelmed or upset with the tantrums, with the yelling, with the constant questions.

As a whole, we appreciate the puzzle that is our lives. But that doesn't mean every single piece fills us with joy. And that's okay.

Nostalgia just works to prove to us that these troubling times will soon pass, as well. When we look back on those baby days, we don't remember the feeling of desperation during the sleepless nights and the feelings of complete helplessness during the meltdowns quite like we remember the sweet smell of their baby skin and the gorgeous cooing sound of their laughter. We're not wishing that we could exchange these times for those, we're reminding ourselves that there is no time like the present. We're proving to ourselves that the days are long and the years are so short, and that every moment is a piece of a much bigger, precious, invaluable picture.

So when we stop to think about the "little things" today, we realize that they aren't that little after all.
Just in the last few days, my four year old surprised me by doing a load of laundry all on his own. He asked if he could, I told him yes, and he proceeded to load the washer, place the detergent and fabric softener in, and start the washing cycle all on his own. He was incredibly proud and so was I.

Just a couple of days later, my 6 year old scrambled two eggs for himself and his brother. My husband supervised, of course. But, from start to finish, Goob cracked the eggs, scrambled them, and cooked them all on his own. I bet they were the best tasting eggs he's ever had because he knew that he'd made them with his own hands.

Those are the things that take me completely by surprise and stop me in my tracks. I think about how impossible it is to believe that my two little ones are so independent, so helpful, so grown up. And I realize that, although there are difficult times, when I look back on these days, those are the moments I will remember and bask in. The scrambled eggs and the loads of laundry are this season's baby laughs and unstable toddles. They are the precious moments of seeing them grow and change and shape into the people they are and who they will become.
And it's a gift to be able to realize, in this moment, how groundbreaking those experiences are. It's a gift that only the experiences so far could prepare me for.

I am always living in this moment. And I will do my best to appreciate all that these moments hold, whether it be good, bad, or ugly--it's real. While I hold the past dear to my heart, I will remember that the present is the past in the making and that these days are short and these moments are fleeting. I will go forth, giving myself permission to miss the past, to revel in the present, and to look forward to the future all at once. Because that--something that seems so impossible to feel all together--is what makes this experience so uniquely human.

The Ever-Changing Depth of Heartbreak

My husband and I were driving home last weekend from taking our boys to visit my mom. I honestly cannot remember what specific topic we were discussing at first, but I know it led to me then saying "You know, I'm always floored by how much different heartbreak becomes as you age. I feel like I was so naive as a teenager." To which he replied, "There are so many things I am still incredibly naive about."

It got me thinking. I recalled being a young girl--a little quirky, happy, friendly, kind of chubby. Awkward would be a good word to describe me. As most tween girls do, I had a crush (a few over the years) and I remember that beautiful, awful, heartsick feeling of knowing that a crush was all it would ever be.
Those feelings were real. I felt them often and I felt them deeply. I remember confiding in my best friend about this boy I liked well through high school. "He'd never go for me. I'm sure he'd pick any other girl in our class over me.", I'd say. I remember pouring out tears over my journal pages as I wrote about feelings that would probably stay between me, my best friend, and that little book. Trust me, I remember.

But looking back, I smile on those times a bit. I giggle at myself. I say to myself "If I had the confidence, I could have just told him I liked him and saved myself the years of trouble." I wonder if then, my heartbreak would have been over and I could have focused on more important things than boys.
The fact is, though, as an adult I've realized that heartbreak doesn't ever go away. It just changes.

I got married at 20 years old and I am now 27. Within weeks of being married, my husband left for boot camp. A little over a year after being married, we had our first son. Shortly after that, we faced our first deployment, then a second, a second baby, a third deployment.
I felt the heartbreak of being separated from my partner. I felt the pressure of being a "geographically single" mother. Heavy tears ran down my cheeks as I watched my toddler kiss pictures of my husband and ask for "more daddy".
Between our two sons, we lost a baby. I felt the emptiness of my heart overshadow the emptiness of my womb. I grieved the loss of a child that I knew nothing about. I packed away hopes and dreams and assumptions about that child's future.
I watched my husband come in and out of our lives, often feeling like a stranger for weeks after returning. By the time we got reacquainted, he'd be gone again. I'd ask myself "Is this normal? Will this ever end?" I felt completely lost.

During this seven years of official adulthood, I've seen people marry and divorce. I've watched as my friends experience years of infertility, countless miscarriages, and sending their babies off to Heaven after only hours on this Earth. I've seen friends fall upon hard financial circumstances and struggle to feed themselves and their children. I've seen my loved ones pass away. I've watched as my close family and friends struggle with health issues that leave them frail and discouraged. I've watched my friends put in countless hours searching for jobs, only to be told there are no openings. I've seen them struggle through school, only to be rewarded with thousands of dollars in debt. I've seen hopelessness. I've seen defeat.
I've seen heartbreak.

I once thought that heartbreak would end when I found someone to love me for life, when I had children, when I got degrees and jobs and felt accomplished. I thought adulthood equated serenity. Unfortunately, that isn't true.

I think back on the issues I faced as a teenage girl and think "If only that was it."  It's not to say that those days weren't difficult, and I know that some young people face much more difficulty in their lives than I ever have and probably ever will. The children who are bullied, the children who don't feel at home in their own bodies, the children who live in poverty, the children who live through abuse...I am not belittling their heart ache. I am not going to even assume that I could understand it or identify with it. Heartache is something they have seen all too much of, and unfortunately, adulthood will not bring a complete eradication of heartbreak.

So what, then? If heartbreak doesn't change, then what?
We change.
We realize that life is not easy, relationships take work, things go wrong and opportunities don't always knock down our doors. But we also realize that it's been years since we felt that first pang of heartache and we are still here. We are still going strong. We can still find beauty in life. We still smile. We still laugh. We're still happy people that only sometimes feel unhappy.

When I was 13 and experiencing unrequited love, it was the worst thing I could have felt at that time. And I got through it. I found my husband, we fell in love. We got married, had children, built a life together. We fell on hard times and we came out stronger. We spent months separated from each other and we remained faithful and committed. I experienced the loss of a baby and it was incredibly painful, but I ended up being blessed with my rainbow son and he brings me laughter every day. I watched my mother lose the man she loved, unexpectedly but she went on to find love again and become a wife again after being separated from my father for over 20 years. I watched my aunt be diagnosed with cancer, fight through chemo, and come out on the other side cancer free and empowered. I watched my brother battle a decade-long drug addiction, overcome it on his own and go on to meet his wife and be blessed with her two boys.
Look, heartbreak doesn't go away. It's always here with us. The depth of it changes over the years. We learn that things happen in adulthood that we didn't dream of happening when we were young and thought that we'd "have it all together" by the ages we are now.
But we also come to know that humans are resilient. We are much, much stronger than we ever give ourselves credit for. We grow and we choose to love each other. We choose to support each other because we know we need support. We face challenges with confidence because we are experienced victors. We can look fear, pain, and loss right in the eyes and say "You may knock me down, but you will not keep me down."
We begin to realize that these are the best of times; these are the worst of times and we make peace with that. Heartbreak is devastating. But there is nothing more powerful than overcoming it and realizing that there is nothing, nothing that you cannot make it through.

So no matter where you are in your life, I want you to understand two things:
1) Heartbreak is everlasting, ever-changing.
2) So are you.