But lately I feeeeeel like crying—like when I'm listening to Dave Matthews, or when I’m hiking with my dog, or when I watch my sons studying.
Or when my students say “AHA!” or “Thank you,” or “This is so exciting!”
It feels like being pregnant, only without the vomit.
Maybe I've discovered an alternative to pregnancy--something that creates a similar amount of emotional tenderness, but doesn’t include the stress over what you’re going to be able to eat next.
I think it requires reading and discussing ideas. On a daily basis. With a bunch of sassy pants teenagers.While simultaneously not getting enough sleep.
I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but sometimes during my classes, I forget to look at the clock.
And sometimes I don’t wish I was the custodian.
And sometimes, when my students are interrupting each other to tell me what the sunshine represents in The Scarlet Letter, or why the ending is satisfying, I think to myself, “why did I want to get cancer again?”
Once in a while, I even think, “Why did I want my students to get cancer again?”
This I think, even if they call Hester Prynne a “Ho” or an “Idiot,” or Dimmesdale a Jerk.
I know, right? How did this happen?
Once I even thought, “If I were at home right now washing dishes and folding laundry I would have missed this conversation.”
But then I went home and we were out of clean dishes and clean socks, and I felt like crying all over again.
But I didn't.
I'm just not a crier.
Except in my sleep.
This morning I woke up and my pillow was wet. My face was wet too.
I had been dreaming that my daughter was jumping around in our driveway in Hawaii with my three sons, who had little round crew-cut heads. She was 8 years old and her hair, parted in the middle, bounced off her shoulders as she spun around, singing with her signature raspy voice. As she turned toward me I caught sight of her face, dotted with familiar freckles, and I ran to her, pulled her into my arms, and hugged her tight.
I didn't let go either.
Then I burst into tears and said to my husband, "These are the best days of my life."
.
10 comments:
Beautiful Deb. I wrote something similar on my blog when Brady got married and moved back to Hawaii, only your writing has such personality to it and comes to life. Mine tends to be Sooooooo serious. Love your family pictures. I think Hawaii and the time my kids were little there were the best times of my life too. I want to go back to Hawaii, or maybe I want to go back to the best days of my life. Wonderful memories.
Those were super fun days. I was just telling a friend the other day that our kids had the best childhood ever! How they ran around playing all day and all evening and were never bored.
They run around still, but it's around town and not around townhouses.
Sometimes I feel so torn between working and/or wanting to be home. There is some part of me that never finds that satisfaction...I must be searching in the wrong place.
As for the children, I cry more openly now...my two oldest are gone, moved on, all grown up. It makes me sad and happy all at the same time. For someone who used to consider herself emotionally constipated, this is a whole new world.
You are lovely.
I cried all the time when Jared first went on his mission. It is so complicated because we want them to grow and leave us but at the same time err just want to lock them in a closet. It's like that song from fiddler on the roof, wanting home, wanting him. Seems like so often we want two oppose things so badly, and how can we help but cry over that. Seems rational to me. Love you girl. Miss ya.
I cried all the time when Jared first went on his mission. It is so complicated because we want them to grow and leave us but at the same time err just want to lock them in a closet. It's like that song from fiddler on the roof, wanting home, wanting him. Seems like so often we want two oppose things so badly, and how can we help but cry over that. Seems rational to me. Love you girl. Miss ya.
And they have flown by so fast haven't they?
You look back and realize that EVERY day was the best day.
I love reading the posts on your daughter's blog! The ones from Paris made me think of how much I hope for my teenage daughter to grow from the experiences she has in life. The mission posts remind me of my experiences on my mission in Georgia. After a few months with an amazing trainer, I was transfer to the only other sister in the mission quieter and more awkward than me. It did amazing things for me.
I dunno. We've done a lot of crying together, you and I. Although I admit I'm more blubbery than you are. You must work out. :)
These days I'm not allowed to watch home videos from when my kids were younger. All that wailing makes my husband uncomfortable.
Hey lovely! You've been on my mind lately, so I interpret that as my subconscious missing your subconscious. Hope all it swell. ::hugs::
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