I'm excited about an upcoming trip where I'll be far, far away from here both physically and probably in spirit, too. I'll be surrounded by friends with whom I share some awesome and ridiculous memories, and I'll be checking my Mom Card on my way out and not picking it back up until we're wheels down again in PHX. I couldn't be more excited, but for some reason this makes me a little nervous, too. I need to get away from here; I need to re-gain some sense of how it feels to just be me because I haven't really taken much time to do that in the past few years. I'm out of touch with myself, and I desperately need to cut loose, and I'm afraid I've forgotten how to do that. But I'm also scared to let go of my kids. I know they'll be well-cared for, but it will just be weird to not have total control over everything for a few days. Also, I don't feel like packing, and I'm anxious about the logistics of getting everything and everybody where they need to be and getting out of town while also working a half-day. Anyway, it will all fall into place.
But there's more. I feel sad and angry that our family has been fragmented for far too long. We had two days with Dylan home, and now he has to leave again, and that is just a teaser more than anything else. Sure, I have a system of hacks in place to get us through our day-to-day, and everything is fine. But, it is a very robotic way of living, and when I feel anything at all, it is usually lonely. I'm tired, and being perpetually tired casts a shadow over everything else in life. This is not like anything else, where practicing a lot makes it easier. It's the opposite of that. I don't know where to direct my sadness or anger because it's nobody's fault, but I also try to keep in perspective that it's just a short phase in the grand scheme of things. And it's really not that bad. It's just that I happen to be the kind of person who really appreciates having a husband that can put the kids to bed and fix them breakfast and make me laugh and keep me from coming unglued when my 3-year-old is acting like a 3-year-old...which is, like, all the freaking time. (Where is my sweet boy from the summer??) I do not like doing this by myself, which is probably because it was never a job that was meant to be done alone. When I'm thinking clearly, I can see it for what it is: simply, an exercise. I'll have to buck up and be much stronger and much braver for much more serious situations over the course of my life. I've grown up more in the last four or five years than I have in all the rest of my life, but I'm not done growing yet. I guess.
Among all these swirling thoughts, however, I'd like to focus on one in particular, and that is hope. A light at the end of the tunnel has come into sight, and soon we will be working with a much more civilized travel schedule. One or two trips a month? I can handle that. It's been a very busy year in general, and things will not be slowing down any time soon, but as long as we can all sleep under the same roof more nights than not, then I have every reason to believe we can get back to feeling good...normal...happy...and chill. I may end up looking like this before I turn 35...
But as long as the people who put me in this condition promise to love me anyway, then I guess that'll be okay.
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