Adventures in Bennionland

Dear Father Time,

I do hope you’re a blog reader. If not, I have the slightest impression that somehow you’ll get this.

Right now my timer is ticking – counting down the minutes until I have to change the laundry. Listening to it, accompanied by the sounds of night falling outside, reminds me of how funny you are. How easily you manipulate time.

My SIL just had a baby – a gorgeous red-headed boy who’s pending arrival announcement still sits on my fridge even though he arrived two months ago. Another SIL is due in a few months. As we countdown to her baby’s arrival we count up the days that the boy has been on this earth. And time moves at such different speeds for each of those women. One counting the days until she meets her little girl – the other counting the days and milestones as her little boy grows. Some days, the same days, fast for one and slow for the other.

It’s strange how you do that. How you manage to allow my time at work to move so slowly, but fast-forward the time with my boys so quickly. The difference between how a morning moves depending on how you move the world Father Time.

It’s Friday. It’s nighttime. Both of my children are in bed. One couldn’t wait to let sleep take him. The other curled up with a book. When did that happen Father Time? When did he learn to read so many words – so much so that he now has a huge world opened to him. One that is currently taking him to Stuart Little’s house but will soon take him to Narnia, Oz, and more…

Quite frankly I want to be mad at you. I want to hate you for moving time so quickly that I’m missing things. But then I remember (and am grateful for) the times you move slowly. College nights with friends I loved. Days by the lake that lasted an eternity. The nights when my fatigue didn’t get me and I rocked my babies into the early morning. The times when I look at Eric and see forever. And the times when you move quickly so as to comfort – so that pain or grief or trial does not last long.

I guess in the end I’m not mad. Just a little sad. Sad that time doesn’t get controlled by me. That I can’t start and stop bits and pieces of my life. Perhaps if I could I’d update my blog more…or perhaps not.

And as if to mark the end of my post my timer has sounded it’s alarm. A new task, a new adventure, a new something must begin. Thank you for doing your job and for letting me have moments like this to value the gifts you give.

Love,
Shelly

PS: For those who do read this, I am sorry I’ve been gone. Eric has done some posting which is great. Life is just moving. Those of you who know me know what life’s details are – and those of you who don’t will probably find out on here over time. For a glimpse you can read what Tasha wrote here and here. What a blessing she has been for me and my kids…

We are always looking for that next adventure around here. So after Shell and I ran our first race of the year. We loaded up our car and made our way to catch with Papa Paul and KK who had the boys and were on their way up to San Simeon. We arrived at the Elephant Seal Beach just before sunset and caught them particularily active. The boys had fun running up and down the viewing area to see the seals in action.

We spent the evening at a little lodge in San Simeon. The boys enjoyed hopping from our room to Papa and KK’s. They really enjoyed watching the Olympics cuddled up with Mom and Dad. Before they went to bed.

Next morning we walked down to the pebble beach to relax, explore, and watch the waves. We had a great time, the trip was exactly what all our little souls needed. I wonder where the next adventure will take us.

Pictures after the break: Read the rest of this entry »

I love mornings. I love having a chance to collect my thoughts (and read blogs) before everyone else gets up. I love listening for the pitter-pat of the boys feet as they search me out. The first hugs of the morning that are warm and strong. Funny conversations, cuddles on the couch, breakfast at a slow, leisurely pace – this is morning.

This morning I rose before everyone else. I wandered through the house. Put a blanket on Eric who had slept in the room with the boys. Tucked the boys back into their bedding, away from the cool morning air. Grabbed my robe and latest book and retreated to the couch.

In most ways this morning is no different than any other one. Tomorrow morning however will be the start of something new. A new out-of-the-home job for me – with hours early in the morning away from the boys.

Will paddled out first this morning. Saw me in the kitchen and ran to get up into my arms.
We cuddled on the couch and I started getting a little teary. He asked if they were “tears of love” which is usually what I tell him. This morning I was honest and said, no these tears were of sadness because I’ll miss my morning time with him. He curled right up to me and said “It’s not a big deal Mom.”

He is right. I consider myself incredibly lucky to have the time with the boys that I do. I get to make a choice. I recognize the value, and cost, of me staying home with the kids…and the value and cost lost of me not working. So this new opportunity is perfect. It allows me to meet some of our family goals with little strain on the boys.

And yet, Will’s wrong. Not because giving up my mornings is a big deal. That’s not it. It’s recognizing that the boys are growing up. They are at a place where who they are with during the day doesn’t matter as much as it used to. Most of their basic needs, food, toilet, sleep – are things they can provide for themselves.

I’m not trying to devalue myself – or make it seem like they are past the point of mothering. Rather that as a mom one of the strangest parts of my jobs is that it is constantly evolving. Each new development and phase for them requires a new job description and skill set from me. And this new phase for me also marks a new phase for them. A more independent one.

Oh. I’m going to miss my mornings. What they are. What they signify.

But…for now…for this moment I am going to turn off the computer and tune into my son who just asked me to come play and qualified his request with “…because Mom, playing with me is your favorite thing in the world.”

Yes it is.

(cross posted on my personal blog)