Where the White Things Are: Searching and finding

Track season, week three. This post is not nearly as snappy and organized as I'd like, but I kind of went on a journey while typing it, and it feels good, so I'm not changing it. Right when I thought I was adjusting to Jeff's longer hours, I am slammed with a new level of loneliness. It's probably related to the fact that I upped my running mileage in the past few weeks in preparation for an upcoming race, and as a result I have been more tired. Why do I keep signing up for races? I don't have to, and yet here I am, attempting to get my bones ready for a May half marathon, all in the middle of a busy track season where I have to run endless laps around our driveway or run on the boring bike path while pushing the heavy stroller, or run after dropping Amber off at the high school during Jeff's planning period in order to get my miles in. There is nothing wrong with doing something for myself, but it does stink that the activity I chose happens to be utterly exhausting!

When my mom-fatigue combines with running tiredness, each hour that Jeff is away coaching track feels like a lifetime! On most weekday afternoons, I have been doing an ok job of making some me-time. One of my goals is to take care of myself as well as I take care of everyone else in my family. I run. I read. I buy Reese's. I like to snuggle up in my favorite corner of our couch by the window and read while Amber takes a nap. She has been impressively cooperative with her naps lately, in spite of her advancing age, and I TAKE IT. I own that beautiful nap time and it is my precious. During Thursday's Amb-nap, I even managed to sneak in nearly 40 minutes of my own nap and it was restorative in a powerful, almost supernatural way.

Friday's quiet Amber-reprieve saw me snuggled up in that extra cozy couch corner with my Kindle, on a literary journey to the Scottish border during World War II (I'm on a D. E. Stevenson kick--I love her comfortable books). Then the dear book ended, the big kids got home from school, and I still had at least an HOUR before I could even hope to see Jeff. One look around the room told me that there was plenty of housework that would pass the time, but I have learned that cleaning on a Friday afternoon, the cusp of the weekend, is pointless. Plus I was not feeling work-ish. I was feeling antsy to see my best husband-friend and start family movie night! I tried looking at Facebook and whatnot to pass the time, but so soon after reading a delectably lively well-written book, social media fell rather flat. I found myself staring out the window from my couch perch, looking at the edge of road where Jeff's bike would come speeding into view. "What am I doing?" I thought to myself. "This is either really sweet or really pathetic."

Eventually I shook myself, left the window, and finished dinner preparations. I am learning that actively waiting for Jeff to return from track practice and meets is the worst way to deal with it. The act of waiting builds up all kinds of anticipation and expectations that everything will be easier when he gets home. Although I know it's silly, I still envision Jeff swooping in with a sparkling smile, smoothing the kids' chaos, and taking over all parenting responsibilities. The reality is, when he gets home, he's just as tired as I am and it's all we can do to ride the choppy waves of inquisitive, wild-tired children until bedtime.

Friday night when Jeff got home, we had a pleasant family movie night, watching two episodes of Merlin together while eating my "slacker homemade pizza" (French bread with sausage and cheese on top, toasted in the oven, with pizza sauce for dipping). I thought I had moderated my husband homecoming expectations quite well. When when the kids were finally in bed, however, and I was sitting next to Jeff on the couch, I realized that I was still feeling hollow and hopeful of... some unknown relief. Jeff was home at last! And I wanted my empty feeling to go away immediately. I couldn't define exactly how to make that happen at the time, and eventually we parted for some necessary quiet alone time. I still felt exhausted and hollow though.

Jeff and I had exchanged foot rubs and eaten ice cream together (not all at once, of course). It was a good companionable hour! But it was only an hour, out of the entire day, and I felt so flat. Jeff needed a quiet hour to himself to recuperate from his day and then an early bedtime to prep for the long track meet ahead. Boo. All I had to look forward to for Saturday was Jeff getting up at sunrise to leave for a track meet, and another day at home by myself with the kids. I'm an introvert! I love alone time! But I still need quality time with loved ones, and that part of my cup has not been filled sufficiently or regularly during track season. (Plus, kid time is not alone time. It is answer every question and field every request and moderate every argument time.) Today the track meet was outside my radius--Ephrata is too far for me to want to drive the kids to visit Jeff. Plus the weather forecast for Ephrata, WA was cold, windy, and rainy/snowy. So here I am at home on a Saturday afternoon, reminiscing about having my husband around more and selfishly looking forward to the end of track season when he will be back again. I don't begrudge the track team for the time Jeff puts into it--he loves coaching, and I love that he gets to coach. And of course he misses us while he's away. I'm just stating the facts of my life when he is gone.

Some situations [aka pregnancy] are best dealt with by putting my head down and powering through, but in spite of my selfish gloomy musings, I do believe that most blah days still have the potential for happiness. The challenge is finding that happiness--or making it--without my true love at home. I find that the kid-fights, the couch-jumping, the begging for screen time, the messes, and general mischief and mayhem that attend any houseful of kids too often sap my patience and evaporate my ability to see the beauty through it all. Sometimes in my quest to see the good and be at peace amidst/in spite of the hectic, I feel a kinship to crazed Sirius Black in his hunt for Peter Pettigrew in the HP3 movie: "come out, come out, wherever you are!" But alas, finding the joy in every day doesn't work like that usually. Sometimes it does come out to greet us--on especially golden days, happiness coats everything in glitter and it feels wonderful. But on the more common regular days, I have to seek out the silver lining myself, actively take on the responsibility to find that joy in the day. I don't think that every moment of every day has the potential for joy (e.g. poopy diapers, doing laundry, running late), but I do believe that the overall average of the day does have the potential for joy!

By this morning (Saturday), I still had not figured out how I was going to make today GOOD. I knew I needed something to fill the void of Jeff's absence, but I did not know "beforehand the things which I should do" as good ole Nephi once said. The weather forecast was for cold strong winds, barring any plans for a fun ramble outside with the kids. "Nevertheless, I went forth." (Nephi again) Since I had no ideas, I decided to do the usual things, as unexciting as running laps around the driveway seemed. I bundled up and ran my 3 miles/25 laps, waving at kids when they knocked on the windows, while listening to my Wuthering Heights audiobook. When I finished running, the story kept playing, and the sun was shining much warmer than I expected. The wind had not picked up with its cold tormenting yet, so I dug out my long neglected gardening gloves and started weeding on the sunny side of our house, still listening to my story.

After about half an hour or so, the kids trickled outside one by one to observe the goings-on. Amber delightedly commenced digging in her favorite sunny dirt patch next to me and filling her trike's trunk with rocks. What surprised me was when Jay and Rose came out. They didn't stand around asking me how long I was going to weed, or if they could have a snack. They asked me where the extra gardening gloves were and started helping me weed of their own free will. My children have officially surpassed me. Never once in my childhood, no matter how often I saw my mom toiling and weeding her garden, did I ever voluntarily go out and help her of my own volition. Weeding has always been my nemesis, and I was surprised at how long I lasted today (audiobooks are pure genius). Jay and Rose weren't quite strong enough to get the deep rooted weeds out, so I suggested that they wheel the trash can over and work on throwing away my piles of weeds. They did it happily, and after that task was done, Rose followed me closely along my weed-a-thon, taking each weed practically straight from my hand and tossing it into the trash bin. (I should add that once Jay and Rose joined me, I dutifully turned off my audiobook...slightly unwillingly... so I could hear them talk.)

Two hours later, an entire swath of dirt along one side of our house was weed-free. I was coated in dirt and my muscles were feeling shaky from all of the crouching, hacking, pulling, and reaching. As promised, the wind was picking up and we were getting cold. I forced myself to stop weeding, even though there were still hours and hours of weeding work to be done. When I came inside after one last rake, Jay and Rose were having a very loud, very explosive argument over the last piece of pizza. Rose was practically spitting fire, so I dragged her off to her room to cool off, then asked Jay if he could think of a kind resolution to the argument. He ended up cutting the piece of pizza in half. Seven minutes later, I let Rose out of her time out and she accepted Jay's offering as calm as can be. Somehow I felt completely tranquil, even through the ridiculously loud pointless shouting match between my two oldest children. There is power in going forth when we are ready and willing to act, even when I don't know what to do beforehand. It's utterly incomprehensible that I felt so peaceful after today's less than exciting path involving 25 laps of driveway running, followed by 2 hours of weeding. But working is empowering. Working together willingly is bonding.

Post weeding pose, next to our handiwork. I rarely remember to take "before" pictures, so here's the after. We filled 3/4 of our large trash can with weeds.

I believe weeding to be one of the highest forms of torture, but today it was infinitely more desirable than sitting around with a track-coach husband-shaped hole in my heart! My daily search-and-find is complete: I wasn't actively or consciously searching for the joie-du-jour while we were weeding, but the entire memory is still flavored with satisfaction and happiness. Words I never thought I'd write: today's source of joy was weeding. Well, weeding was the lens through which I looked, focused, and SAW, effectively reminding me that joy is in the small unexpected moments.