I've wanted to have something to say for so long now, and yet have shied away from my blog, from the public airing of my thoughts, because they sometimes seem so twisted and repetitious. Worry, worry, worry and then a respite from the worry in which I am flooded with joy and gratitude, and then another bout of worry, worry, worry.
And yet, lately, I have finally come to understand that Sam is an ever changing, ever evolving work of natural beauty and art. So that one day, when it seems I am incapable of meeting the challenge of mothering this child, I go to sleep in despair. But in the morning awake to find that Sam has magically outgrown whatever it was that seemed so dire at the time.
We play, we talk, we tell stories, we fuss and sometimes we even fight. Because that's what people do. I am astounded by his strong sense of self, his inner balance and stable core. That is not to say he doesn't melt down from time to time, but it never happens without reason, and almost always could have been avoided by a little proactivity from me.
Most days, we have learned to walk, walk, walk until the anxiety, the tension, the agitation leaves us. We can walk far enough into the desert to leave most anything behind and, out there, in the clean and barren landscape, we become lost in our adventures, our imaginings, and we reconnect. So that when we return the bond between us is srong enough to weather my fatigue, his agitation, our collective angst and hereditary dysfunction.
In recent days we have walked and adventured, we have written a book, we have built block cities and introduced the dinosaurs to the doll dolls to see if they could cohabitate in the roundabout doll house (but they could not). We have cooked, and even cleaned a bit, and spent hours sitting in the bathroom reading while Sam waits to see if he can let himself poop on the potty. We have read books and told stories, we have shopped and gone visiting. We have watched movies and discussed movies and pretended to be Shaggy and Scooby Doo. Sam has become a 'big brother' to his beloved Diane's brand new baby boy, and he has helped me do the footwork, the organizing, the ground's preparation and the enduring of the Second Annual Firehouse Fling (which netted over four thousand dollars this year).
And we have bickered and irritated one another. It is strange, this feeling of irritation with my boy--new and uncomfortable, and yet, a part of this life as a family. It is hard some days to move on from the halcyon days of Sam's babyhood in which I still thought it possible to spend an entire lifetime with my son and never raise my voice or be annyoyed by him.
And sometimes, I find pure joy in the very fact that we have the downs as well as the ups, that we live a fully rounded life, that we are human, that we are fallible, and that it doesn't matter. Because this is just what people do.
