January is always a
hard month for me. Last week I was treading water and this week I find myself sputtering for air. The current is strong and I have a fear of being swept away and pulled into the deep darkness of the ocean. But when you're swimming in the ocean and you find yourself stuck in a
rip current it is advised that you remain calm and conserve your energy by floating. So I tip myself back, take a deep breath, and look upward for respite. My days have been piling on top of each other for a while now and with Mr. Stannix working late nights, I muddle through as best I can with a smile and as much optimism as I am able to muster.
When I pull into the garage from grocery shopping the baby has finally fallen asleep, my toddler has drifted off for an early nap, and the boys are still fighting in the backseat. I begin to feel anxious as I look at the pile of recycling stacked in the corner and think of all of the groceries I have to lug in. In the entry way I'm greeted with wet socks, mismatched mitts and a carpet of coats. I become overwhelmed with the clutter, the constant messes, the dishes still lining my counter. I do my best to chase away the lump in my throat while my eyes brim with tears. This was definitely not in the job description when I applied for motherhood almost eight years ago.
The boys are still fighting in the background, and I ignore it. I put away the groceries and stack the dinner dishes from the night before. The current is getting stronger, pulling me farther away from my happy place. I walk away from the mess and declare that we are going for a walk. The boys end their disagreement, Joe fusses over his socks, Fin puts his boots on the wrong feet, and the baby is crying as I buckle him into the carrier. But as soon as we step outside into the afternoon sun it's as if I've been thrown a flotation device. I cling on with both hands and find a moment of relief from the waves of life.
Ollie falls asleep a few houses down the block. Finley walks with a jump in his step a few paces ahead, giggling and squinting his eyes in the bright sunshine. Joe trudges through the slush and the mud near the edge of the sidewalk, and Hyrum follows behind with the puppy. We check the mail, drop it at home, and head up to a park we haven't visited for a while. The sun warms our faces as we take a slow pace. We pause for a snowball fight that leaves us all giggling, swing on the swings, and glide slowly down the slide for the first time since the snow arrived.
When we get home the children's feet are wet and cold, but their spirits are lifted. I put the kettle on to boil and throw a couple of heat bags in the microwave. We sip our hot chocolate at the round table while the afternoon sun pours in the big windows. Hyrum rests his feet on Joseph's chair and covers them with a heat bag. I admire Finley's smile and the way the sun glistens in his hair showing every shade of blonde from white to yellow.
In the late afternoon the two little boys fall asleep on the couch with puppy curled up near by. Camilla came home, whispered a hello, and wrapped her arms around my neck for a hug. I gave her an extra squeeze before she let me go to work on a rainbow loom bracelet. Hyrum went to the quiet of his room to work on his next lego master piece. I sat in the rocking chair soaking it all in while Ollie smiled up at me with his sparkly blue eyes. I knew I should wake them, but instead I let them sleep.
I enjoy the quiet before the chaos of dinner ensues. I ponder this Winter riptide I've found myself in. I've learned that the more I push against the current the more likely I am to drown. Sometimes it's best just to let yourself float, conserve energy and let the rest take care of itself. Thankfully rip currents are generally narrow in the grand scheme of things and if you're an experienced enough swimmer you will eventually be able to make it out, muster up strength, and swim back to shore.
Until then, I will just keep floating.
