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Tuesday, December 29, 2015

the not perfect Christmas

So. No snow for Christmas. No cold even. So bizarre. Of course, I lived in Cali for years as a teen but even then, you get cold mornings with frost even. Here. Around 69 degrees at night, and we all wake up with chattering teeth, wrapped in blankets.

But it was a good Christmas.

The kids were blessed by many people with gifts and Facetime calls home with cousins and grandparents took out the sting of being so far from family for the first time in their lives.

But it was still strange.

Guys, I think I'm starting to feel unsettled a bit about moving here. Like WOAH, we really live here? Well then, where is all my stuff ?! Little things like dish towels and jewelry and teapots and my good paints. Why did I not bring my good oils?? Its weird to have pangs for things like this. I need to be all here, maybe, not half of my life sitting in a storage unit so far away.

I think we just need to sort, sell, and ship the rest. Which is going to be torturous.

Clearly I have nothing to say in this post. Its been a hard couple of weeks. I won't get into the nitty gritty but. Its been hard. For many reasons. Last night I was in so much pain - contractions, muscle aches, this weird pelvic separation thing that feels like my body is ripping in half with every step.

And dada has taken a second job, which means I need to be stepping it up around here. But I can barely move by the end of the day. And I can't call anyone to come and help. There isn't anyone, I moved away from my anyones.

Seriously I need to not post until after this baby is born. HA. My body is apparently going to fall apart again. And I - AGAIN - am turning into the worlds crabbiest pregnant lady.

And yet I am wrestling with these attitudes, I need to learn something about myself this time around, of  my compulsion to "step it up" to stay on top of everything, to not let pain get the better of me or my attitude. My sister says to me, "you just gotta let it go." But I cant. I just can't step up over the crayon getting ground into the carpet, or the pile of clothes on the stairs, or the pillow lying askew on the floor, or the honey someone forgot to wipe up on the counter, or the Legos randomly all over the bathroom. WHY ARE THERE LEGOS IN THE BATHROOM?

I could become boss lady. Kids can do more than we think. Little man has actually really stepped it up. He makes tea for us both every night and offers to rub my shoulders when I heave myself down into my chair at the end of a long day. Little miss too. Seven year old girls are amazingly helpful. Cheerfully fetching things in the other room or helping her sister brush her teeth.

But then you get to feel like you are just barking orders all day. Because they aren't me. Because I want them all to do it the way I WOULD DO IT. Which is, when you get up from the dinner table you immediately clear the plates and wipe the table and rinse the dishes and load the dishwasher. I do it immediately. I don't go and sit with my feet up in a chair digesting whilst looking at Facebook. Like some people. I just can't. So. My OCD then makes me the order barking grump. "Can't I sit for ten minutes first?" Um. No?

I DO need to let it go, don't I?


And it extends beyond that of course, beyond the house. Families we know around here posting pics of trips to the volcano, days spent on the beach, running on the sand with their kids, hikes up mountain, camping in the jungles, strolling around quaint little towns and shops. Friends I know who dance and jog and play until the day their babies pop out.

I CANT DO ANY OF THOSE THINGS. Man, I can barely get my ass into the car to drive down to the public library. My poor children. I feel like we are missing out on so much.

Life lessons at nearly 40, right?

I DON'T HAVE TO BE THE PERFECT HOUSEKEEPER. I DON'T HAVE TO BE THE PERFECT ENTERTAINING MOTHER.  There will be other Christmas breaks to go camping and see the volcanoes and drive to the other side of the island. It doesn't have to all happen now.


So. No. It wasn't a perfect Christmas. But it was good. The kids are happy. We have a pool, which is my only source of relief most days, so I don't need to feel guilty about not going to the beach in weeks.

And soon. EIGHT WEEKS FROM NOW HOPEFULLY. A little guy will come into our family. And the tight grumpy Christmas will be far behind us. And I can sit in my chair and hold a new little life. And the pain will be gone. And things will get back to a new normal where I bend over to pick up broken crayons like a boss, and drag four kids around the island without a qualm, and wake up early to bake bread and drink coffee as the sun rises, sparkling on the hazy ocean in the distance.

And it will be home then, maybe. And I can make it.


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