Monday, June 29, 2009

....liquid summer oblivion.....

Can't believe how summer is flying. The days sometimes stretch into lazy oblivion, and I find myself wishing the kids would never have to go back to school. I love my kids right now, with all the quirks and idiosyncracies and all. They never cease to amaze me. Their liveliness, their candor, their anger---I need to take it all in and hold it there. They will leave me someday and never look back. I want this for them. I don't want to hold onto them so tightly in this little cocoon that they won't know how to succeed in this world. I want to give them the freedom to expand and fly.

This summer has also been trying. Belle, having graduated, is taking on all the characteristics of someone who is living "outside" this house. In short, she wants to do whatever she wants to do. I bear with this, while my husband, who is the most amazing Dad ever, talks to her. He wants unparalleled success for them, and he will point out to her, in the most minute way, what she needs to be doing. Out every night, no job, no gas, will not get you far. She will soon be far away from us---she needs to be standing on her own two feet--and learning to buy her own shampoo. So we are also crawling through this summer of our daughter's landing pad, trying sometimes not too gently, to get her rocket to take off smoothly. It's a summer of friends leaving, and tears into the night. Sometimes I want to rip my hair out, and sometimes I absorb all the emotions and tears through my very pores. Every event, every instance is wrought with deep feeling. When I get in my car and leave her in West Palm Beach, I know that every talk---every argument---and every coming back together will not have been for naught.

So, in this summer of deep contentment and mental unrest, I keep myself unruffled. My love for my kids and husband rides high on my countenance. I could not love them more through these liquid years, that I know will all too soon come to an end. Even though I feel like I could say I throw in the towel, I move on.