See, this is what happens:
I stop blogging for a week, because my parents are here, and there are so many things to do besides recording my thoughts. Important things, like sitting on the couch under an afghan while my mother serves me grilled cheese. I mean, really. Who would give that up just for a moment to blog?
And then they leave, and I realize that, in fact, a million thoughts have been collecting in a jumbled pile in my brain, and while I’m certainly not short on things to say, I am totally stuck with where and how to begin.
So you see my dilemma.
On the lighter side, my thoughts run like this:
I wonder if my landlord would let us paint if we sign the lease for another year. I know he likes us, and I can tell he’s thrilled to have a family living in his house, and not just an odd bunch of Standford students. So maybe, just maybe, he’d be okay with a bit of taupe, maybe some butter yellow, and of course (it goes without saying) green (like my mom’s
dining room sitting room.)
Because it occurs to me that I’ve lived the last three years of my life surrounded by white walls. That must be grounds for legal insanity.
On the thankful side:
I can’t believe how wonderfully blessed I am by my parents. (And I don’t just mean the grilled cheese sandwiches.) They are amazing. They’re not perfect, but goodness, does it get any closer?
We all were crying when we parted ways at the airport’s curb. But you know what? Even as the tears were flowing, and I was feeling so incredibly sad, I was overcome with thankfulness. We cry. Because we love each other. Do all grown, adult, married children have their parents visit for a week — and wish with all their hearts it could be a month? And not just me, but Ryan, too? Do all parents settle right in, cooking dinner, working on house projects, sharing their hearts, giving counsel?
Of course the answer is no, that’s not the case for everyone.
And so sad as I am every time we say goodbye, I am so grateful for those tears.
On the mama side:
My little man is growing up. He really is. There’s all of this thought and talk about weaning and sleeping a few more hours in his own bed at night, and while I know we’re ready for all of that, I can’t believe he’s so old. Yesterday I woke him from a sound nap and put him in the car, and he was a bit grumpy with me for doing so. And I was like, “Wow. He’s a person. He’s grumpy.”
When did all of that happen?
Wasn’t it just yesterday I was snuggling him in a receiving blanket on our back porch, enjoying the fresh October breeze, and crying over how small he was, and how inevitable his growth would be? When did he go from needing to be held all day, to only needing me when his finger is caught in the cupboard or his cup is empty?
He says my name sometimes in his sleep, clear as a bell.
I want to remember that.
On the daily side:
My father-in-law and his wife are arriving tomorrow for a very quick visit. I’ve been wiped out since my parents left, and consequently, I awoke today to a daunting number of tasks. Well, only daunting to an exhausted, emotional person. But still.
I’ve still got a couple of items on the list without that proud line slashed through them, but I got a lot done. And hey, the day’s not over. At least, not on the west coast.
So I feel thankful for this clean house, too.