I hadn't seen her in almost ten years, since right before I had Nick. Maybe six months or so before and although I've thought about her over the years, sometimes daily and other times, only when situations or things would come up that reminded me of her would I stop and sigh and wish that she were there. She was such a huge part of who I was throughout my childhood and my adolescence and even up until my thirties when I got pregnant with my second child and yet, it was so subtle how she just kind of slipped into the background, behind the sleepless nights, the playdates, the endless piles of laundry and dishes to be done, the long days of putting other people's needs first. Days turned into weeks turned into a decade of wishing that she'd come back, but not creating the environment for her to do so...
I lost one of the best parts of myself when I had my children. And although I realize that it sounds crass and unfeeling to phrase it that way, it's the truth and the truth, even though it can be excruciatingly painful, it is not something from which to hide. I thought that after I had Jake and then two years later when I had Nick that I had to abandon myself to being their mother and, I wanted to. I wanted to do all of the things that moms do with their toddlers and babies and I didn't want to miss a second of it. So, I didn't. I stopped teaching full time, I resigned my tenure and I became a stay at home mom and the end of this school year will mark a decade that I've been home. I add this because Nick, that sweet cherub will turn 11 years old on Monday and the arrival of another birthday, well, it makes me feel...
See I don't consider myself a stay home mom. I have many good friends who do that job with relish and gusto and they are fantastic at it. I'm not. I spend most of my days milling around wishing that I had something more entertaining to do than play cars on the floor or kick the soccer ball for the thousandth time. Again, the truth is that I did not want someone else to raise my children so that I could keep my career and, we were in a financial situation where I didn't have to choose. But at the same time, I've held on to the notion that I could do both, that I could continue to work part time and manage the boys' lives and mine and Tim's and the house and the schedules and, you know, I try, but I'm still not very good at it and something always seems to suffer. There is no real balance in our lives and the only real thing that I contribute to the chaos is more chaos, that and whole lot of screaming. If Tim had agreed to stay at home, even though I would have been saddened to miss some things, I would have done better to go off to work full time and let him manage the homefront because if there is one thing that I am not, it is domestic.
The realization that I'm not came long ago when we were honeymooners. I was making a dish out of a new cookbook that I had received as a wedding present and we were all settled in our new apartment. I set the table, dressed up, cooked dinner and when Tim came home, we sat down to eat the course I'd created. Very Norman Rockwell. Nope, not even close; to this day, all you have to do is say Halibut casserole to Tim and he will either wince or burst out laughing or both and that was oh, um, 16 years ago or so. Horrible. But not being domestic is something that is inherent in my nature, in my system. I want to do and be and thrive and earn the money and dig the ditches and shoot the shit with the guys and, and, and... but I also want to be there when they get home from school and when they are sick and when they need me to kiss boo-boos although only Ty lets me do that now and not for much longer. I long for more time with each of them and yet I want my own time too; I desperately want the Yvette back that existed before she became Jake's mom and these past two years have begun to release a little bit of her back to me.
I realize that there is no "solution" to any of this. That basically, if I'm fat then it's because I've eaten too much. And, if I'm tired then it's because I don't sleep enough. But what if it is more than that, what if it is "If I'm not happy" or "I'm no longer myself?" Is there a quick fix for that? Is there a longer fix? Aside from drinking more alcohol or doing drugs or having an affair or getting plastic surgery, is there a fix for, "Where did she go and how do I get her back?"
What did I love most about who I was before someone else came along and loved me?
So today, as I watched Jake play soccer and as we drove home, I thought about that. I thought about the notion of who I was versus who I am and I thought about myself in the the third person as if she were this thing that I could reel in on a fishing line or something; as if she were just waiting for me to collect her back. Why was I waiting for the boys' lives to begin before I could take back mine? I don't know really, I guess that's how I thought that's how it's supposed to be. You give of yourself until there is nothing left and then you make way for them and, eventually, they'll do the same for their children... the natural order of things.
Well, you know what? The natural order of things can go fuck itself because I don't know a single woman or man for that matter who has a child who doesn't, even for one second, crave a taste of who they were before their kids came along. Not trading any of it, not changing it, just thinking it. There are so many fantastic people out there who find themselves bogged down in the most ridiculous and time consuming nonsense that exists. It's futile to fight against it because it continues whether you want it to or not, but it's also sad not to fight against it because what you once loved about yourself has not only manifested itself in your children, but by demonstrating it, it gives them a sense of who you were without starting the story, "Remember when we used to..." or "When I was young..." I let myself become that, I did that, for almost ten years and then one day, I told myself, that's enough; enough self pity, enough crying, enough of what won't ever happen... Instead, I decided to focus on what could happen and you know what I found? It's not rocket science; it's a simple case of asking yourself, "What did I love about who I was?" And I don't believe it for a second if you think you can answer, "Nothing." That's just moronic. And yes, that's moron with an ic attached...
I always loved music and I loved to dance so now, I put on the music and I dance, around the house, in the bathroom, when I put my makeup on; I dance with the boys, without them, in my underwear because it makes me feel good. I always loved baths and now, I sit, sometimes for hours after the kids go to bed, reading, listening to music, refilling the tub until I get so sleepy that my eyes start to droop. I always loved to exercise, to play sports, to be active and this simple thing has re-entered my life with a vengeance. I'm running and swimming and doing yoga, I'm laughing more, bike riding, playing on the floor. Hell, I'd be tree climbing too but I think I need a little more time on my balance. But what I've rediscovered about who Yvette was is also the exact same thing that I know about her today and that's that she has a will of steel and if she tries, she can do it and, if she doesn't, that she'll get back up and try again. She likes to push herself and punish herself and she feels the most deeply about things when she is in the moment with whoever that is locked into whatever they are doing. She thrives on intensity and emotion and she tries very hard to stay with whatever moves her at that moment...
I suppose it all really boils down to a simple idea that, at any time, you can find that thing that makes you whole again or, if you can't, then maybe you can, at the very least, acknowledge it and find a new thread that exists in who you are now. Maybe you didn't like who you were then and you do now. I can accept that; I don't know that I completely agree with that notion because it counter argues my point, but hey, I'm writing this to consider how I feel about it and well, there you are. Childhood is simple because children are simple minded. Adolescence is difficult because adolescents are... a pain in the ass. You thought I was going to say difficult didn't you? And aging, maturing, evolving... cracking, drying out, wrinkling up is painful because well, it is painful. But, for me, for my sons, I'd like to paint a picture, maybe just for them, of a woman who is satisfied with a part of herself that she's always had, a piece of their mother who they can carry with them all of their lives; especially when they hate her and they will. I want them to remember me trying to live with passion and I want them to see that even when it seems, someday like they've lost a piece of who they once were that they have every opportunity to get him back, slowly, a piece at a time so that they too can pass along what they love most about themselves. Posterity, Legacy, Immortality maybe? Whatever it is, I know that I've found a piece of it, of her again and all I can say to her is, "Where the hell have you been?"
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