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Won't You Come Out and Play


I feel like I got hit on the head with a large board that reads: THIS IS YOUR LIFE.  If my life were a cartoon, little animated stars would have swirled around for a few seconds and then I would have shaken myself straight and seen clearly.  For the first time.  Ever.

 What I mean is this, as much as I’ve written about how much I cherish my sweet girls and love being a mother (mostly), I still haven’t actually started living my life.

Let me try to explain it again.

My entire existence from the time I can remember has been about accomplishments.  And I have to say, this isn’t because my parents were those crazy-competitive-ballpark parents.  They totally weren’t.  This is something innate.  Before I could do much of anything, I already forced my mother to make me a schedule to follow so I could be sure I was doing what I was supposed to be doing.  Anyone who knows my mom knows for certain the scheduling wasn’t her idea.  It’s a trait (almost a sickness sometimes) I was born with.  I like to be able to check off boxes and scratch off things on my to-do list.  I like to win, to achieve, to succeed.  This is true on both a big abstract scale and on a mundane day-to-day scale.  Sometimes in my life it has been a great force – graduated college and law school in a total of 6 years with a 4.0 in undergrad and an A-average in law school and I’ve pretty much driven my own career since then.  I’m good.  I’m not bragging, I just work really hard to be good and I don’t generally do things I’m not good at. 

Not only do I like to achieve, but I go so far as to self-impose a sort of delayed gratification until I get all my boxes checked.  For instance, I had as much fun as the next gal in college, but it wasn’t until homework and studying were done and my apartment was clean.  Work hard, play hard.  Again, not a bad way to live.  Even now, it’s sort of a family joke that I wait (and expect everyone else to wait) to have dessert until every dish is clean, every person bathed, and all the beds are turned down.  On most nights I don’t even sit down except to eat and even then I’m thinking ahead to who is going to bathe the girls, load the dishwasher, let the dogs out, and lay out clothes for the next day, not to mention mulling over my work and other extra-curricular obligations for the coming day.  I think we can all agree ambition and drive are good traits to possess in settings like education and career.  But when it starts creeping into your mothering, you just might have to get hit in the head with a theoretical board. 

Sure, I’ve always got one eye on my sweet family but the other eye is where it always has been, on the prize.

Then, a few weeks ago, in one of my lowest mommy-moments to date, that big board came smashing down on my head to reveal the ugly truth about myself –I don’t even know what the prize is anymore.  I was striving for something that I could not even identify, much less obtain.  And in the meantime, I was letting my life pass me by.

To be more precise, I didn’t realize that I had the prize right in front of me – it was my two beautiful girls and my dear husband.  And I was so busy looking ahead, plotting, planning, and trying to “achieve” that I was letting the real prize pass me by.

So I’m trying to slow down and enjoy my life, instead of waiting for my life to start after some arbitrary list of to-dos are done.  I’m trying to remind myself each day that those to-dos are my life.  Baths aren’t something I have to get out of the way, they are memories ready to be made; letting Pumpkin help me unload the dishwasher, ice the cookies, cook dinner, you name it, might take twice as long, but it teaches her and gives us moments together that we will both (hopefully) miss one day.  

Not only that, but let’s be honest – the chores will never be done.  There will always be work, laundry, dishes, and the list goes on and on.  They will be there today, they will be there tomorrow, they will still be there in 20 years when the girls are grown and the house is quiet.  Whether I do them now or in 15 minutes or even if I put them off an entire day doesn’t matter.  They can just be so that I can just be.

Don’t get me wrong – I can be superwoman. I can do it all and I can do it quickly and I can do it well and I can even do it backwards and in high heels.  But I just realize now that I don’t have to and that doing it doesn’t matter at all if it isn’t done with love.  None of this is easy for me to admit.  I want everyone to look in on  my life and be impressed with all I that I do.  I want people to think I have it together and my life is perfect.  I want to do everything for everyone so they will love me, like me, need me, whatever.  I don’t honestly know.  What I do know is that it’s hard to write these words but they needed to be written.  I knew they did from that moment, that horrible moment, when I acted in such a way that my actions actually caused my sweet Pumpkin to look at me with eyes that told me she felt unimportant and maybe even fearful of my impatience.  I never want to see that look in her eyes again.  And I have to admit I’ve seen it in the eyes of others who I love, who are close to me, and who I take for granted.  I don’t want any of them to feel that way anymore.

Even though the sting of that moment has passed, I continue to have phantom pains from it when I catch myself going back to my old ways.  Last night I walked in on the scene you see above and my first thought was of the mess that had been created by Pumpkin feeding her sister.  I almost missed the beauty, the joy, and the love that this picture really shows.  I was worried about wiping up sweet potato puree.  It wasn’t going anywhere and it wasn’t hurting anything.  It brought tears to my eyes, not just because it was the sweet love of a doting big sister towards an adoring baby sister, but because I ALMOST DIDN’T SEE IT.  Then, as I was smarting from that painful reminder, this morning Pumpkin was walking to the car with her thumbs hitched into her backpack straps and as soon as we stepped outside she started singing “her and Pop Pop’s song” which goes like this: “The sun is up, it’s a beautiful day, Dear Aly, won’t you come out and play.”  [The song is actually Dear Prudence by the Beatles, but this is “their” version].  I wanted to scream, “yes, yes, I’ll come out and play. It’s not a beautiful day, it’s gross and overcast and it’s going to rain and it’s Monday and I’m tired because your sister is teething but YES, I WILL PLAY BECAUSE YOU ARE A BEAUTIFUL AND MY LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL AND I LOVE YOU.”  I didn’t scream it…but I wanted to; maybe I even should have.

The bottom line, I’ve realized is that in the end, I don’t expect anyone on earth or in heaven will care very much about how many tasks I got done in a day or in a lifetime.  What will matter is how much enjoyment and love were involved in those tasks.  If I die with a sink full of dirty dishes and a brief due, I bet nobody that matters will even know.  But if I die with a family whose hearts are full, the whole world will be a better place.  So now each night when I tuck in my babies, I don’t rush the bedtime story to get back to folding towels or reading emails.  I savor each reading of the same book over and over, I enjoy watching Pumpkin “read” it from memory because we’ve read it so many times, and if I get back to the couch and its full of clean laundry waiting to be folded, I might just sit there and enjoy some quiet time with Hubby (and dessert!).

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