There is a lake that I drive around each time I go and return from town. It is a crystal clear blue jewel of creation. It is cradled by mountains and waterfalls on both sides and reminds me of home with each mile. It often makes me long for the Flathead Lake, where cresting over the Ronan hill, would come into view each trip home from college or that long drive home from Michigan. Once the lake was in view, I knew I was home. Even though it would take another hour to reach my parent’s doorstep it didn’t matter. The Flathead Valley in all it’s splendor had welcomed me into it’s snowcapped gates and all that was between my weary mind and my mom’s arms were picturesque miles of water, mountains, and the Indian Princess rock. My heart would became lighter and I knew that it didn’t matter what happened in the next 60 miles, because I was finally home. but my Flathead lake is far from me now, and instead I drive round this replacement of beauty, beckoning me around the twisting corners of and closer to my current home. Yesterday as I made this trip I noticed that the leaves were beginning to change, dropping their green and picking up the wind-kissed reds and oranges of fall. And I realized that this summer is coming to a bittersweet end.
It has been an eventful season, in more ways than just what marks the calendar. I have become a mother, again, but for the first time with a babe. We celebrated the marriages of two close family members, soaked up some of that Montana sun, made new friends in never-met relatives and faced the daily battles of parenting and motherhood. Too much laundry, to little rest, schedule change melt-downs and sandy sheets. In just a week my three oldest will go off to school. One on the cusp of high school, rounding out her middle school years and the twins taking on the challenges of first grade. My sweet babe will go to day care and I will start a new job, an hour away.
I’m having a bit of a hard time with that. I am so incredibly excited to do what I’m doing this year. I love nursing with a passion that goes deeper than ever imagined, and to be able to share my love for this profession with incoming nurses is a blessing and challenge that I am craving. But I’ve never had a babe before. And the thought of him being separated from me for so long is breaking my heart. I worry about attachment, because we have so many other attachment issues. And after so many years of wanting a baby so bad that I could taste it, the thought of leaving him in the arms of another (whom I would trust with my life) is killing me. So tonight we danced.
I made banana bread to the tune of Pandora and the Civil Wars, with little man sitting on the sidelines in the Bumbo chair, watching the flour sift through the air and the sent of bananas fill the room. When the dough was mixed and laid to rest in the warm confines of the oven the notes of Your Song and the sweet lyrics sung by Ellie Goulding filled our ears. Picking up my little man, I held him close, whispering the words and swaying to the song. I imagined his life, sending him to kindergarten and college, dancing with him at his wedding…..how wonderful life is now that you’re in the world….and how sweet the lives of all my babes have made this world. I kissed his peach fuzz hair, inhaling that baby smell and savoring the moment. And I realized how fast these moments fly away. Bot Bot will be in high school in just a few short months. X-Man will be mastering the X-games (as soon as he learns to tie his shoes), Little Girl will be conquering
the world, one monster rawer at a time, and this sweet babe will be grown before I know it.
I realized that I need to slow town, savoring the minutes that tick by on the second hand. Before I know it, these years will be gone. What will I see when I look back, my hair streaked with grey (well, more grey) instead of flour? The laughter, the tears, this moment-twirling in the kitchen, flour in my hair and the oven heating the room while my little man grew right before my eyes.
p.s. I borrowed the pic from my mom 🙂