from somewhere inside the fog

Somewhere between sudden flashes of wanderlust and the conviction that I am afraid to begin new relationships, I decided to stay home this week with my little ones. And it was so good.

I think I was extroverted once, but maybe it was just for that one year of ministry all that time ago and maybe even though I loved it, maybe that's not quite who I am. Or maybe I can pull myself together and rise up to the occasion to be managerial and businesslike like I did that one other year, but maybe that's not quite who I am either. I don't know. I think I know who I am on the inside, but I am pretty confused about who I seem to be on the outside. Still feeling like we are in transition, still feeling fragile and tentative to embrace anyone or to genuinely open up to anyone... because I'm still not sure who I am or where I am or where we're supposed to be or how we're supposed to be doing this.

I dressed like a hippie yesterday... braids, bright skirt, barefoot... and was so surprised to glance in the mirror and see... well, first, that belly, which continues to startle me now and then; apparently I am not so aware of being pregnant this time around, or maybe I'm just getting used to this... but also see how well the hippie look suits me. And why not. I am into homebirthing and extended breastfeeding and organic food and all that. Does that make me a hippie? Although I am unashamedly not into cloth diapering anymore because throwing away dirty diapers just makes me so very much happier than cleaning them does.

But this whole knowing-my-identity-in-Christ-but-feeling-conflicted-about-my-identity-in-this-world thing might be a bit too heavy for me to delve into today though. What I started out to say is that I stayed home with my little ones this week, and it has been so good. Somewhere between making a bunch of unusual parenting decisions and feeling alone as a new mom, I learned to isolate myself. And while the isolation part of it has not been all that healthy, the restful, beautiful, finding-my-own-pace-and-mothering-style parts of it have been really, really good. We've been breaking from that since these warmer months began so that I could branch out a bit, perhaps remember how to not be so socially awkward. Good in some ways but hard in others. I have felt a lot of upheaval this year and in the last month or so have been just really craving more alone time with my children. Our routines and patterns have been not quite right this summer and I needed a week alone with them to begin to reconnect that and reestablish things. Just a little bit of a start, but it was good.

Yesterday morning I woke up before 6 am and spontaneously had most of a peach pie made before 7. And it made me happy all day. I haven't made a pie in years; I usually detest making pies, because of the mess and because I psyched myself out of making them when I was a teenager and kept failing at them; but yesterday I woke up and wanted to create. Wanted to make. I feel like that is the beauty, the thing I love about being home with my little ones for long seasons. Our relationship and fellowship is so good, so secure. Creativity happens, and not just for toddlers, when free time abounds. I struggle when I leave the house and realize I've not had adult conversations in a long time, but when I am here, things flow so well. I have been trying to build up into having in-real-life friendships here but this week... I just needed a break to enjoy my life and the one thing that I seem to be able to succeed at right now. I love being home long enough to not be overwhelmed anymore by the chores, to instead bask in the simplicity and beauty of all the little moments, to delight the children with favorite books reread seven times a day and new art activities.

Although now of course with two commitments this afternoon and this evening, I find myself again in that place of tentativeness. Going to my brother's soccer game in an hour will bring awkward interactions with people from the past; that is always the hard part of living in this small hometown of ours. And going to a game night tonight with friends means letting Rilla go into the hands of a babysitter I don't know; means trusting the judgment of our friends; means trusting that Rilla will be able to handle it if the evening's snacks are junk food and the activities are movies. It means bringing Abraham along with Keith and me, and so not really being able to engage fully in the game night anyway, and likely ending the night, as usual, wondering if the effort was really worth it and wondering what it would be like to engage with other adults without this thick fog of so many kinds of tiredness.