I watch my daughter, at 6, run arm and arm with her cousin across the field. My fourteen year old, arms linked with her 10 year old cousin as they watch the owl demonstration. My emotions are all over the place. I remember with such clear vision my sisters and I running across pastures, deep in the woods, filled with tall grass and I'm sure varying snakes hiding from our quick feet. We ran and laughed, not sure why we were running, but laughing as we went.
My father and youngest sister are with us today on this raptor demonstration, as they show us how quickly and swiftly these birds dive down for their food. I never thought I'd quite be here, as a mother, with very gray hair, watching my own children, in essence do with the same that I did as a child. The younger ones have no filter. They say what they feel, and feel what they say.
I try to explain to my husband how I feel like I'm going round and round trying to find my way in this part of my life that is enjoyable, but so confusing. Am I coming? Am I going? Reality, I'm halfway between. Not quite there, with the knowledge of those who have passed before me. Knowing my mother is physically not present, I still ask the questions to her out loud and listen quietly for that voice that I know is hers and will come from within. It's a matter of time. She answers, or the answer appears clear.
I have a unique situation concerning children as the age difference is so varied. I have my four amazing daughters, aged 20, 17, 14, and 6 1/2. Each individually at their own passages in life, trying to find their own way. So here we are, all in one house, facing different aspects of aging and rites of passages. We meander throughout our days, passing each other in the hall, or at the table.
Yet, still I find myself remember those summers with my sister, canoeing to the small island in the little pond across from our cabin. Once we pretended it was Christmas and we had to make presents only from what was on the island. We set up "house". We dragged some logs over and made a kitchen. We spent the entire day there, until we heard my mother call from the cabin atop a small hill the it was time to come in for supper.
I look around, how did I get from here to there? How did I go from twelve to menopause, confused on whether I'm coming or going. My husband is more confused, not knowing what he'll come home to -- will I be calm, on the couch in front of fire, dinner in the oven, knitting and calm, or more likely a ranging manic, not knowing how to stop myself from spinning and spinning to stop all this. To bring those four daughters back to that island with those same three young girls, my sisters, and I so that we can do the same thing and have the same memories. I know my childhood was wonderful. Will they say the same theirs?
I publish this without rereading (probably a mistake) wondering if those who may read it - -have answers. Answers how to make their childhood perfect, as I make my own aging bearable, and still have a husband who loves me as dearly as I love him.
My father and youngest sister are with us today on this raptor demonstration, as they show us how quickly and swiftly these birds dive down for their food. I never thought I'd quite be here, as a mother, with very gray hair, watching my own children, in essence do with the same that I did as a child. The younger ones have no filter. They say what they feel, and feel what they say.
I try to explain to my husband how I feel like I'm going round and round trying to find my way in this part of my life that is enjoyable, but so confusing. Am I coming? Am I going? Reality, I'm halfway between. Not quite there, with the knowledge of those who have passed before me. Knowing my mother is physically not present, I still ask the questions to her out loud and listen quietly for that voice that I know is hers and will come from within. It's a matter of time. She answers, or the answer appears clear.
I have a unique situation concerning children as the age difference is so varied. I have my four amazing daughters, aged 20, 17, 14, and 6 1/2. Each individually at their own passages in life, trying to find their own way. So here we are, all in one house, facing different aspects of aging and rites of passages. We meander throughout our days, passing each other in the hall, or at the table.
Yet, still I find myself remember those summers with my sister, canoeing to the small island in the little pond across from our cabin. Once we pretended it was Christmas and we had to make presents only from what was on the island. We set up "house". We dragged some logs over and made a kitchen. We spent the entire day there, until we heard my mother call from the cabin atop a small hill the it was time to come in for supper.
I look around, how did I get from here to there? How did I go from twelve to menopause, confused on whether I'm coming or going. My husband is more confused, not knowing what he'll come home to -- will I be calm, on the couch in front of fire, dinner in the oven, knitting and calm, or more likely a ranging manic, not knowing how to stop myself from spinning and spinning to stop all this. To bring those four daughters back to that island with those same three young girls, my sisters, and I so that we can do the same thing and have the same memories. I know my childhood was wonderful. Will they say the same theirs?
I publish this without rereading (probably a mistake) wondering if those who may read it - -have answers. Answers how to make their childhood perfect, as I make my own aging bearable, and still have a husband who loves me as dearly as I love him.
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