|Tuck, age 6, and Cooper, age (almost) 9|
In its place is this new me. The professional yeller. The impatient multi-tasker. The sock matcher. The grocer-store shopper. The pocket cleaner outer. The bill payer. This grown up (and I use this term loosely, folks) in charge of the whole wide world. Time is no longer mine. I am owned by everything else around me.
In an act of rebellion tonight, I walked upstairs to my computer room after plating up their dinners and shut the door to write. All by myself. The kids are officially fending for themselves while I try to write something grand or grandiose, but it's not been an easy go.
I had to give a tribal yell to get their attention downstairs when it sounded like elephants were tearing up the place. We're dancing, they shouted back, give us a break! I'm pretty sure a few things fell off the wall.
There's been biting and someone got kicked in the balls.
There's been a surprise attack outside my computer-room door with swim goggles and a sling shot. I think I might know what it feels like to have a heart attack and a panic attack at the same time.
One kid has asked for cheese. The other one wants to play the Nintendo DS. No and no.
Lots of laughter. This must mean they are doing something I will discover later and be very angry about, or a tickle war has begun. You lose the tickle war when you pee your pants or vomit. Your choice.
Finally, we now have silence. This is the worst news yet. It means I need to wrap up this crazy endeavor of writing by myself, so I can jump back into the world of parenting. So, here's the quick ending, the short and sweet of it.
Despite the fact I've lost some of myself along the way, raising sons is the greatest adventure I've ever been on. I might get lost. Feel crazy. Have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. So what? It will always be a more interesting story than tea towels and shower singing. It's a life in progress, imperfect and beautiful. Enjoy it.