How was your day?

Yesterday, for me, was such that after the kids went to bed I baked a pan of brownies, opened a bottle of wine, and dug out Season 1 of the Gilmore Girls.

Today’s going better.  So far.

Half Full

I’ve realized there are a FEW good things about the Jellyman’s absence:

The seat of my car is always right where I left it.

The box of wipes is properly located to the right of the changing table, where a NORMAL, RIGHT-HANDED person can reach it.

The menu and entertainment plans are under my sole control, as I am the only person in the house who is allowed to touch the stove, remote, or radio.

One is the Loneliest Number

My husband hasn’t traveled on business in about 2 years.  He doesn’t fish or hunt, and we virtually never travel without each other.  He goes in to work early every day so that he can be home with us for most of the afternoon and evening.  And now he’s gone to India for 2 1/2 weeks for his grandmother’s funeral, and I am all at sea.

I have plenty of help when I need it.  Even if I didn’t, we could live on chicken nuggets and walk on sticky floors if we had to.  We have enough company during the day.  Even if we didn’t, there are lots of places in this city where we could go.

But how to fill up the hours after the kids go to bed, and after all the help and company has gone back to their own homes and families?  There’s no one here to snark at the TV with, nobody to giggle over the silly thing Raisin said today, and most certainly no big broad shoulder to snuggle against before I fall asleep.

This is Night #3.  Wah.

Mourning

Yesterday I cried because a woman half a world away died.  I met her once, and neither of us understood anything the other said.  She loved me, though, and I loved her.

The power of love really is astounding, isn’t it?  The Jellyman’s grandmother was tiny.  She could not read.  I doubt she ever traveled far outside her hometown.  I know she had not left it in years.

Yet her strength was obvious even to an outsider like me.  A woman who raises a family that will love and honor each other and her even after she is gone — such a woman’s wisdom is to be revered and desired.

Thakuma, I am sorry you never got to meet the Jellyman’s babies.  I know you would have loved to see them in person, to see that tiniest hint of you in Orange’s face and curly dark hair.  I wish they could have met you, too.  You could have taught them lessons that are hard to learn in America today.  I am thankful to have had your example.  I will do my best to honor it.

Have a peaceful journey.  I will miss you.

Quite Satisfactory*

Two friends from our playgroup have new babies, and it’s made me realize just how far we’ve come.  Eight, five, even three months ago I was the mom who needed help all the time, the one who never slept quite enough, the one whose confidence was always teetering on the brink of non-existent.

As a mother of multiples, I imagine I will always be a little behind the curve.  There will always be one more kid than I have hands, one need that will have to wait because two others are more urgent.

Today, though, I’m celebrating a little.  I may be a long way from the finish line, but look — LOOK! — how far back there the starting line is!  We survived those first weeks when nobody ever seemed to sleep at the same time, the days when Orange would cry uncontrollably with anyone but me, the month Raisin wouldn’t nap but needed to, the frigid winter days when we were cooped up inside and driving each other crazy.

Despite the challenges that I know are still coming (and the ones that will pop up and shock the hell out of me), we’re doing pretty well.  It feels good to be able to offer a meal to a new mom, because there was a time when I believed I would forever be dependent on outside help just to run our household.   I’m not.  It may not seem like much, but it’s a start!

*Also cause for thankfulness: no one I know tumbled into the Mississippi River last night, although a friend had a close call.  Please pray for the families who are still waiting for word, and for those who already know the worst to be true.