The Pull

This past week I had a bit of a mini meltdown. Jake had to leave for three days for a conference in Palm Springs last weekend, and is taking his drama students to Disneyland for four days this weekend.
So last Friday, the first night of him being away, I found myself in my cranky, tired, the-girls-are-asleep-I-can-finally-breathe state. Jake called to catch up, and say goodnight, and I was just about to say how it was kind of fun to talk on the phone like the good old high school days, when next thing I knew there were tears. Maybe it was because I missed him, maybe it was the hormones, or maybe it was because I realized my sheets were covered in spit up, possibly urine, and a smushed up fruit snack, but there I sat crying, and trying to explain to him, The Pull.
Now I might as well just fess up now. I was a little jealous. There I said it. Sometimes at 2pm when Brielle is writing on kitchen cabinets with a Sharpie, and I'm busy cleaning up the mustard yellow watery crap that made its way all the way up Eisley's neck during an A+ blowout, I stop and imagine myself laying alone in a quiet hotel room bed. Cranking up the air conditioning that I don't have to pay for, and enjoying the cable channels that we can't afford. A night's sleep not interrupted by a baby wanting my boob, or a toddler screaming, insisting I be the one to put her covers back on.
And aside from the hotel room and escape from reality, I envied Jake's sense of purpose in life. How nice it would be to come back from a conference feeling empowered and inspired, to feel well equipped to teach the next generation the knowledge they need to go out and contribute to this world.
Because here at home I'm continually struggling to teach our three year old how to say
please. Like every damn time, "What's the magic word?"
JUST SAY THE MAGIC WORD, CHILD. YOU MEMORIZED THE ENTIRE LITTLE EINSTEINS THEME SONG. I KNOW YOU KNOW THE MAGIC WORD.
And yes, I know my husband's job is hard. Heck, I know HAVING a job is hard. Don't for a second think I don't. But how nice it would be to feel the affirmation of test scores and administrator's observations. Because most days the only thing I feel that's being tested is my patience and the only observation I get is from the asshole at the high school football game who told Brielle that she needed to tell me to trim her nails. COOL STORY, BRO. YOU'RE LUCKY THE KID IS WEARING PANTS, BECAUSE THAT WAS A THIRTY MINUTE FIGHT AS WE WERE LEAVING THE HOUSE.  (Sorry Jesus, Grandma, and any possible future employers, but sometimes there is no adequate synonym for asshole.)
And it's not like I don't think the job I'm doing isn't important. It is. The most important. But the problem is that while I'm doing it, I feel so little. Yet, at times, that I'm failing so big. There's no way of knowing if what I'm doing is right. No raises or promotions. (Even though I can breastfeed and simultaneously dump the store bought jar of spaghetti sauce into the pan like NOBODY'S BIZZNASS. Like seriously, promote me.)
It's hard to see progress. It's hard to see that what I'm doing is really making a difference. Is Brielle going to turn out to be the awesome person I imagine her to be or will she always be the little bully who can't share a toy to save her life, and who growls at me when I tell her no?
So that night on the phone when I sat in the bed covered in spit up, possibly urine, fruit snack, and now tears, Jake argued and suggested that I COULD do those things and that I SHOULD. "You go to Disneyland! I'll stay with the girls." he said.
And I laughed. Because that's where things get complicated. The Pull.
As glorious as that quiet hotel room sounds, I can't find it in me to stay there alone.
My role as mama to the girls is consuming. I can handle going on date nights. I can handle sleepovers at grandma and grandpas. But the thought of being that far away from them for an extended amount of time hurts me physically. To my core. Just the thought!
Is this how it is for all moms? Probably not. Is it unhealthy? Perhaps. But for me, right now, this is my reality.
So (after my sarcastic, dramatic, borderline evil laugh...sorry babe) when I denied Jake's offer to go to Disneyland for four days, he told me I was contradicting myself. The only response I had to offer is that yes I was, and that was the point. That's what leaves me feeling suffocated at times. So confused and consumed. I desperately want to have a break like that, to experience a big slice of freedom, but simultaneously disguised as the two prettiest little girls my eyes have ever seen, my heart and my soul are pulling me back.
And of course I know the strength of the pull will lessen. As they grow older, my ability to separate myself will grow stronger. But as it turns out, this only reinforces my feelings of needing to keep them close. Yes, the days are long. But the years are short. The reality is that some day I will miss the wiping of little butts, folding of little clothes, and rocking of little bodies. So yes, often times I feel like I'm failing miserably. And no, I don't often feel powerful or important. My mind wanders, and I picture myself doing something that requires me to run a brush through my hair. But that overwhelming pull confirms to me that I'm right where I should be.
And that's what leaves me here, sharing this with you. Because a little piece of me wonders if this is part of my purpose. Rhea and I spent some time on the phone yesterday talking about our excitement about The Mama Monologues, and why it is we choose to do it. We aren't making money. Our Adsense account has $18, and they won't pay us until we reach $100, then we'll split it in two. LOL. BUT we aren't doing this in hopes of money or fame. We are doing this because we pray that MAYBE somewhere, someone is reading or watching us talk about cracked nipples, tantruming toddlers, and the glimmer of jealousy we feel when our husband's leave for work in the morning, and think 'Hey! Me too! I thought I was the only one.' So if you too are overwhelmed with The Pull, please know you aren't alone. And if you think I'm a total freak, then carry on. You're probably right.

Xo Karissa