A Moment for Things Not

You all are good about granting me many moments of indulgence.  I lay out my obsessions and fears, my haughtiness and excitements, my theories and neuroses.  And there is self-pity, too.

This might be a moment of that.  Could have been longing, too.  A little sadness, maybe.  Contentment also.

I had to take Addie to the doctor this afternoon because she had a cough and her eyes started to look rheumy which is a sure-fire symptom in my experience that she has a sinus infection.  She wanted to go to school and I let her but I got a call from the school nurse around noon asking me to come pick her up.  So off to the doctor we went.

It's just a cold, thankfully.  Have I mentioned how much easier our lives feel now?  With the kids not always being sick?  With them being able to easily feed and dress themselves?  I hope I never forget the difficulty of their very-young-ness though.  What an education that was.  What a trial-by-fire.  If you have little ones...my.  Good work.

So Addie and I got home and at the dining room table, E. was sitting with a rep for a solar company--we're trying to figure out if it's feasible and affordable to put some panels on our roof--and with his dad.  E's dad and his wife are visiting us for the weekend.  Anyway, the three men were sitting there, and shuffling papers, and looking busy and official as they talked about this big decision.

Do you think I'm going to say I felt bad because I was left out?  Because the men were making the decision without me?

Nope.

I was instead flushed with relief.  It was this:  that we have this decision to make, not a life-or-death decision, just a decision about the house, and we usually have to do this all by ourselves, and it feels scary and big.  Sometimes we make mistakes and fail and then it's just us two hammering things out, sometimes supporting each other, sometimes blaming.  But here E. was sitting with his dad, who was asking good questions, and who E. could bounce ideas off of, and ask him what he thought.

I snapped a picture of it but my stupid camera manged it.  But I'll always remember it, what it looked like to come home and see love and support sitting at my dining room table.  And to not feel alone.  Here's a replacement photo from our ski weekend:

So I had this image of what it might be like to have our parents in our lives in this way, and how that has not been the case for lots of reasons, but mostly because we moved away.  I realize I'm romanticizing in all sorts of ways, too, and that this was just one tiny moment, and we have also treasured our independence.

But I had a little moment of grieving for what has not been, I guess.