A Poem For Husband

To the man who brings me tea in ninja cups

My one and only in flannel button-ups

You're doing it right with me, with us

Though you may second guess in the excess of fuss

This bright goofball who's truly nuts

Who pulls me from mud and digs us from ruts

You bring such passion and huge, vibrant cheer

Maybe it's a bit greater with a little good beer

If my jokes crash you'll still give me a laugh

Evening winking at me when I give you some sass

You've got us Mr. Hawley, day in, day out

It's so clear next to you, THIS is what it's all about

My husband, muse, advocate, hope

This girl sure wins 'cause you never said nope

Goodbye, My Babies.

     Norah and Cedar. What I want for you is to be kind. In that, the happiness will come. I’m not worried about your happiness. I’m not worried about much. I hurt for much, crave change and will pursue the movement toward it. I don’t worry about you, loves. But I think about your spirit. Our job, mine and daddy’s, right now, is to foster that glow in you. That magnificent wonder and enthusiasm burns brilliantly bright in you. Your attention to detail, your imagination, your vigorous grasp around our necks, your compassion, your delight in the small things, like tiny, warm blueberries, building a racetrack, getting to pick your own cookie, or tooting. My hope is huge. My hope is that your fire remains irresistible. I’ve met very little adults who have theirs still, fewer still who have triumphed over defeat and hurt and ache to ignite the burn of goodness and zeal in others. My children. It is not easy. You will be fighters. Your mother and father are fighters. We have lost many. We have seen things we do not wish anyone to see. As children ourselves, that light in us was constantly dampened by those whom we were to trust and look up to. Children, defeat the pain. Move onward into progress and marvel at good, giving little attention to the bad—for those things are a tantrums demanding attention. Overcome evil with goodness, with a patience and perseverance that becomes wholly addictive.  Worry switches on genes that were previously dormant, genes that you’ll battle with once they are allowed to play out their script in your chemistry. Worry sits in your blood, in your bones. Worry keeps your neurons from firing the way they were meant to. So, it’s simple. Do good. Think outside of yourself, look into the eyes of the ones serving you, lift up the hurting (and they will often be silent, don’t make assumptions, just go, love them), reveal your affection (it makes people wiggle, I like it). Demonstrate with your voice, your hands, your feet, your eyes, children, WHERE this world can go. You have an Ally. And you have us. But if somehow you feel lonely, afraid to show that you are deeply hurting, sit down and write to me. Play music, make a cup of tea, and write… and while you do so, daydream of all the good in this place that you want do in your glorious life. I will advocate for you. If you cannot see me, if you cannot be with me, I am STILL your advocate.

     It’s pretty clear, you are no longer infants, no longer completely reliant on daddy and I for all of your needs. You can prepare yourselves snacks, use the potty, safely bathe, play with and comfort each other. Babies, you are not. Years will keep going and you will become stronger, more inventive, more independent. I can’t wait to witness! Each day we are more deeply and passionately intertwined with you, sweet children. My young lady, my young man… go on, get on with it then. Face all this fearlessly, and with unstoppable pride, through all of it, I sit here listening, watching, beaming. 

The Truth No One Can Handle

Maybe just a few of you will understand this. But most of you will judge. Maybe those of you who’ve done it and see the light and the glory and have gotten back to a regular sleeping and eating schedule can kind of remember. But to tell you the truth, like any other heavy job, you can’t know unless you are in it NOW. If you did the job, and you’re done now, even if you do something similar, it’s not the same. It doesn’t help us to say, “ I remember that, that was hard!” or “Hang in there, it’ll get better” or “Just wait until they are teenagers!”. Are you kidding me?! These all make you feel better but do nothing for us. Truth. It’s pretty and poetic and supposed to do something. You’ve taken this sweet dream we have of a time when we can be ourselves again, have a marriage again, sleep again, eat food when we NEED to, and pursue our passions again, and smashed them… and for the sake of…?! Of course that’s not your intention. You want to encourage. Honestly, and please hear me, actions are more. Actions of encouragement take effort, something that’s easy to feel like we are doing the most of. And it often feel futile. Sure, there are not many things you can say to truly help us, but it’s okay to say no things. It’s okay to leave a meal on the doorstep and send a text to let us know it’s there (WOW, that would be AMAZING!!), it’s okay to play along and keep a drowning couple afloat with your presence. It’s the loneliest job. And we can’t run away. We can’t even step away for a minute. Because if we do, they kill each other.

We’ve all seen the effects of crappy parenting. It’s terrible and gut-wrenching and the adult zombies that didn’t choose to work on themselves and make it better are everywhere. E-V-E-R-Y-W-H-E-R-E. Because it takes work. I am a hard worker. A very hard worker. I take little rest or reprieve. When I rest I get behind and get upset that I’m behind and then get upset that I don’t get enough rest. The rest can never come when we need it or want it the most. We have to wait, even we shaking and about to call 911. I get upset when people or memes or books or whatever say, “This is the magical key to enjoying life to the fullest right now. Also, look how beautiful they are..”. The way I look at it, no one does it right. Those of us who try, try until we scream and are near spiritual seizing, and then keep going, are phantoms. And that sucks.

Honestly, I am a fighter. A fighter like you wouldn’t believe. I have peace in my bones and a growl in my belly. My brain, my soul… they are gasping for air. And it’s okay. It’s how it works. No one gets through this collected and totally satisfied. I fight. I fight through with abundant love and feeling like a huge idiot and screaming and apologizing and trying again like a dummy. I can feel this. We, the phantoms, don’t talk about it, because we aren’t supposed to feel this. LET US. Or go away. We need to. Don’t butterfly and rainbow all over us when we are screaming, scream too. Then make spaghetti and cookies quietly so no one gets injured. God knows, we need a village, a village so giving, so thoughtful that it becomes common place and that’s just what we all do for each other. I’ll keep on working, forgiving, loving, admiring, washing, dreaming and all the things, including, probably, wanting more out of it all….

But for right now, I’m pissed.

And I’m not apologizing for that.