TWO TOMORROWS

He tells me he wants to have two tomorrows. One for what he wants to do, and the other for the things I’m saying we need to do.

Reef William. That boy. To think he can demand a double day. Gah, I love him and his vigor.

On the threshold of forty, I feel it all in my bones, the beginnings and the ends. All the trauma and the joy of having been so young, it is leaving me a little bit, maybe. Just think of it all–the bumpiest sledding hills, the sunburn after floating all day on the lake, and the nights of partying, eating too much processed food, not wearing glasses while staring at the computer, keeping the mittens off in the winter. I remember the long sleepless road trips, or the even more sleepless newborn baby years, and the hours spent outside or in, bending down, reaching up, hauling and lifting. Over and over like machines, we use up our only bodies, living like we have two tomorrows.

Most of all, our wear and tear comes from the inside out–the avoidance of feeling too much but feeling it anyway, somewhere in the deepest parts. The stress hormones rushing through. The adrenaline biting at our organs. The anxiety building up to depression sometimes. The grief, the heartbreak, the roller coaster of loving other humans.

Standing in the middle, the temptation is to feel defeated. My shoulder hurts, and really, so does everything else, on a bad day. My babies are growing too fast. The oldest generation is fading, dropping, at their end, with so little dignity.

At least once an hour, Ripley Glenn blurts out, loudly, I love you, Mommy! He’ll say it while grabbing my legs for a hug, or while seemingly otherwise occupied. He says it over and over at bedtime, and right away when he wakes up. At some point, he added more, totally catching my heart off guard.

I love you, Mommy….just the way you are. 

He is not looking for perfection, which is good, because I am only their middle-aged mother.

I carry those words with me when I go to work every day. I am wilting a little, and all the drooping and sagging began quite a while ago. The kids point out the lines on my face, and the swagger under my arms. And they love me just how I am. And I try to remember to be embrace exactly where I am, exactly as I am, like my Reef William.