Today has been a full on 'Monday' if you catch my meaning. I just can't seem to focus on anything at all. Vacation is over, Husband is back at work and I swear the 'to do' list procreated while we were gone. The boys came home last night, and today has been full of unpacking, laundry, bickering, and emotion due to a week and a half of late nights and being spoiled rotten. Not to mention hormones. Sometimes I wonder if the price of going away for awhile is worth the cost.
Honestly, I think we are all still recovering from our trip home to Seattle. It's funny that I still call it home when I haven't lived there for over twelve years. Maybe it feels like home because whenever we go up, we always stay with my Grammie and Papa and they have always lived in the same house since I've been around- the one, constant place all my life. Sometimes it's like going back in time and can be a nice reprieve from the constant busyness of what life looks like now. And sometimes, all the friends, family and activities we want to pack in while there can end up being anything but refreshment. Still, Seattle has it's hold- that place of origin has resonated as 'home' my whole life.
But even though it feels like home there- coming back to my house always impresses on me how much I love my own home- especially when we've been gone for awhile. And that home is so much more than the house we live in. It is the people around, the way you live life day in and day out. There is rhythm and familiarity in home just as much as there is constant change and re-working of life and relationships within it at the same time. And it can be like a weapons testing ground at times- and I have to say, the oldest son is certainly using it that way. But how good to know that this is the place for that testing- he is safe and loved whatever emotional state he happens to be in.
As much as he enjoyed visiting with his great-grandparents, there is such relief for him to be back where he belongs- he no longer has to 'hold it all together' in his mind. He is home, and finally free to just be. And sometimes when you are eleven years old, just being can be like fireworks going off- rather explosive when it gets 'permission' to blow.
I am grateful however, that he desires me to be there with him in these difficult mood swings. Though there is little I can really do. It's strange how different this comforting is compared to when he was younger. He is physically too big for me to hold, though I do try. And there is no quick recovery because the hurt isn't from a scraped knee or a mean word- the hurt is from being more and more aware of the world around him, and the struggles inside himself.
And so I sit and listen; I pray silently- hoping for a touch of wisdom to offer- usually coming up short. I wonder how it is that I can still remember being eleven and twelve years old and not have anything useful to give from that experience. I do remember; but I think and speak with a mother's brain. I know things now that I didn't then. But that's me and this is him and I'm beginning to understand how difficult that distinction can be at times. I know this is just the starting point, and I see we both have a lot to learn as we continue to 'grow up' together.
(all pictures are from my Grammie's house and garden)