There are so many layers to our days, most of which get discarded like tear sheets floating to the floor in the room that holds the master drawing board. Moments that I should be enjoying and building upon end up crumpled and pitched into the corner where the waste bin lies.
Beau has been so difficult lately. My hands cover my ears, my eyes, holding my head until the yelling stops and the throbbing calms.
What starts as a really nice day, activity, adventure, moment, ends in complete and utter ridiculousness. He is elated, excited, bounding with energy and the next moment angry, sad and confused. He doesn’t know what he wants, or what he needs. I’m going to the ends of the earth or the corners of my heart, the end of my rope,
to hold him
to love him
to figure out how to fill this void that he’s feeling.
He’s two and he’s adjusting, but it’s been a strain on our family. The weeks have been long and arduous but peppered with beautiful moments, laughs, and tender conversations.
This weekend was all about family. We locked it down and spent most of Saturday and even a good part of Sunday indoors despite the sunny 73 degree weather. It’s taken me at least a year to not feel completely pressured by the perfect weather to be outside enjoying it at max capacity every single day, but I think we’re there. Living on the East Coast will do that to a person.
Jack is already at the age that he’d rather be hanging out with friends than his family, not that I can blame him given the crazy that has been happening at home lately. He’d gone to the patch with a buddy earlier that day, so we put on our tee-shirts and sundresses, piled five out of six of us plus Theo into the Suburban and headed to the pumpkin patch to feign fall and it’s festivities.
We danced amongst the pumpkins, breathed in the therapeutic, salty ocean air and then made it home a completely filthy dirty exasperated mess. But it was wonderful and awesome and restorative.
…And every day is a step in the right direction. For all of us.