Space Sharing With Your Spouse

Feeling a little cramped in my own house today. A has been holed up in the office all week on important (must keep the kids quiet!!!) phone calls and dodging in and out of the house for meetings and gym runs. This morning he left while I was out with the boys and he locked up out of the house by accident. Its so hard to switch up your regular routine and toss a new person and new demands into it, right? It seems so cozy to spend extra time together but the reality is a little stickier.

I always thought I was extrovert until I realized that being an introvert is more about needing alone time than it is about hating people. Read this fabulous book all about introvertism and came away with a whole new perspective and an understanding about my need for space and recharging. Makes sense that having my little world invaded, even by my own spouse, would make me feel a little encroached upon now that I feel legit about my own wiring. Autumn feels like a season that pushes all the introvert buttons extra hard too, its all of the moment: stand at the sink peeling apples for hours and stock the larder with homemade apple sauce, read books alone in the dark by the light of a lantern, get up in the quiet and start a coffee cake before the children get up, walk home from work alone and take a shortcut through the woods to kick leaves....you get that right?

 

Sharing is good but admitting your own needs and boundaries is also good. Sometimes a little open-eyed clarity is the key to stopping the obsession and high-stepping past your own little stumbling blocks. I think one of the problems is that I also skipped my mama-night out alone this week. So, now I'm off to the library to look for a good book that I can take off and read alone after dinner just to get myself out of the house and breathing in a little solo space.

Robotic Friend

It was a rough night last night. Too hot to sleep and punctuated by 5,000 child-nightmares so I was bushed and way too grouchy all morning. At naptime I laid down and had a small catch-up and when I came back downstairs Dee showed me what he had been quietly working on with paper, markers and a roll of masking tape.
"He's a sort of friend-robot, Mommy....not really a working kind or a helping kind. He's just a friend."

Morning Glow

I am stepping back into my preferred rhythm again, up early with the larks...or I would be if the larks weren't gone just now to warmer climes. I was a morning person as a baby and a little girl. I used to get up in the morning my eyes popping open to the nutty, warm smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen. I would hustle downstairs and sit on his lap while he slurped coffee through his mustache and split an apple with me, smeared with spoonfuls of peanut butter. Morning was a special, quiet, private, delicious time of day. I got up because my body told me to and because it felt right and I enjoyed the warmth and quiet peace it brought. Somehow I slipped out of the habit, and by the time I was a teenager I remember making my Papa hound me every morning to get me out of bed for high school. Sometime in my sophomore year I remember deciding suddenly to try deciding to get up cleanly and early again, no more sludgy, grungy, rough mornings and no more forcing someone else to haul me out of sleep. And that was it...the next morning I snapped upright when I was called and I was up bright and early for the rest of high school. Since then I have waffled back and forth and sometimes slid back into late rising but I always feel worse for it. Times like now when I take my teenage vow on again and creep out of bed before everyone else I feel so right and at home. The morning feels like a small, warm gift and a glowing sunrise like this one makes feel confirmed and warmed on my little path.

Double Peace

Am back to the drawing board, looking for ways to find the margin and buffer I need to lubricate my life. I have been trying to get up early in the morning and find a little private space before the family gets up. But after a long time battling the urge I am finally admitting that I kind of need space at each end of the day. Last night I had a yoga class and came home after a wonderful meditation session, my spirit warm to touch and went right to bed like a good girl.

 And then I got back out of bed.

And came downstairs.

I wasn't up for long but I needed to be alone. I needed to hear the crickets out the window, to swish the broom alone by myself, to see the cleared and wiped down table gleam in the moonlight and to hear the tiny squeaking conversations of the guinea pigs in the other room and the drip of the tabletop fountain without the sound of any human voice, even to just lie on the floor on my back and listen to the hum of the house itself and feel the boards cool under my hands.

I'm not sure how that works out...the space at both ends of the day thing but I think I'm gonna try to find a way. I love the chance to prepare for a day alone but it doesn't replace my almost desperate urge to recover from a day that just pounded me or even jostled me about in a friendly sort of way. I love the chance to feel myself, to see peaceful emptiness and the recover a little before being asked to rest. I hate lying in bed next to A while he drifts off promptly when there is a sink full of dirty dishes downstairs and I know full well that the potty chair didn't get emptied out. This is about completing work and making sure my slate is wiped clean but its also about psychological recovery and mental space and letting my inner self come creeping out and go pirouetting around in the moonlit rooms when everyone else is asleep. 

I think part of the problem is that by morning Pom has almost invariably ended up in our bed and when I try to sneak out of bed in the morning I often end up taking him with me because otherwise he wakes up the whole household wailing for me. Good to be wanted but...yeah. I do miss my candle-lit reading hour, just me alone curled up on the couch while the sun rises. Nothing like slightly invaded morning time to make you admit your love of private nights after everyone else is in bed. So yeah. Not sure how this will work out. Still need to experiment and think about it...maybe brainstorm with A a bit and try a couple of incarnations. I am certain peace is a worth a little effort and creativity.

“We shall find peace. We shall hear angels, we shall see the sky sparkling with diamonds.”
― Anton Chekhov

Re-entry 101

The weekend was good. Not earthshaking, just solid, this-was-not-a-mistake...I-am-glad-I-came...good. Cape Cod is never bad. Friends + very late night conversations + good food + painting is never bad. The boys were thrilled to have time alone with their daddy and I really wasn't stressed about how they'd do while I was away from them. In fact, a friend asked me at one point during the weekend how I thought I'd find them on my return and I thought for just a second and knew the answer was, "Just fine. I am positive they'll be just fine." A must be getting pretty good, eh? My confidence is pretty boundless in his daddy prowess. When I came back they had balloons, new batteries in their electronic car, big grins and stories about the cool airplane movie they'd seen together. He's a good man is A.

I am amazed how hard it is for me to get my feet back under me, even when it was only a weekend, it was only me alone and there truly are not bags and bags to unpack. There aren't any excuses at all and here I am, flattened and looking for extra room in my schedule for hibernation. Motherhood has really highlighted my slight tendency towards introversion. I really need recoup time after big stuff happens...no matter how good the stuff was.

So, yesterday I sorted through my paintings, and vacuumed the floor and took the boys to the park for a little nature walk with friends and today I baked maple mustard chicken and butternut squash and smooth halved pears and sorted through my photos. Slowly my brain is coming out of the fuzz and I am starting to feel that normal will happen again.

May all your fall days be crisp and all your baked pears be eaten with a tiny spoon,