"I can almost see it, this dream I'm dreaming. But, there's a voice inside my head that says, 'You'll never reach it.'"
We all have our own crosses to bear, our own mountains to climb. A friend of mine recently asked me when I was going to be posting a new blog, and I told her that I had tried to express some changes I've been experiencing but had started to write several times and just couldn't get it quite right. Usually I just sit down and start typing, and am generally satisfied by the time I'm finished. For some reason, I couldn't quite pinpoint exactly what I was feeling. Leave it to one of my children to show me how.
I've noticed that my attitude is different. Now, that's not a blanket statement. I'm still a cynical, straight-forward, pain in the ass. But, I have noticed that, lately, my reactions to situations seem to have more of a "soft" edge. I still react to things that have bothered me in the past, but with renewed perspective. For example, houses with children in them are going to be dirty. If you don't believe me just take a look at any of your old home videos. You'll notice that your children can only do camera-worthy things when your house is trashed. The kid will be standing there singing a rendition of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" that rivals Sinatra, but you may not be able to distinguish which child it is because you haven't dusted in about three months. You can go ahead and clean beforehand and fully charge your camera battery in preparation for what you are just sure will end up being your little genius' audition for Julliard, but the kid will inevitably end up in some sort of staring trance and may even drool a little. You can't plan these things. They just happen, and at one time I may have obsessed a little more about a messy house. But now, all I can think of every time I see a stray toy is that it's a sign of LIFE in my house. Don't get me wrong, I still go all ape-shit when someone leaves a trail of dirty laundry down the hallway, but the fuse is a little longer now.
Easton is in the hospital again. This time we're in our local hospital for his respiratory issues. My reaction to the announcement of this current hospital stay actually made me laugh out loud. When the doctor told me that we'd have to head over to the hospital, my first thought was, "Do I have the good kind of chap-stick at home?" This is hilarious to me because of all the things I could have been thinking in that moment, I was worried about what kind of lip balm I'd be using! Anyone who has had an extended stay in any hospital knows that the air is very dry and it's almost imperative that you have a good tube of chap-stick. But, really? That's my reaction to, "Your child needs to be hospitalized,"? Let me tell you, it absolutely IS the reaction you have when the word "crisis" has been changed forever. I now know what serious is, and this isn't serious. It is slightly annoying, mildly exhausting, and occasionally troubling, but it isn't an "intubation, coma, near-death experience."
Hospitals are the worst places on earth in terms of getting anything approaching a good night's sleep. I'm extremely tired, and I'm sure I wouldn't like to keep this pace very long but every time I look over in that crib, a bright-eyed, ornery little boy grins back at me. I would take 100 more visits like this one, if it meant I'd never have to see my child motionless again. So we pay a few more hospital bills, and we lose a little more sleep. It's nice to be able to complain about such things. The paths may be a little steeper and a little more treacherous than before, but the scenery along the way has been infinitely more beautiful. I want to thank my children for changing my mountain.
"It ain't about how fast I get there, ain't about what's waiting on the other side...it's the climb."