Some of you who read this are SAHMs like me. Some are DINKs. Some balance work and kids. Some don’t have anything to balance. I’m betting all of us from time to time fantasize about being the other and question ourselves about the choices we’ve made—and that we’re still making. I live in a constant state of self-doubt about my choices. I feel like I let someone down when I run into childhood friends who have a successful career. I feel even let-downier if they also have a family or brand new kittens. It doesn’t help that for all of February I was comparing myself to friggin’ Olympic athletes and coming up remarkably short. I actually probably could win a gold medal in the Olympics, but I don’t think Mediocrity is officially an Olympic sport just yet.
Some days I just feel like a dud.
But then there are the days when I feel like I’m the one who has it all. Like an Olympic gold medalist would be a fool not to trade it all for just one day of my life.
There was this day I spent at the beach with my boys last week. One street over people the city was busy with people going to work, people at work, and people taking coffee breaks from work while my boys and I sat on the edge of the lake to play. We threw rocks. We wondered how there can still be so many rocks after all the kids that come through that beach. We studied the patterns the currents made on the water. We made up voices for the seagulls that were loitering there and played out a story starring them. We got wet up to our thighs even though we didn’t have a change of clothes. I didn’t have camera so I memorized how regal and ridiculous Vincenzo looked standing atop a boulder in the water, his leopard cape flapping behind him. I turned my head up to the sun and closed my eyes and let it fill me up, and at the same time Rocco turned his head up to my face and closed his own eyes.
And I knew who I was.
When I am an old lady looking back, I will know I was a person who stopped to notice the beauty in a day. Who lived in constant awe of the mountains and lake outside my window, and the sunsets that stretched their long fingers into my living room every night. I was the person who woke up to another rainy morning and told her kids, “Isn’t it beautiful outside?” A person who almost never snapped, “Hurry up, we need to GO!” because rarely was anything so sacred as what we were doing in that moment. I was a person who let my children know I had all the time in the world for them.
I may not end up with a long list of my accomplishments by the time I die, but I will be able to tell you that life was beautiful. And I’ll be able to tell you exactly why.
(View from my window at 6:30 and 6:45 in the morning)
WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Spinach phyllo triangles
Quinoa and aduki bean salad
Roasted red pepper and tomato soup
Lemon wreath cookies