Morning two into my mandate of "anyone over the age of 8 must shower daily" and we survived. The first day, you'd thought I had asked them to climb Everest...followed by stopping feet and dirty looks. I was not deterred by it. It felt good. It felt good to see a new phase upon us...not just the one that is seriously a public service to anyone they come into contact with. It's yet another phase of life, forever inevitable, that beckons the feeling of new growth, new stages...Let's face it, these boys while witty and clever, their combined odor could be used as corporal punishment.
I'm not sure if it's normal...but over the last two years, I have measured time by everything that has happened after Jason died. Possibly because we had to sort of pick ourselves up and start over, maybe because we had to find what our "normal" was, which still resembles anything but. In this time measurement my mind also falls back onto the many hours spent in a semi-lit room rocking a 9 month old with a bottle. Those many hours I spent alone with the one person that most resembled the person just that had just been taken from our lives. I would sit there looking at Atticus, wondering how in the world I was going to make any of this work. Terrified. Tearful at times. Timid...I would send out my quiet fears into this room, onto the incomprehensible ears of this child, hoping to figure out what to do next...the next phase.
My life as a mother, unknowingly, has been spent talking. I never realized it until it was pointed out to me that I narrate my every move. Maybe my talking was out of needing someone to talk to when the kids were smaller. Whatever the case, it has made me realize that perhaps I spoke too much. Now, when I am about to tell my kids what I am about to do, I stop myself and think "...just tiptoe away, they'll no doubt come and find you..."
But that narration was feeding little brains a multitude of words that now, while exasperating at times, I have to laugh when I hear my own words said back to me...at least they were listening, right? Nora talking about falling on her money maker to someone at church...Abe commenting to someone on his quiet charm...Oscar, after hearing me complain about nothing, saying "...sounds like rich people problems..." Hearing Atticus yell at Nora from another room, "WE AREN'T LAUGHING AT YOU, WE'RE LAUGHING WITH YOU..."Onto another phase...
So much in that original measurement of time has changed...that little 9 month old that I rocked isn't so little anymore. His communication has become bitter sweet at times. He is in his mimic stage, and his hearing is like that of a jungle cat. Yesterday, when he was giving his 5 reasons why he NEEDED to watch Elmo's Christmas, it all came to me. I sort of longed for those days when I couldn't understand what he was saying, because at least I didn't know if he was telling me off.
I see how much this tiny person has changed. This nearly 3 year old has now lived most of his life with a single mother and three rowdy siblings. He doesn't probably ponder what life once was...and for that I'm sort of grateful. I realized that I now sort of measure time by him. I see him learning, scheming, growing, and he's still in one piece. He understands who is dad is, he remembers stories we've told him about Jason. He knows that our family is unique and not like others, and I see how his siblings step in, unsolicited, and help be that other parent when needed.
I don't think I'm alone in watching how much Atticus has changed. Certainly the Talls enjoy his ability to mimic, hoping dirty limericks aren't on the horizon. He sort of ties us all together for reasons other than the fact that we're family. He's comic relief when needed. He's the hug at the end of the day. He's the one who's not afraid to say "I love you" while accidentally spiting food on you. He's getting ready for another birthday, and we're heading into phase 3...
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