Wednesday, May 2, 2018

Mom Life/The Original Gangsta Life/The Greatest Life

Last Saturday was tough.
I mean it was really emotionally and physically exhausting.

Holden’s ball practice came early on that morning. He and I both needing to recover from a busy week. But instead we are running around the house in desperate searches for bats, gloves and the baseball pants.

Those desperate searches. I’m always in one. I think I have it all down and ready. And the I don’t. I’m lost. And I feel the weight of an army on me just to locate the damn batting gloves.
I mean logically I know it’s ridiculous to even stress about. But I’m “Omma”. I can find anything. I’m counted on to do so.

We get to practice five minutes late. I park, the boy runs and I sit down on the chilly metal bleachers. Suddenly longing for some support for my back. I’m watching these kids run drills. One of them does something funny and I feel the urge to make eye contact with another Mom. I want to share a little laugh with her. But I’m the ONLY MOM HERE. It’s just me and the boys/men of summer.

I start to huff and roll my eyes to myself. Why!? Why am I the only woman here? And why are all of these Dads here enjoying a ball practice with their sons and my husband is at work? I don’t like this sausage fest. I feel annoyed and sad.

Halfway through practice Holden is picking up rocks and telling one of the Dads how it looks like a shark tooth. He’s turning his back to the ball. I feel rage build up inside. (Another one of those desperate search moments about to explode). I snap.

“Holden Hubbard! Keep your eyes on the ball! We didn’t get you out here to talk about rocks and pick flowers!”

I turn back around. I mean right Moms?!?!? Oh yeah. I’m talking to myself.

I text my husband that I’m tired and it’s not fun doing this alone. He texts me back...”thanks for being Supermom”.

Then everything changes.

Holden bats his turn. And runs towards me. I’m sure he’s thirsty, so I snatch up his water bottle and hold it out to his grimy little face.

“Are you thirsty buddy?”

“Hey Omma! I am. But did you see my hit? Did you see it!? Maybe you should move over there a little bit so you can see my hits.”

My heart hurts. I feel guilty.

See, even when I have all the balls in the air, only one thing really counts. Where are they all landing?

I have our life organized. I have a few healthy meals on the table each week. I provide clean sheets free of charge. I keep a backpack cleaned out. I pack lunches and sign slips. I can get a dirt stain out in one wash. I know what’s going on day to day at school. I keep this ship sailing. I steer us clear of treacherous waters.

But those many balls I juggle aren’t what my kid truly sees. He doesn’t care where they land. He sees only one.

Am I present in his world? Do I SEE HIM?

I know all of the clean floors, made beds, stacked toys and folded clothes don’t stand a chance against my presence in his world. I know this in my heart.

I reassure him that I did see his hit. And that I am proud. Because I am proud to have this job. I am proud to be his Omma.

I know I’ll get frustrated again. And I’ll falsely believe that Swiffering my floor will somehow make the world a better place. But I ask for grace. I ask for patience. I sometimes need my eyes to pull back the veil of life to see what’s happening right in front of me.

And that’s life. That’s what’s unfolding in his tiny voice.

Did you see me? Did you see my hits?

I did. And, I promise I will.