It had been a long week for me home alone.
I was about to pick my husband up, as he had been gone away on a trip.
The girls were all helpful when they tried to be,
but sometimes it took a lot to truly feel the “help” in it.
I’d wondered as he was away, and as I had looked in the mirror,
who would want to come home to this anyway.
Tired eyes, and fast greying hair.
Less energy than I desire.
More pounds than I want there to be.
It’s hard in the middle ages to remember exactly who you once were because the years, they tend to bleach you out and scatter some of your parts.
You have to squint sometimes to see who you are in there.
Sometimes the squint is pretty hard.
The middle years can leave you feeling buried under sand that you helped scoop yourself.
Just your toe tips and head now showing;
You smile for the camera, but can sometimes feel the weight of a million grains stealing little bits of your breath.
If this last year has taught me anything, it has been that I need to keep on looking for myself, reminding me who I am.
Time and life are so precious.
We have them, and then we do not.
Fingers slightly parted to filter the sand.
I want to always remember I’m made of open car windows and reggae in the sun,
of brightly painted walls, and acoustic music.
Before I was 6 of us,
I was 1.
Life paired in small this last year and helped to focus me on sorting what I feel like I am even here for.
The middle years leave you a bit whittled feeling,
but I’m realizing I’ve been too focused on the shavings falling to the floor to see what was actually being made of me was something intricate, lovely, worthy of love, and wonderful.
“I know who you really are in there” I whisper to my reflection.
Her eyes tell me she is glad someone does.
Tonight I fought with my husband, and declared myself on a strike.
I left the house with my frustration, my laptop, and my dinner,
and bid my family a curt adieu.
Rap music came from my car stereo, as I just parked, not even going that far,
because that’s what one listens to when they are on family strike.
I texted my dearest friend and told her “I’ve gone gangster.”
Snoop Dog, he just understands me sometimes.
He gets you don’t question woman who stay home with kids all day, and ask them what they even do.
For a little while I inwardly announced that, then, THAT WAS IT.
I was done with it all.
I would let the dishes pile real high to the ceiling, and the family could fan the gnats away as they walked things to the sink with their bowls.
I told myself, “I guess third grade is about to be the nine year old’s top level, then.
She can write it on all official application forms:
‘Highest level of education: Spanish Missions made out of sugar cubes.”
Sitting there listening to Snoop, I heard my own self, though, better, too,
and she told me that the bottom line of what I’m needing is to be appreciated for who I am, and for all that I do.
A simple thing, I think, that moms need.
They want to hear the words, “I see you.”
I’ve traded in many things for this life on this quiet country lane, married and raising these girls I love.
I drive them to the skatepark, friend’s houses, and listen to all their words.
I wasn’t always just a grey haired mother in cotton pants riddled with thigh holes.
There is a whole ME in here, that no one person except for me really knows.
I used to do open mic nights in an old train station coffee shop.
I can smell the roasting beans and hear the creaking wood floor.
After it was my turn I’d get asked by friends to sit outside and sing to them more, because they loved it.
I remember closing my eyes and feeling my hot breath in the dark.
I am an artist of many mediums.
I paint, and I draw, and I sculpt.
I once wrote a children’s book that now sits in Stanford Children’s hospital waiting room, written so that kids who feel physically different will see that they are beautiful,
and whatever they have to offer the world is enough.
I am very good at hair and makeup.
(Traits I know that lately you probably couldn’t tell, as quarantine has depleted my energy for some things.)
I was trained by an amazing European baker how to decorate cakes, and for many years I made my money this way.
There is nothing I cannot bake.
I am good at ideas in general.
I can think of things I then create.
There is more…There is more of me.
She has not gone away.
The other day while scrolling on Facebook,
I saw a friend post the discovery of a Jellyfish somewhere off the Eastern Pacific Coast.
The colors struck me as magical.
It was absolutely lit up, bright and bold.
It was even more shocking up against the pitch black of the deep ocean.
I watched the video about it and it told about how this Halitrephes Maasi Jellyfish was first discovered in 1909, but has rarely been seen until this diver spotted this one 4,000 feet beneath the surface of the sea.
I was in awe of the fact that something that beautiful and intricate is just
down there,
existing in the depths.
No one ever really seeing it.
There just being beautiful all by itself.
Simple to look at, yet extraordinary.
Filled with color, and light, and movement, and a purpose we may never know.
That jellyfish doesn’t care who sees her.
She just lights up the dark all on her own;
And while looking at it I had one of those moments where you see yourself for all that you are.
I saved this photo.
Perhaps I’ll show my reflection.
“See.
I told you I see who you are.”
So many of us feel lost in the darkness and like no one else out there can see;
But one day I saw this jellyfish,
and when I saw her,
I also saw me.
This article was written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
