Not Alone

It was a cold, blustery day. A typical fall morning that begins with a foreshadow of the snow to come and blossoms into a crisp, sun-warmed afternoon reminiscent of days gone by. A day that reminds me why this season holds my heart ransom to its ever-changing moods and blatant disregard for consistency. Safe and warm in the shelter of my home, I wrapped a sweater around me as my mind flittered in a most disorganized fashion over the coming days. Dreaming, planning, wondering what the week will bring and what surprises the days might hold. It is not to be however, for soon I hear... like a bear rustling in its cave after a long, lonely hibernation... the stirrings of my children. A fuss, a squeal, a song sung in the distance, a foot banged against the wall. And without a doubt, I know that the time for daydreaming has gone and the time for action has arrived. Sighing, I make my way to Caleb's bedroom. He beams up at me from his bed and sweetly sounds his "goot-moning mama!" As I make my way to Selah's room, he runs after me laughing in anticipation as he barges in with a cheery greeting and familiar attempts to climb into her crib. The squealing, the smiles, the pure joy of being alive fills my kids faces and I cannot help but be swept up by their sheer enthusiasm. And so my days oft begin.

My days are a colourful hodgepodge of fun and laughter, tears and sadness, and even monotony of a routine practised too diligently. Suffering through yet another tantrum, guessing over the interpretation of yet another cry... they are a daily ritual that I have become so accustomed to it hardly bears reason to comment. And yet they, these moments of perhaps drudgery to some, are what makes up the very substance to my days. And it is because of their vast significance to me that I find myself greeting my husband when he gets home and waylaying him with countless stories of the particular happenings in our household. A stranger on the road does not care that my daughter said a new word, or that my son told me he loved me. These small details can easily become 'information overload' for those who are our dear friends and family when told in a rambling fashion. And this brings me to recount the significance of marriage. At least part of the significance of marriage as it stands with me.

My husband is many things to me. But of all the mantles he may assume, my friend is the most prestigious position he holds. Our children are a product of both of us. He can get caught up in the story of Caleb's antics or Selah's tantrums alike and smile fondly at their stubbornness so familiar in our own lives. He can listen to what we ate that day or how many times they threw up that day, or how they fought that day and genuinely be disappointed that he was not there to share in the upheaval of it all! He is my partner and for this, I love him with all of my heart. Parenthood, friendship, these are not the things that hold us together. But they bind us together in a way that nothing else can. Being a mom is everything I ever imagined it would be and more. It fulfills me and completes me and makes me crazy some days! But without someone to share it with, without someone to care... let's just say it wouldn't be the same. Somehow it is worthwhile to go through the "screamfest" of a day, when I get to come home and lean on my best friend and we can laugh together and I know that I am not alone.