Bittersweet firsts

There's the first word, the first step, the first time he says, "I'll do it myself!" with an air of such determined independence that you're taken aback. The first skinned knee, the first solo bike ride (sans training wheels), the first day of school, the first lost tooth (see above).

A string of firsts that are amazing, bewildering, and uplifting. A string of firsts that also break your heart, just a tiny bit, because you know, there will never be another first word, or first step, or first lost tooth. And...it means he's growing up.

With every first, he moves just a few steps further into the real world, and just a few steps further away from the nest.

Ultimately, that's the goal, right? To help them find their wings, raise them in just the right way that they know when it's time to fly on their own, welcome them back when they need a rest.

But, it's hard.

Right now, I know about all the firsts...and most of them are positive...though of course there's the first fall, the first time he got grounded, the first time he said a naughty word, the first time another kid pushed him and made him cry. The first time I held him after surgery, the first bug bite, the first joke he made up by himself, the first time he was defeated on the wrestling mat.

There are hundreds still coming...the first broken bone, the first sleepover, the first crush, the first time behind the wheel, the first broken heart.

I collect all of his firsts in the back of my mind. They aren't the totality of his existence, after all, they are only firsts...but they are the stepping stones of his life. Some are solid and dry. Others are slippery and dangerous. Some are easy to find...and still others are almost too deep in the water to find. But, they are all there. Waiting. Waiting to be found and tried.

Marriage - is it more about being in love or creating a dynamic team?

It's not really a question I would have asked myself...or anyone else for that matter. But, a nearby local radio station DID ask it this morning and drew quite an interesting response from listeners.

Apparently, one of the D.J.s read a story on People Magazine's website about why Diane Keaton never got married.

It's a pretty lame article, really. But, I guess the concept behind it...and behind the radio station's question appealed to me, because it gets at how we define human relationships - which are always evolving and impossible to pin down.

Like all human connections, marriage is different for every couple. It serves particular objectives and fulfills various needs. And it's pretty much impossible to explain in any other terms than "an agreement between two people to be united." Some people do it because they plan to have children. Some people find comfort, guidance, and expectation in the tradition. Others believe in marriage as a religious union. And still others look forward to the financial and social benefits provided by a documented partnership.

For most of us "married folk" in the U.S., it's a choice, though in some cases it may be required or expected by our families and religions if we plan to live together, be sexually involved, and have children. For me, it wasn't...but it did afford me a measure of comfort and expectation. For one, it's a lot harder to just "walk away" in times of disagreement or discomfort if there is a legal connection. That can provide some time to take the whole situation into account before prematurely severing ties. Secondly, it affords us certain social and monetary benefits (taxes, wills, property, parenting, medical agreements).

Notice, nowhere in all of this have I mentioned love. Or passion. Or romance.

It doesn't mean it can't or shouldn't be a part of marriage...but, in my opinion, and apparently a whole lot of other people's, it isn't the central facet. It appears that, according to research, compatibility, mutual respect, division of labor, and emotional support beat out love and passion over the long haul.

Love changes. Passion waxes and wanes. Sexual desire comes and goes. But, companionship and teamwork remain hallmarks of a successful marriage.

To me, love and passion are illusive. Neither need marriage to exist. But marriage can be made better and stronger by both, even if the passion is transient.

That being said - of course I love my husband. But is our relationship centered on hot, wild sex? Well, it used to be...before we were married...maybe even in the very beginning of our wedded bliss. But, then we became tired parents. And we slipped into a comfortable routine.  And we got to know a lot about each other - all the little idiosyncrasies and habits and annoying tidbits.

If this graphic is to be believed, those of us who commit have to do just that to reap the rewards of our commitment. The stress of raising children successfully, competing in the the workplace, planning financially, owning a home, and getting our kids off to college or career are hard work. Maybe that's why, when those things have been accomplished, married couples who have weathered the storms have a great sense of accomplishment. They can sit back, look at what they've done together and celebrate all of the ups and downs that got them there. That satisfaction may even be what causes the upswing and the eventual "second honeymoon". And the benefit is that, at the top of the hill, we have someone to share the celebratory champagne with. Maybe that's the greatest reward.

That might sound depressing. Maybe enough to make those who aren't married rethink the whole prospect. But, ultimately, it was and is a choice for us. Sure we're tired. We work hard at our jobs and at raising a happy, secure, independent child. We have pets, a house, a yard, and other outside responsibilities to ourselves and others. And we struggle to keep our "love life" from sinking underneath the weight of it all. Finding mystery and newness in the person you have been sleeping next to for years can be hard.

I wouldn't trade it though. And that seems to be the overarching consensus among married folk. But then...those are people who got married and stayed married. Ask divorced and widowed individuals, and you might get a very different picture of just how happy marriage does or does not make a person. And since most studies on marital happiness only deal with people who are currently married, they make for pretty skewed results.

I don't think marriage leads to happiness or well-being. Maybe security and comfort. But, it can cause stress just as much as it alleviates it. I also don't believe that parenthood makes us happier. Almost all evidence points in the opposite direction. So why bother?  Well, over time, it seems that marriage and parenthood can lead to a greater sense of accomplishment and life concept. I guess that means that, as we age, having raised a family with a willing and helpful partner gives us comfort and satisfaction.

And maybe that's why the People article on Diane Keaton resonated with the radio station D.J.s and so many of their listeners. There seems to be a resounding fear of growing old alone. It isn't so much that we are all pining for wedding bells and diamond rings.  It seems more likely that we are all just normal social beings seeking to find lasting companionship.

Literary fortunes, Seamus Heaney, and art as a means to an end

For awhile, on my poetry tumblr site, I was doing these "poetry fortunes." So much better, really, than a stale, yellow cookie with a piece of advice or an obvious bit of information inside. I close m eyes, spin in a circle, run my fingers along the spines of my books, pull one down, let the pages fall where they will, and open my eyes. Whatever I find there, I mine for meaning and consider ways I might be able to apply it to my day or my life. Really, it's an interesting way to start a day, and it always makes for deep thinking during down time. This bit is from "Harvest Bow" by Seamus Heaney (one of my great literary loves). "The end of art is peace." It's a line that tugs at the corners of my brain because it could mean so many things. I consider the "means to an end" and that "end" being art...which invariably leads to a sort of "crazy" that is necessary to life. Without art, we cease to be human...we cease to seek peace, love, war.... In our hands, we hold the power of creation, and when we create well, we feel the satisfaction of our production. For me, it isn't the harvest bow, but rather a completed scrapbook full of important moments collected and arranged lovingly and artfully...or a poem...or, yes...even a blog post.

The Harvest Bow

As you plaited the harvest bow
You implicated the mellowed silence in you
In wheat that does not rust
But brightens as it tightens twist by twist
Into a knowable corona,
A throwaway love-knot of straw.

Hands that aged round ashplants and cane sticks
And lapped the spurs on a lifetime of game cocks
Harked to their gift and worked with fine intent
Until your fingers moved somnambulant:
I tell and finger it like braille,
Gleaning the unsaid off the palpable,

And if I spy into its golden loops
I see us walk between the railway slopes
Into an evening of long grass and midges,
Blue smoke straight up, old beds and ploughs in hedges,
An auction notice on an outhouse wall—
You with a harvest bow in your lapel,

Me with the fishing rod, already homesick
For the big lift of these evenings, as your stick
Whacking the tips off weeds and bushes
Beats out of time, and beats, but flushes
Nothing: that original townland
Still tongue-tied in the straw tied by your hand.

The end of art is peace
Could be the motto of this frail device
That I have pinned up on our deal dresser—
Like a drawn snare
Slipped lately by the spirit of the corn
Yet burnished by its passage, and still warm. 

Mornings and "snuggle time"

I'm. Not. A. Morning. Person.

I can't stress that enough.

But...there is something about being awake before the buzz of the day sets in. Before the animals begin requesting to go out or be fed (they all seem to like to sleep in as long as possible these days). And before my son or husband wake.

It's quiet. All I can hear is the dog snoring at my feet and the cat snoring beside me on the couch. Maybe the tapping of a few claws on the laminate flooring as another cat makes her way from here to there. A lone meow. The humming of the appliances. The soothing waterfall of the fish tank's filter.

When I wake, there is a routine. There has to be, since my brain must be on autopilot for me to function. I turn on the "less bright" kitchen light, make my coffee, and then shuffle my way to the couch to write by the soft glow of two living room lamps.

I usually have about half an hour of uninterrupted quiet. Which, in any family household, is a blessing and a miracle.

When my son wakes up, I fight the urge to continue writing and remind myself to be present in the moment with him...to suck in every second that he seeks to snuggle with me in the pre-dawn. We've been doing this for a long time. It became a tradition several years back when I was trying to come up with ways to spend quality time with my son during our very busy days. I was feeling like a disconnected parent, doing nothing but directing and dictating, just making it through from morning to evening without killing anyone. So, "snuggle time" became a positive way to begin our day. Fifteen solid minutes of one-on-one closeness.

We don't always talk. Sometimes he tells me about the dreams he had (good or bad). Sometimes we just plan out or discuss the coming day. And it usually ends with him begging for "just one more minute". Sometimes, it irritates me...because my mind is already abuzz with all the dozens of things that must be accomplished in the next hour for us to get out the door on time. "No...we have to get going, or we'll be late."

But, quite honestly, I should cherish that extra minute every single time. There are a lot of things I cannot say yes to. "No, you may not have candy for breakfast." "No, you may not wear shorts to school in the middle of winter." Those things are parenting common sense. But, saying, "No, you may not have one more minute of my time...no more of my attention or awareness...it is now time for me to get dressed and make the lunches and put on my make-up and do my hair and run breathless out the front door while dragging you by your unwilling little arm and ranting about how late we are going to be," seems ludicrous.

So, this morning...and every morning that I can possibly remind myself...I will say yes. "Yes, you may have one more minute of my squeezing and physical contact that you may no longer want in just a few years."

One more minute is the least I can give. If nothing else positive happens today, at least I can say that we had this time. And I'm grateful for it.