A wise friend recently told me that I should write just how I talk. I'm not sure everyone will agree, but it made sense to me. So tonight I'm on my couch, with my faithful sidekick Sadie snoring and farting beside me, and I'm talking. I guess I'm talking to you...
Here's the thing. I check out my brows in the mirror every day, and I tend to think they look just fine. But then every once in a while I glance in the rearview mirror and nearly gasp in horror to see my brows in the light of day. Good God, there are times when I make Brooke Shields look as if she has alopecia. It doesn't matter where I am headed, or if I am looking in the rearview mirror to see if the officer behind me has noticed my plates are expired.....only the brows matter at that point. And yes, that often means I pull into the parking lot at the office, grab the tweezers I keep in my car (yes, I do) and take care of those bad boys there and then. I've learned to improvise. One moment we think all is well, the next moment we are wildly plucking our brows in full view of our co-workers. This is the stuff of life. If you don't believe me, take a look at your brows, my friend.
Every night when I tuck Penelope into bed, I say to her, "Do you know what?" And every night, she looks me in the eye and she nods, with her signature grin. It nearly takes my breath away, despite the fact that this has been our routine for months. She does know. She knows that what I'm going to say next is, "I love you soooo much." I'm grateful and relieved and delighted that my 2 1/2 year old daughter knows without a doubt that I love her soooo much. It's a gift, and one that I wish we had all been given.
I make a habit of reminding myself, my staff and my kids that the one thing we can rely on in this world is that nothing remains the same. One of my favorite quotes has always been, "If you are going through hell, keep going." Sometimes, that is all we can do.
I returned to Iowa some time ago, skinny, scarred, and scared. There were many nights when I kept my composure just long enough to get my kids into their beds, after which I would crawl under my (borrowed) covers and cry into my (borrowed) pillow for hours. I cried so long and so hard that my eyes ached. I knew that the very next night, I would do the same. It was what I needed to do. I didn't miss my past life, or my past love (if you can call it that). I missed knowing how I would feel when I woke up in the morning. I missed the ability to look people in the eye. I missed knowing how to respond when kind-hearted people asked how I was doing. I missed the ability to walk down the street without feeling ashamed of what had happened to me. It is a huge cliche' but I missed me - the smart and sassy woman who didn't have second thoughts, and who didn't apologize for her opinions. I guess I was mourning the loss of that Dori, and the circumstances that brought me to that loss.
But every morning, when my alarm went off, I put my feet on the floor and I stepped into the next day. My heart wasn't always in it, but it was the right thing to do. I thank my Iowa work ethic, my Dutch heritage, and my parents for giving me the fortitude to keep breathing when everything in me wanted to give up, close my eyes, and stay under the covers. Oh, and having a screaming baby in a crib two feet away and two hungry seven-year olds circling my bed didn't hurt, either.
As it turns out, if you do just that...just keep going....one day you fall asleep because you are tired and content, and not because you have swallowed a sleeping pill. And one morning you wake up and you know it's okay to stay in your warm, cozy bed. Not because you want to avoid anything outside of that...but just because you are 40 and tired and you have a sweet, spitty toddler next to you who wants to snuggle. And one day, you look someone new in the eyes, and you aren't afraid anymore.
Much like my errant eyebrows, this change crept up on me. Without realizing it, I cry less. I laugh more. I let people into my life and into my heart, and I don't question their motives. I don't look over my shoulder as much. I sleep at night, and my dreams are filled with the wonderful strangeness of past highschool teachers and aquariums and fields of corn...and yes, those dreams where you go to school in your pajamas (do we ever get away from those?) I can't recall the last nightmare I had.
This very morning I woke up and I looked around my messy, haphazard bedroom, which is still lacking any artwork on the walls, but boasts an impressive collection of pacifiers on the nightstand. And in that moment between hitting snooze on my alarm clock and putting my hand up to feel how large my hair had become during the night, I smiled. Crazy eyebrows and crazy ex-husbands aside, I am one very lucky lady. And you know what? I love that. So. Much.
