In It

I went away this weekend. Three hours west, to the place where the southeast corner of Nebraska runs into the Missouri River. There’s a town there called Brownville, and on the edge of Brownville is an old historic riverboat that has been converted to a bed and breakfast.

Every fall, one of my favorite authors hosts a small writing retreat on this riverboat. And this year, I signed up.

Four days of hanging out on a beautiful river with people who can move words around in ways that make me sob and give me goosebumps. Four days of laughter, of thoughtfulness, of vulnerability. Four days of “being in the same boat” with writers. Four days of morning workshops that left me rushing to get all the new ideas down on the page, and four days of quiet afternoons for working or thinking.

And three nights of quiet with only the sound of this mighty river tip-toeing past outside my door. Three nights of a bed that felt like the closest thing to a cloud I’ve ever slept on. Three nights of uninterrupted rest followed by slow mornings of hot showers and hot coffee and cold morning air on the top deck of the boat.

It was heavenly.

I haven’t spent much time away from my kids in the past few years. Since the third one came along and we had to switch to zone defense, parenting is more of a team sport than ever. But as they’ve gotten a little older I’m venturing out a little more. I wholeheartedly believe in the importance of getting a little space from your kids, for all parents, but for stay-at-home mamas especially. When I step out of the daily grind and look at it with a little distance, I have time and space to remember how grateful I am for this life and how lucky I am to have such an incredible role.

At least, that was what I was telling myself this morning on my first morning back home in my bed that is not a cloud, with my three year old sleeping sideways between me and my husband who was snoring loud enough to wake up both myself and the two year old in the other room well before the alarm clock.

It doesn’t matter how much I miss my kids or how certain I am that this is exactly where I’m meant to be and what I want to be doing in this moment, real life can feel hard sometimes. I sat on the couch last night and let the to-do list that I had walled off in my brain come flooding back in and resisted the urge to breathe into a paper bag.

Here’s the thing: at the stage I’m at right now, parenting is heart and soul work. You don’t dip your toes into it. You fling your whole body in and it pulls you along in its current for years. For years, it can feel like your only job is to stay in it and keep your head above water. Do that and you win. You win these magical little moments that make it worth it. You win what it feels like the first time your toddler says “I love you, mommy.” You win what it feels like the first time they pedal that bike away from you with no training wheels. And eventually you win your self back little pieces at a time.

All you have to do is stay in it and keep your head above water.

I have to do is stay in it and keep my head above water.

So I breathe in the sweet smell of my three year old’s hair, and then I get out of bed before I want to and take everyone downstairs for breakfast. I clear a pathway through the toys in the living room and move the baskets full of clean laundry a little closer to the drawers they belong in and I sneak away to the bathroom long enough to hide out and write this post. And I keep trying to figure it out, this balance between staying in it and keeping my head above water.