The boys are asleep and the house hums with the sounds of the dishwasher, Sarah Sample lullabies, and the train in the distance. Our house is always a little cold—single paned windows and what I guess to be zero installation in an old two story. I love this house. I want to do so much with it and at the same time I'm letting it settle. Figure out exactly what I want.
Si started preschool this week. A part-time set-up close to home with kind teachers, an indoor treehouse, and lots and lots of outdoor time. We picked him up in the sunny afternoon and I saw him before he saw me. He was talking with a little girl, perched on a bike much to small for him, his hair gelled and a peanut butter smear on his right cheek. He looked a little sun drunk, a look I know and love. (A signature Silas look when he's played outside long and hard, just the way I like it.) She was telling him something with persistence, he responded with confident staring and a few words I couldn't hear. Then, he glanced over and saw me, looked away, then looked again. It's like I could see him shifting worlds. His new 'school world' and his 'home world'.
All he's ever known is his home world. Keenan and I. And for the last year, Sondre. Friends have come and gone, apartments, playgrounds, cousins, even grandparents as we traveled and trekked the first three years of his life to pursue career opportunities. I'd like to think we helped him see a kind side of the bigger world—exploring New York City together since he was three days old. (Even the taxi ride to the hospital in active labor was exciting.) He's played on the carousel in Central Park, eaten chocolate ice cream under the The Brooklyn Bridge, chased pigeons in Strawberry Fields, learned to hold on just so on the subway. Not uncharacteristically, our move across the country hasn't been a big deal for him. He's adaptable, observant, and most of all, a really chill guy. But it all comes back to home.
Once, on an awful, awful mom day, where I yelled and cried and looked at the clock one million times, I saw Silas as a person. (A three-year-old person with no pants and chiclet teeth, but still, a person.) I realized that this is his whole world. This. Us. Our House. What we do at home. What he eats in the morning. His favorite show. His favorite grey lounge pants. Books. His blankets, his sippy cup, the toilet even. The way he likes to ring the doorbell and the bond he feels with our car. The things he learns at church, his friends, his observations that are never more than an armslength (it seems)—from me. From both of us. I was so ashamed. It's like I betrayed the sacred trust he and I had that it's about people first. Us. Us first. Then everything and everybody else after. It's love first and then everything else. I had forgotten that most important thing somewhere between hangry, bored distraction and mopey, self-inflicted creative unfulfillment.
Now they share a room. Just yesterday I pushed their beds to nearly touching. Brothers. They sleep better together. We sleep better having them together, down the hall. (I get teary even saying brothers, gah.)Maybe sibling love will help fill in the parental gaps?
For 2015, my goal is People first, everything else after. I love changes and I know 2015 will bring many. I feel grateful for that. That my life is full enough that there are peaks and dips and things happening all the time. I love living like that. Keeps you on your toes. 2015 will be the Year of My People (<in big banner letters>). Also, I'm going to eat more vegetables (specifically leafy greens), become a blog or magazine contributor again(on the hunt!), and publish something(in print I hope!). I'm excited.