My kids came again–
Wreaking a weekend of glorious familial havoc.
They used to be little people depending on me
To tell them what to think,
How to figure things out,
What the answers were to
Whatever knotty problems they faced.
Now, they initiate imaginative ideas,
Put sentences together in ways
That never occurred to me (wow!).
Then they went again–
Inflicting an evening of mourning for
All the stupid things I can think of.
This missed day or moment,
Month or special event,
That thing I could have said better,
Done better, mediated better…
Motherhood doesn’t stop for me
When the weekend ends.
It only goes into hibernation to avoid
The harsh desolation of a landscape
Barren of the continual interactions
I miss so much.
When they come around,
I lumber out of hibernation,
Shake myself to reawaken maternal instinct,
Blinking sleep out of my eyes so
I can see them, hear them,
Feel the atmosphere of love and affection
So unlike that between me and my spouse.
The spontaneity of youth tumbles me over
With the hugs and I-missed-you’s
Mumbled into my welcoming heart.
Ah, well, I suppose life goes on.
At least, that’s what I’m always hearing.
For me, though,
Life is like the broken lines on the road,
Only the long painted lines are
Holding the gaps together for me…
The gaps don’t keep the lines apart,
They are their own events–
Unpredictably full of the unseen blessings
Brought when motherhood meets its match,
A miraculous pairing of loved and beloved
That happens every time my kids come around
Bringing their own comfortable chaos.