The Forest

Colby and his buddy Brooklyn enjoy some downtime.

Earlier tonight I was feeling like the worst mother ever. I was home for less than an hour between working late and heading off to a league volleyball game. None of the kids were happy to see me go, especially Miss Lily, who was told weeks ago that she could come with me to watch me play a late game.

The time never seems right. This week she's recovering from pneumonia, and I knew I wouldn't be home until at least 9:30 p.m., a bit late when there are three days left in the school week.

It is hard to describe the guilt that comes with motherhood, especially motherhood times four. I decided to do this ten-week session of league volleyball for me. While I am enjoying it, I am learning that putting the oxygen mask on myself first, so to speak, also comes with pain.

I really do hate these times when I'm running like a crazy chicken with my head cut off. I know I am not alone in this, although sometimes it feels that way. There are millions of mothers out there trying to balance this crazy life and learning that, oh yes, it's true, that sometimes fatherhood really is motherhood without the guilt (and a million other things.)

As I drove alone to the game tonight, I found some solace on my iPod. I clicked on an oldie -- Bread's "Anthology" -- and it brought back memories of hours and hours spent "sitting on the wall" during my teenage years alone in my bedroom. I had the highest vertical jump in the history of my high school volleyball coach's tenure at the time. Every night I honed it by sitting on the wall and strengthening my quad muscles, sometimes for an hour at a time. Those days taught me tolerance and discipline. I learned a ton of albums, wrote in my journal, chatted on the phone.

Tonight, I got my $*^ kicked on the volleyball court. In spite of it, I left the gym feeling amazing. I had a great workout, an hour of physical play, good teammates.

And daddy handled bedtime, set the trash to the curb, and greeted me with a smile.

The worst mother in the world is feeling better, as one might suspect. Tomorrow is another day, another chance to get this right. If I can just keep giving my kids the right tools, they'll be stronger. There will be days when they have to go it alone, with mommy at work, on a trip, at a ballgame. But they'll be fine. And I'll give them kisses and cuddles every chance I get.

Balance is a beautiful thing. It's precious and it's rare. I just have to remind myself, often, to see the forest and not the trees.

Skinny by Summer

One of the things I said many times in my early unexpected pregnancy was that with the baby due in February, I'd be "skinny by summer." Well, it's summer, and I'm not yet what I would call skinny. But, seriously, I'm not really the skinny type. I like to be healthy and strong, and have never been, nor wanted to be, anything like fragile. I have begun to miss working out, though, and I really do need to "whittle my middle" just a couple of inches. Just a couple of inches would expand my fitting wardrobe by about 100 percent.

And so, tonight begins a sit-up regimen. I'm going to work these obliques. I can't promise a lot right now in the way of fitness--other than the fact that I go through my life in an intrinsic ballet of motherhood every day--but I can promise sit-ups. And if I can get that done, I'll eventually want more of those feel-good endorphins. You know, if you give a mouse a cookie... Ah, well, maybe that is not the best analogy.

At any rate, I have about a million better things to think about than how I look in a bikini after having had four kids in seven and a half years, the youngest of which is only five months old. I am a smart girl, after all.

Life with my four blessings continues to amaze me. There are new challenges and rewards everyday. My little man Luke seems to be hitting a growth spurt. I'm getting even less sleep right now with all of his nighttime waking to eat, and he continues to love every spoonful of baby food. The other kids are tired, always it seems, but hanging in there. We will get caught up soon.

I'm excited for a long weekend of camping with several other activities sprinkled in. I'm ready for family visits around the campfire and pigpen kids climbing out of the creek. It's summertime in America, and I must get to a fireworks display.

But first, one hundred sit-ups! Isn't this fun?! Check back on Thursday, when I hope to post my midpoint review of how I'm doing with that New Year's resolution I made back on January 1st.

And how are you doing?

The Kids Are All Right

The details of my life, my musings and my wonderings continue to float about my sleepy, hormone-riddled mind. I'm swinging back and forth between feeling sufficiently efficient and overwhelmed. I don't feel terribly unlike myself or incessantly chained to a newborn. Instead I feel important in the way that I have not chosen to be, but just am. I have moments without Luke, say forty minutes in the grocery store across town, when I remember him at home, startle and wonder if he's awake and needing me. It's like I've grown another appendage that can sometimes be removed, but not for long. To put it simply, it's like I've gained another 8 pounds of my heart, living outside of my body.

I'm also aware that I need to take care of myself. The first twenty pounds have melted off, and now the work of getting the final twenty-five off must begin. At this point, I just want to hydrate and to be mindful of my meals. I am trying to curb the sweet tooth a bit and choose the colorful fruits and veggies instead. And I'm being gentle with myself. I'm completely aware of the amazing thing my body just did by growing and nurturing a fetus and birthing a newborn, and by what it is doing now by keeping a newborn completely hydrated, fed and growing with only my breast milk. And I'm remembering that I thought the weight wouldn't come off completely the other three times, but it did.

As if the care and keeping of Luke and me isn't enough, there are four more members in the family. It's hard, but I think we're doing it. I think we're not only surviving, but thriving.

I'm so proud of Shrek for the father he is. He truly gets better and better all the time, and I am more in love with him than ever. It's been so great to see how he's finally not rattled by the rattling screams of a newborn. When you're a first-time parent, or even the second or third time around, those cries make you feel like the apocalypse is near and that the clumsy, slowness of your fumbling fingers on the diaper tabs and the endless snaps and buttons are to blame. But, at some point, you realize this is what babies do. Newborns--or Roberts newborns, at least--don't really like being naked and cold during bath time or diaper changes. They like to express their discomfort. But Shrek and I? Well, we don't take it personally.

So, we're nearly four weeks in on baby number four. As a family, we've managed a high school basketball game, two Masses, and a long trip to Athens for a meet and greet at my workplace. With Shrek and I dividing up the kids and conquering, we have been able to do much, much more. We've even managed a movie date night at home complete with wine and much laughter.

We're not following any manuals. We're finding our own way, trusting our guts and loving one another. And it's all working out. It's a crazy life. Our hands and our hearts are full. And the kids are all right.