Just Right

Back home.

During my Florida vacation, I took a break from writing, choosing to read instead, but midweek I wrote the following post in my journal:

As I walk down the beach searching for shells, I hear "Mommy" in the wind. Moooommy! I look back but my family is out of ear's reach. Its like all those nights I heard crying in the strum of a guitar, when my babies slept, hearing my children's calls in every song, unable to stop responding, even when I can.

I turn back towards the ocean and watch the endless thrum of waves, never tiring, never old. A constant beat to build a life around. So too this quest for shells. My eyes scan the sand, like scouts, on the lookout for a perfect one. A Conch or a Tulip or an Olive or a Whelk. A Slipper Shell or a Mermaid's Toenail. Instead I find fragments, pieces of shells worn smooth by the surf. I find myself picking them up, enamored by their colors and shapes; and before I know it, I have two handfuls of broken shells, none perfect but all just right.

The other day an older woman looked at Olive as I held her on my hip and said, "Oh isn't she beautiful!" And Elias looked up at her and said, "Am I beautiful?"

And I think about Elias and all the ways he falls beneath society's measurements of perfection, and I wonder, who is the judge and the jury of a life well-lived?

I walk farther down the beach and find a wide swath of shells, as if the waves deposited a blanket's worth all in one spot. Whole ones and broken ones that hurt my feet to walk across but I can't resist. Can't stop. Cockle shells and Scallop shells and Oyster shells and mystery pieces battered by the surf. I take out my camera, knowing I can't take them all home.

Thinking and writing about Elias these days feels harder, as his ornery defiant side grows and his little boy sweetness diminishes with time. I know he is trying to find his way, his voice, as I still search for mine, but too often it comes out opposed to his sister, and not with words but the pulling of hair, grabbing of a shirt, swing of a hand. I find myself on edge, walking gingerly, like on this bed of shells, waiting for him to attack.

Just yesterday, he hit his sister in the head in front of my Dad and Mother-in-law; and when I removed him to his room, he kept screaming, "I want to hit my sister. I want to hurt her!" As I restrained him, I realized it will only be a matter of time before he is stronger than me. I find myself frustrated with Elias more than I care to admit and longing for a little more normal. A son I can reason with, can leave alone in a room with other kids without worry he will hurt one of them in an irrational fit of fury.

And yet I also know there is no normal, no perfect kid, no parenting without worry or fear. Elias may wear his challenges for the world to see but we all get knocked down by waves.

I have reached the part of the beach where at high tide there is little to no dry sand as the Atlantic crashes into the rocks beneath the houses. Its time to turn back, towards my family, where my parents and children dig sand castles in the sun. Part of me wants to keep walking, further away, in my quest for a perfect shell; but instead I turn and walk into the wind, towards home, my pockets full of broken pieces, all perfectly imperfect.

The older woman looked down at Elias and said, "Why yes son, you are beautiful too!"

Comments

[Alison]

One of my favorite posts....one of your best writings, I believe.

[Noel Dennehy]

Oh I loved this blog- and the pictures- great to hear your voice again. You write so beautifully! Looking forward to having your parents the end of the month.

[Hannah]

I love this one! And I love you! Perfectly imperfect, that's all of us. I'm going to see my parents in Florida this week, I wish we could be there together walking into the wind towards our families. xoxo my friend.

[greta]

Woah...this is a good one!

[Christy]

I love all of you! Thanks for reminding me why I need to always write.

[Catherine]

It occurs to me that I have been reading your writing since around the time Elias was born...but I only occasionally comment. I just wanted to say that I'm still here reading (and loving your photographs)...and you still amaze me.

[Adam]

That is some powerful writing, Christy. Parenting is a daily challenge and we always wonder if we doing a good enough job. I'm thinking we need to accept being imperfect parents as much as we need to accept having imperfect children.

[Kate]

Love this piece and glad you're back. I'm an imperfect parent to our imperfect children.

[Anne]

I just happened on this and it made me cry. Thank you for reminding me that life is beautiful because of its challenges.

[Christy]

Catherine, thank you for letting me know you are still following and for your kind words.

Adam, yes! I know every day I need to accept all my imperfections:)

Thanks Kate, good to hear from you too:)

Anne, I'm glad you happened upon us and hope you will return.

We are adjusting to Nick working and Olive in full-time preschool, almost through our first week and barely hanging on for the weekend. Hope to have a chance to write again soon.