Um...yeah.I'm often reminded about the dangers of losing myself in motherhood. I receive friendly warnings from well-meaning friends, and read news articles about the importance of maintaining my identity by spending time away from my children. And let me just say it up front: In the world's view, I AM lost. But before you say a prayer for liberty and location on my behalf, please listen:
Nowhere am I more myself than with my sweet children (unless my blood sugar is off, and then I'm another person altogether). When I'm with Benjamin and Annie, I sing and dance. I tell stories, draw pictures and write poetry. I read books I've always wanted to read (Kenneth Grahame's "The Wind in the Willows" was fantastic), memorize poetry, and learn new things about geography and the miracle of birds each glorious day.
On Saturday, Annie and I spent the day together. The boys went up to the mountain, and Annie chose to go hiking and to tea with Rosie (her beloved doll) and me. It was a beautiful, sunshiny day. We walked and talked, had tea and a little raw chocolate (Annie's favorite) at Townshend's, and hit a used bookstore in downtown Bend (we bought a copy of "Ellen Tebbits" to read after we finish "The Secret Garden"). I watched her big brown eyes sparkle as she admired herself in a three-way mirror (she pretended she was playing with her sisters). We sang the days-of-the-week song and talked about the seasons (her favorite is spring). We laughed and held swinging hands for hours. And we got lost in each other. Isn't that lovely?
Most of us spend our lives lost in something: work, play, art, drugs, love, fear, anger — the list is endless. My husband is hopelessly lost in the semi-crazy land of ultrarunning. My mother loses herself daily in cooking shows and the heavenly scented ingredients in her shining kitchen. Benjamin loses himself in battles with imaginary bad guys. And I am lost in my children (so lost, I'm found).
There are, of course, good and bad places to be lost. I was sadly lost in the hallways of seventh grade. Dazed and confused as a freshman in college with a gymnastics prison sentence lasting four long years. I feel lost in most (okay, all) social situations, and I occasionally lose myself in fear (I'm working on this one). I love losing myself in a good book ("The Harvester" by Gene Stratton-Porter...have I mentioned how I love her?). I was utterly lost in love with my husband 17 sweet years ago (most days, I still am). And I was lost in the blue eyes of my newborn son (I honestly forgot that anyone else was in the room).
So don't feel too sorry for me. If I'm lost, I'm the good kind of lost — the kind I hope lasts forever and a day.
