Dear Kids:

The One About Adam

Adam has been home with our family for ten days in a row. Ten days. And, maybe that doesn't seem like a lot, but if you are married to a Road Warrior like I am, perhaps you can understand the sense of calm and entirety and family-ness that has settled over this house. It's, more than anything, reassuring.

I made the resolution this year to make it all about Adam. To watch my words and actions and to go out of my way to show him how much I appreciate him (which I do, enormously.) It lasted about six months.  As his business trips started to pile up and our phone conversations grew shorter and shorter while our independent task lists grew longer and longer, and our time together was an hour this week maybe an hour next, I couldn't help but to get angry. Resentful. To feel sorry for myself. I still feel that way sometimes. And, as completely ungrateful and spoiled as that makes me sound, it's life. Just how it is. 

This year was a hard one. (I'd use stronger language than that if it wouldn't offend). The hardest yet, I would argue, but I remember the same feeling settling in last Fall, as Adam started to show his face more (by no fault of his own.) The sense of relief having a second person around sometimes still brings tears to my eyes. It's hard being a single parent to four little kids. They're fantastic kids, but it's still really, really hard. One person to discipline, to kiss boo-boos, to bathe, get dressed, get them out of the house on time. One person to make appointments, keep deadlines, volunteer at school parties, sign permission slips. One person to do homework, read books, make dinner and clean up. One person tucking in, soothing nightmares, doing laundry, picking up toys, and starting all over again in the morning. Every day. And it's terribly lonely. I think that's the worst part--the loneliness. I give people credit who do it more than I do. Seriously, I'm not that strong. 

My mother and sister, "my people," I call them, are awesome at knowing when I'm hours away from breaking and, without fail, would rush in to help without asking. And, reluctantly, I'd let them because I needed, needed, needed them. True and ugly detail: I'd usually cry in the car at some point while running errands because I would feel so guilty about leaving the kids. Because, as crazy as I would feel sometimes, they're quite literally the best part of every day, and it felt terrible needing to part from them for an hour. Like an addict, I tell you. I mean, really.

One particular trip, one when my Mom came to watch the kids so that I could pick up supplies for A's birthday, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I had bought kohl eyeliner and dyed my hair red. I looked like a 30-something who was going through something, which, to be truthful, I was. It made me feel super-shitty. Like I was barely making it, which wasn't true at all. At least, now I can see it because I'm not in the middle of losing my sh*t. I rocked it out this summer. As hard as it was and as lonely as I got, I rocked that sh*t out. No shame, I tell you. (Also, my hair is dark again. We can all breathe a sigh of relief.)

And Adam, the work-until-you-can't-and-then-work-a-little-more type, well, I'm lucky I married him. Given the alternative, someone who can't really find the drive to work, it could be much worse. It always could. But Adam is great...er, the greatest. He is. He always wears cologne, has the best body temperature and the best laugh, and is a terrible gift-giver (it's actually really cute). He even tolerates my need for late-night horror movies and daytime reality TV. I should be nicer to him. And, with our anniversary approaching, I'm trying to find ways to be super-nice to him. After all, his months spent tirelessly traveling aren't really a walk in the park for him. I give him a hard time and I shouldn't. Sigh. I could use a little understanding here.

We're lucky we have each other. And the kids. We're a good family. We're winging it about 85% of the time and are always under-prepared, but the one great gift our kooky schedules give us is the endless appreciation of our time spent together. We're super-close. Figuratively and literally. (The best thing we've ever been called is "Mrs. Walden and her little ducklings." Wherever I go, the kids swarm right around my legs like a skirt. They don't stray far.)  And, right now, Adam and I are curled up on the couches, waiting to get our scary-show fix. Gotta jet. American Horror Story. Even sometimes-scared Adam is hooked.

We're together. So, we're good. Life goes on.

Later, gators.

The One About Hatch.

It's funny, actually, that the three times I have sat down to write words about our third son, our new three-year-old, the most gregarious and word-worthy, I have so few to write. You'd think this post would go on for days, but I just can't find the right words to accurately describe our boy or the ways he enriches our lives.

The words aren't doing him justice. But I will try.

There was something about him when he was born, just like there has been for all of the kids. There was the sudden awareness of a new person, a personality bigger than we were. He was beautiful. The smallest of all of the kids, and the fiercest, most intense (and longest) delivery. All of which came to be very telling, now that we know him well. 

Hatch is small. Tiny, in fact. But he opens his mouth and everyone stops to listen. He's got the vocabulary of a four year old, the voice of a two year old. He's probably as quick-witted as they come with the memory of an elephant and the sting of a bee. When I watch him, I get the feeling he is everything I'm not and I find myself in awe of how his brain works. 

Hatch doesn't give a s$&@ what you think about him, his confident oozes from every single pore. He does what he wants, unapologetically, and may or may not ask for forgiveness later (usually not, let's be honest.)  He pulls pranks all day long, disrupting every second of calm just because he can. He's not fussy, not a cry-er. Never has been. I can count on one hand the number of times that kid fussed at all as an infant.)  He's a do-er, a determined little boy who doesn't care at all that he's smaller than everyone else. He cares that he's more capable, and works all day to prove it. He uses his love as leverage, knows not a single obstacle, and craves a good challenge. He's our guard dog, ready to speak up if he feels wronged or threatened. Try to insult him (his brothers do constantly), and he couldn't care less. He knows. He just knows he's great the way he is. He's such an amazing kid, a blessing in every sense of the word, an integral part of our family puzzle. He's admired and adored. And he's three.

We love him fiercely. Because that's the kind of loving Hatchie understands. 

And, because what I have to say about him isn't enough, I give you his theme song. By Weezer. (No, I'm serious. If you take the time to listen to the song, you'll get it.) 

I love him. We all do. In a million ways, for a million reasons, few days pass by without me thanking God for this incredible kid. We needed him. Still do. 

I pray that God continue to bless William Hatcher Walden, though I have a feeling there is a good plan in place for him. I have an even stronger feeling he knows that, too.

Imma do the things that I want to do.

I ain't got a thing to prove to you.

I'll eat my candy with the pork and beans.

Excuse my manners if I make a scene.

I ain't gonna wear the clothes that you like, 

I'm fine and dandy with the me inside.

One look in the mirror and I'm tickled pink,

I don't give a hoot about what you think. 

-Pork and Beans (Weezer, 2008).