Family First
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In the morass of modernity, I think it is easy to lose track of what matters. I do. I think we are overstimulated, overwrought, overcaffeinated souls floating through busy and blurry days. I think we often get bogged down in details that don’t deserve us and tangled in technology that obscures our basic nature. I think we let good and simple things become camouflaged by concocted complexity, by artificial tension, by excuses, by expectations.
I think. I don’t know, but I think.
As some of you know, I went away for the weekend. My sister had a baby a little over a week ago and I made the trip to Chicago to meet him. This trip was not easy for me. I am a creature of home and habit and not a huge fan of flying. But I went. And, as predicted, I am so happy I did. I am happy for predictable, Hallmarkesque reasons and I am happy for reasons that are a bit more murky.
Predictable, Hallmarkesque Reasons: First and foremost, I got to meet Chickie. I got to hold him. I got to run my hand over his tiny head. I got to smell his newness and remember how impossibly soft newborn skin is. I got to hug my big sister. I got to congratulate the daddy of the moment on the arrival of his very first son. I got to snuggle and be silly with the big sister duo.
Murkier Reasons. This weekend was big for me. I am too close to it to explain why exactly, but I will give it a shot. It was big because I wandered outside my comfort zone and left home. It was big because I got on an airplane by myself and weathered the rough skies between Here and There. It was big because I glimpsed my sister’s world, her own breed of compelling chaos.
It was big because I realized what matters most to me, what has always mattered most to me: Family.
Family. That’s it. My number one.
As time passes, things are becoming more and more clear to me. Since Dad died, I have been a bit of a mess. I have been confused and angry and more than a bit sad. Confused about how to grieve and get on with my life. Angry that Mother Nature and cancer cells can shatter the snow globe of a big and beautiful family. Sad that we cannot have him back, that we must plow forward in his stinging absence.
And I have done a commendable job in distracting myself from these things. I have channeled Dad’s laser-like focus on work and professional passion. I have lost my taste for superficiality. I have not stopped writing and thinking and planning and plotting. And it’s exhausting. And more than being exhausting, it’s blurred my focus a bit.
My focus on family.
But this weekend. This weekend, with tears in my eyes, I kissed Husband and my girls goodbye. And I missed them instantly. On the plane, shaken by turbulence and realization, I had a bit of an epiphany which you will hear about tomorrow. And then I arrived. And plopped myself squarely in my sister’s world. A world of life and laughter and love.
A world of family.
I cradled a tiny baby who may or may not have Dad’s nose. I wrestled two little girls in a purple polka-dot bed. I celebrated my brother-in-law’s birthday. I talked with my two older sisters. (Sister I made the trip too.) About the impossible imperative to divide one’s maternal affection into three. About the closing of biological doors. About the enigma of balance. About the fibers of family.
And I was overcome with a wave of profound ambivalence which shocked me because I didn’t think ambivalence came in waves. I looked at my sister cradling her new boy, tending to her girls from afar. And I felt a tug.
“I want another baby,” I said. “But not yet. But I haven’t changed my mind. I still want four!”
“Have you thought about why you want so many kids?” Sister I asked me.
And it was a good question. A fair question. One to which I have given a lot of thought.
“Yes,” I said. “This. This chaos? This is what I want. I want a big family. I want the bustle.”
And I do. That is what I want. I want a tormenting excess of laughter and love. I want utter and impossible mayhem which tests every morsel of my being.
As my sisters and I talked, I noticed two pictures on the mantle above the fireplace. (Wherein this little guy got a wee bit charred.) The two pictures had one thing in common. Dad. In one picture, he wore a tux and walked Sister N down the aisle. In the other, he sat on the powder blue sofa where I spent so much of my weekend. He sat there, cradling her two girls. And this picture made me smile. But it also made me sad. Because Dad will never meet Baby or Baby Bulldog or little Chickie or any of the future Donnelley creatures. There won’t be these photo ops.
But there wasn’t time to wallow. And for that I was grateful. In no time, I was busy watching Sister I change a tiny diaper and collapsing into a puddle laughter when Chickie peed all over his itty-bitty Blackhawks jersey and his own little face. In no time, we were gathered around the dinner table scarfing Thai takeout, learning the names of various plastic dinosaurs, and singing a genius song called “Flavor Juice Fountain.”
Yesterday afternoon, I came home. At the front door, I was met by a man and two tiny girls. My man. My girls. I was serenaded by a sweet chorus of “Mommy.” And I dropped my suitcase and lost myself in hugs and kisses. And home.
This is it, I thought then and think now. This is what I want. This is what I have. This is what matters.
And when things grow more complicated again (oh and they will), when I begin to stress about blog traffic and book sales and jean sizes and renovation budgets, I will come back and read this post. I will read these clumsy words and remember the wonderful weekend I just enjoyed, and the realization that came with it. The realization that things can be quite simple if we let them be.
The realization that for me, family comes first. And always will.
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Have you had moments when you were struck by such realizations? Do you agree that all the bells and whistles of modernity distract us from what matters? Do you think that wandering away often makes us appreciate what we have at home?
welcome home, sweet friend.
Thanks, Nic. I love the double meaning of “welcome home.” It’s a cliche, but home is indeed where the heart is. And I think we take for granted that we know exactly where home is, but sometimes I think it takes effort to find.
i thought you would appreciate the double meaning, sweet one.
much love to you and yours.
It’s what it is all about
Loved reading this today – thank you. And welcome home!
Yes, indeed family is what it is all about. I have no doubt that you have been reveling in the goodness of home and family these days. It’s all about keeping our eyes trained on the simple things, the sweet things, underfoot.
Welcome home! There’s nothing quite like that excited chorus of “Mommy!” when you hit the door, is there?
Kitch – The Mommy Chorus is priceless. There is nothing better than hearing my sweet little creatures croon my name after a long day; It renders everything more simple and makes the frustrating details and complexities evaporate.
I will just say “congratulations” prematurely, something tells me a baby is in your very near future! Family and the moments we create together, is with out a doubt what life is all about…
Beth – Do you know something that I don’t?
You are right to pick up on the palpable fact that Baby #3 is on the brain, but I was genuinely amazed at how tempered my desire was when meeting my nephew. Yes, I wanted to gobble him up. Yes, it made me realize that I long for a little one. But I also realized that there is no rush. That I want my family to evolve at a measured pace, when the time is right. Yes, this is what it is all about. Happy to have been shaken back into that simple realization.
The question of why you want more children seems to have come up several times in your posts lately and is a discussion I have had with my younger, single, and childless brother. He believes our desire to have children is merely hormonal, primal, and societal. A combination of instinct and social pressures that tell us what we want. But how can he, single and childless, have a clue? I sat in the middle of my living room floor Saturday while my older girl set up her toys and played and the baby toddled around making messes and laughing and pointing, “Dat?” and “Dis?”, and I knew in an instant that this is why I wanted (and still want one more) children. It is exactly as you said above:
“Yes,” I said. “This. This chaos? This is what I want. I want a big family. I want the bustle.”
And I do. That is what I want. I want a tormenting excess of laughter and love. I want utter and impossible mayhem which tests every morsel of my being.
It’s love. It’s the feeling that no matter how hard and hectic life is with children it is all completely, 100 percent, worth it.
Celeste – Yes, this question of WHY is pressing in my life right now. I often find myself questioning why I want certain things, why I have certain dreams. I too wonder whether my reasons are legitimate, the fruits of societal pressure or past experience. But when I really think about it, the reasons are far simpler, far more pure.
It *is* love. Family is what matters most to me. And always has. Because life is complicated and shifts constantly, I too easily lose track of this simple fact, but it’s a patient and persistent fact. And, thankfully, I am brought back to its truth time and time again.
I do think these big life decisions – particularly as they involve bringing children into the world – warrant thoughtful consideration. But, ultimately, they are our decisions to make. And, if it were totally up to me, I would have at least four little creatures of my own. For better or worse (for better!), there is a Husband in the equation who keeps me sane and might put a cap on the kiddie brigade.
Thanks for your comment and for your thoughts.
Aidan, so much of what you’ve said here resonates with me at this exact moment of my life. Too much for me to unpack in a comment – so I will join others in saying “welcome home” and will add my own “thank you” for this reminder of finding meaning in family and moments of ambivalence.
Kristen – I am glad that these words are timely for you and stirred something within. I hope you “unpack” some of this in an email to me? Yes, there is tremendous, if overlooked, meaning in family and in those instructive moments of ambivalence. Ambivalence is a feeling, an experience, I plan to explore much further. Maybe you will join me in doing so over at Motherese?
I had the moment of clarity that family was 100% how I wanted to spend my time the minute I had my baby girl. I know exactly how you feel! Glad you had such a wonderful trip and wonderful return.
Jess – Isn’t it amazing how in one moment, one priceless moment, things can become so stunningly clear? I must say that it has been amazing and inspiring to watch you and how you have thrown every ounce of yourself into raising Baby S. Your love and devotion and enthusiasm for this next chapter is incredible and has not gone unnoticed. Remember that conversation we had a few weeks back about getting the things we wanted? I have not forgotten it. It will be the topic of its own post. And soon. Stay tuned!
The beauty of loss is that you begin to see what remains. I lost my dad years ago. But I loved him a lifetime’s worth while he was here. I don’t take days for granted anymore.
Things change, people go. Investing in family is wise.
Do you see yourself growing up and getting stronger?
Lovely post.
Christina – There is indeed a beauty of loss. It’s bizarre to say that, but it is so true. My life changed irrevocably a few years ago when my Dad got diagnosed, but I have to say that it has also become imbued with meaning and purpose and awareness. I don’t take the days for granted anymore either. Nothing is a guarantee.
And I like to think of spending time with family, soaking up the youth of our kids (and ourselves), is an investment. An investment in life. In happiness. In things that matter.
I do see myself growing up and getting stronger. Slowly, but surely. What’s amazing is that I am just now beginning to realize why I started this blog. I told myself it was a means to create a literary foundation for future books, but I don’t think that was it. I think I started ILI as a way to cope with, and explore, my heartache. This place? This continuing conversation? It has been a lifeline, an incomparable place for me to grieve and grow.
When my mom died, I was vehement that I never wanted children. “What’s the point,” I wondered, “if my mom won’t be around for any of it?” But over the past eight years I’ve come around to the conclusion that there is nothing more life-affirming than a baby. When I have children, I know my mom will persist through that little baby in some way.
Elizabeth – It makes perfect sense (to me) that in the wake of your mother’s death, you were reluctant to want kids. But it also makes sense to me that with the passing of time (thank goodness for time), your mind is shifting and you are realizing that your mother will endure in you and your little ones. Having children will not only bring you limitless joy, but will be a way of honoring your mother and her legacy. I feel this way about Dad too.
A, I love this post. I think it may have finally given me an idea for “Baby Before Bar.” Which will of course have to wait until after the bar!
C – I am so glad you loved this. Visiting N and then coming home to see my babes and then seeing you guys and Bulldog last night, I really realized what it is all about. The ever-present fog of stress and logistics and career and geography? It doesn’t hold a candle to the childhood memories and chubby cheeks of our collective present day. I love you
(And can’t wait for Baby Before Bar. Stay tuned, ILI readers!!!)
Bravo for doing something that scares you a little, or is at least out of your comfort zone. So much growth occurs in those moments…as hard as they may be.
Anne – Thank you. Yes, there is something tremendously instructive about being scared. And letting ourselves be scared. I am brewing up a post about the undeniable fact and fertility of fear to be published tomorrow. Hard moments are also good moments, I am realizing.
Ok. This is why I am so glad you were able to get away. When we are removed from our comfortable surroundings – it is then that our true essence can be revealed. I loved the epiphany you shared today and I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s installment.
Jane – yes, this is why it was so good to get away. You are right. Sometimes, we need to step back and see what we have from a distance to realize its compelling contours, to see clearly what matters. Stay tuned for tomorrow’s post. I think and hope it might strike something in you and others.
“This is what I want. This is what I have.”
That, my friend, is profound. What a gift to to stop and KNOW that. Even if, at times, those conscious moments are fleeting – they do exist.
Rebecca – Thank you. Yes, these moments are magical in their clarity even if they are fleeting. And they are fleeting. These are the moments I live for, the exquisite slices of knowing, really knowing. I think these moments, and these realizations, are so legendary because they are buried in the clutter of life.
There are few things sweeter than sisterly reunions. Maybe new-born nephews, but that’s it! Congrats on a successful trip.
Thanks, Gale. Yes, sisterly reunions are indeed sweet, laughter-stuffed affairs. I too often take these for granted as three of my four sisters live so close. But it really is wonderful to see Sister N when the opportunity arises. And, yes, to meet little Donnelley babies when they enter the world
Have you had moments when you were struck by such realizations?
Yup. Thanks to ILI, I had one just now.
I love this post, and I, too, may re-read it when I get caught up in the non-essential.
Yay for sisters!!
Lauren – So thrilled I could provide you with a Moment
Yes, sisters rock. Yes, family is the beautiful baseline. Yes, this should be required reading for all of us crazies who get caught up in the rat race of our own creation. Hope you and Lil Mil are well. I trust and know that you are…
I understand your desire for chaos. I also want a big family. I thrive in that often messy world. It is loud, raucous, and fun!
I giggled at your description of Chickie peeing all over his outfit and his face. My little guy still does that!! I just adore it!!
And, Aidan, I adore you and your words. I am counting down the days when your book arrives at my doorstep.
Amber – it is indeed comforting to know that I am not alone in my taste for chaos. It’s funny because Husband read this post and said it clarified something for him. He thinks that on days when I am alone with the girls, I actually make an effort to wreck our place with the girls, that I enjoy the mess. At first, I was offended but that faded. I think he is right. I think that periodic mayhem is evidence of life and fun.
As for the pee mishaps, it makes me scared at the prospect of ever having a boy! Don’t quite experience the projectile pee problem with little girls.
And thank you so much for your kind words. I can’t wait for you to read LIFE AFTER YES either! And for others to do so as well! Three short months – crazy
That was wonderful. Just wonderful.
I feel the same. Family comes first.
Thank you, San. Isn’t it amazing that we can so easily lose track of these simple, good, priorities? It is amazing to me that life, in doing its thing, obscures the most pure and pressing things in our worlds. I am happy to know that I am far from alone in feeling, and deeply, that family comes first. What is interesting is that after I wrote this post, I thought about it and challenged myself. I said, “Okay, so family comes first. What does that mean? How does this philosophy practically affect how we live our lives?” And I don’t know. What does it mean to put family first really? How do we know if our choices are what is best for family? How do we live professional and social roles while shrouding our family with the affection and attention they so deserve?
To “plow forward in his stinging absence” — I get that, but for my grandma who passed away last month. The sting is still there, but is easing a bit with the days.
I like your assertion of family and babies and sisters and knowing what matters. Knowing and embracing it.
Lovely post!
Terresa – Yes, I think so many of us can relate to the idea of an absence that is indeed stinging. It took me a while to come to terms with this concept, that the lack of someone could actually hurt. That holes could be as painful as knives. And you are right – the passing of days, one after the other – does help mitigate the sting. But I wonder whether the sting will ever be totally gone? Or if I want it to be?
Yes, and oh, yes… yes.
(Sometimes, words do fail me.) But you nailed this one on the head so well. I really have nothing to add.
Titanium – Thank you. I know that you have probably had your own realizations about what matters, and about the paramount importance of family, recently. I am so glad my words resonated with you and that you took the time to comment even if, in your own words, you have nothing to add. Please know that just by commenting, you are indeed adding something.
There are times when I sit back and look at the chaos of my family and am filled with joy. I know exactly what you mean.
Charlotte – I am happy to know that I am not the only one with a taste for hearty domestic chaos! Too bad it also makes me crazy sometimes…