Tuesday, August 7, 2012


I used to steal time for myself at the gym. Make sure all planets aligned and clocks said go and ran out the door to get to the kickboxing class or weight lifting class. It was good. I did it for almost 4 years after having my last child.

Then all the kids were in school, so I would steal time from packing and cleaning the house to walk and walk and walk the anxiety out of me and take in all the changes I was facing. Some days, if the kids were home, they would want to walk with me and I would make my excuses while heading out the door and gently releasing their arms from my waist and legs.

I had to start stealing time to spend with my mom. Sitting at her table with her while others are cooking or watching my children at the beach. We play cards and chat and make big decisions and take them back and make other ones instead. (And take those back, too.)

Suddenly, my eldest needed to steal my strength as she went into this tough transition of moving and setting up a new world for herself on the cusp of adolescence. The one who I was watching for signs of my fatty genetics stopped eating. The rest of the family fell away and I fought to steal her back from the scary place she was going.

This morning I tipped toed through my house and made the quietest cup of coffee ever so I could make it to my porch in the woods. Alone. Stealing a moment of peace (noisy peace with all these birds) before taking on the day. My mom always warned me that in life you have to "rob Peter to pay Paul." I always thought she was talking banking. And I am sure she was in some ways. But as a mom of 5, I am pretty sure she was talking about these kinds of stealing as well.

Speaking of stealing....
the boy grabbed his moment.

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