"The Great Mother Smother"

When the dinner table was cleared, the dishes were washed and leftovers refrigerated for another day, I said the words, "I think I'm gonna go for a long bike ride. By myself."
For weeks now, I've gradually built my tolerance for bike-riding. Religiously, I've packed my twin boys like sardines into a bike trailer made for two, hooked up to my bicycle and allowed my thighs to scream in agony while parading us like a freak show all around town. I'm certain I looked most pathetic to vehicles passing by. But. I did it. And my body has slowly thanked me by permitting my rides to be longer and longer each day. Without feeling as though my lungs may burst at any given moment. And this has been our summer evening routine.
So, when I stated my intents, emphasis placed on the word "myself"...it was pretty big for me. See, I'm of the bizarre breeds of moms. I actually thoroughly and genuinely enjoy the company of my children. Honest. To be given the day and told to spend it alone, I'm not even sure what I would do. It would seem strangely lonesome. Rarely will I ever request some "me time". These kids...their continual presence has kind of grown on me.
But once in a while. Every once in a great while...
I need to breathe. Every once in a great while, I feel the suffocation of what is "being a mother". I think every mother feels this, what I consider "The Great Mother Smother". Every once in a while, I find myself at the kitchen sink doing dishes, gasping for space to simply be. Sighing uncontrollably. Ready to unleash a bout of tears that have been festering. Yearning, begging, pleading to complete one task without interruption and without being called away. To complete a sentence or even a thought. And while I know these feelings don't make me a terrible mother, they keep me humble in reminding me that I am simply a human mother. A mother whom adores her children to no end. Whom would sacrifice most anything for the sake of the babies she pleaded with God for, whom happily (yet uncomfortably) incubated month after month, and painfully groaned through birth to bring forth into this crazy, crazy life. I don't regret for even one second, the most amazing gift ever bestowed on me this side of heaven; this becoming a mother. It's a sacred, holy, divine calling.
But tonight.
Tonight, I wanted nothing more than to run, if even but for a second, from the suffocation that was battling to overtake me. To run far, far away from the dirty dishes, the drying laundry on the clothesline, from the little whines of overtired littles, and the one-thousand-and-one endless requests of me made of the bigger ones. As I walked out the door I plugged in my ear buds and allowed music to drown out the sibling spat that was publicly occurring in the driveway. Hopping on my bicycle, I rode off...feeling rather selfish, and yet deserving - all in one. With no end goal in mind, I decided I would ride until my perspective shifted or my thighs were begging for an end...whichever came first. The sun on my face felt amazing, the wind on my sweaty back...even better. My usual rides consist of hauling seventy pounds of noisy, giggling boys behind me, so being free of that weight I came to the conclusion that if I pumped my legs hard enough...I just might fly. And so, as I gracefully glided downhill with the wind blowing through me, I closed my eyes and for just a moment and I'm pretty sure I had lift-off. Well, okay...not really...but it sure felt like it. It was one of those "Titanic" moments where I really, really wanted to take both hands off my handlebars and soar. But...because I truly value my life, and thought that would be a rather undignified way to go, I opted not to.
By mile four, I decided that my adrenaline was wearing thin, my "Titanic" moments were fading, and perhaps it was time to turn around. And so I did. By then, God and I had chatted a little and I was reminded that perhaps sometimes I allow things to shift out of perspective. Okay, so regularly I allow things to shift out of perspective.
It's true. I do. Sometimes my expectations of myself are less than realistic. My expectations of my kids...even more unrealistic. It's crazy and beautiful and busy, this life of ours. And I can't help but wonder how much more we complicate things with our lack of focus and proper perspective. I think it's often difficult to see a proper perspective when you're in the thick of it. When there's children with various individual needs and demands, a house with endless messes, continual piles of laundry, meals to be made and bills to be paid. If I allow it, it most definitely can be suffocating. Draining. I can shut down completely from the pure exhaustion of it all. I am, after all, human. Flawed and fragile, despite how hard I strive to hide it. I'm still learning how to navigate. Still figuring out my boundaries and weaknesses. And continually being humbled by my own human limitations. Daily humbling.
That's the thing with this one lifetime we're granted. I'm not sure any of us reach the end having it all figured out. Sure, we all gain more maturity, more experience with each passing year. Perhaps even every day. Absolutely, I gain more confidence and security in who I am...in WHOSE I am...the longer I inhabit this shell. But, undoubtedly, I will never arrive. I will forever have moments where I'm running from the stinging reminders of my human nature. Sometimes it's just painful to stare in the face of imperfection and continually have it mirrored back. But then, in the running, God always seems to catch up and draw me back to the place where I belong. Four miles away from the place that I call "home" or not. He always finds me. Always patiently shows me the perspective in which I need to be viewing life through.
Upon coming home to my family, I didn't find everything was magically better. My boys were in their underwear on the driveway...running with dangerous tools, the girls were still spatting about various things, and more dirty dishes seemed to find their way to my sink.
And such is my life. Messy, clumsy and flawed.
But it's beautiful, all the same.