savagemama

One day in March I drove to our house in Arlee. The grass was winter-brown but the sun shone on the mountains in the distance and as I walked around the property with Lucille I let go of something, even though I’m not sure what.

Ever since we left and moved to town two years ago, going back to that house has not been easy. It’s probably because of the way we left it, or the way I left it, in the middle of a screaming headache that sent me to the hospital one June night. Four days later I got out of the hospital and went home to our house in Missoula. It wasn’t the way we’d planned it but it’s the way it turned out. Our things were spread over two houses, stacked on porches and covered with tarps. I was too sick to do anything about it. So we lived that summer in mild chaos, slowly putting our lives back together one box at a time.
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Eliza turns five in August. And the thought of kindergarten is killing me. I don’t know why I can’t get my head around it, why it’s so impossible for me to see my sweet little girl wielding a backpack and headed in to school with all the other kids her age. But for some reason, I can’t. Isn’t she too small? Is it really time? Then I always come back to the most pressing question, is this more about me than her? Am I having trouble letting go? And I think we all know the answer to that one.
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I like to think I’m a pretty together person. I pay the bills on time, I generally know how much money we have in the checking account and I know how much milk is in the refrigerator. I remember where I’ve left things, I hang up my clothes (mostly) and I keep everyone’s shoes out of the middle of the floor.

But every now and then I see my alter ego lurking around a corner, peeking to see if I’m watching. Then she trips over her shoes and lands squarely on her bum. I call her Junkshow Jenny.
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These past few weeks everyday feels a little like running a race. Each minute is spoken for, planned, scripted. We drop off kids and get ourselves to work and school with no time to spare. We squeeze in rare lunch dates with friends, doctors appointments and bank visits on the margins of packed days. If either Seth or I forget our keys, leave something in the wrong car or forget to reschedule something, we screw up the other’s day without meaning to. One misplaced parking pass never had so much power.
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