Breathing Under Water

Lately I’ve been trying to learn a few new things. It’s been difficult. The Photoshop program the husband bought me for my birthday has been an open tab on my computer for months. Every now and then I hesitantly revisit my one open project—a new header for “the Puddle”—but my brain easily becomes water logged as I try to interpret the program. Today I finally decided that I’m fed up with my life as a photo shop leech (sucking the creative juices out of my sister and sister-in-law every time I’m in need). So instead, I pinned my sister down and forced her to teach this leech her tricks. Though I was slow to remember the various manipulations she taught me, I quickly learned one thing: illustrating the images that lurk within my mind is a risky task. The product might not be very pretty. But at least it’s honest.

I’m also re-learning how to swim. I mastered my summer swim lesson courses at the Spork pool, but then I became a teenager—which always complicates things. Now I have a few sweet friends who go swimming at the university pool every now and then to get a good work out. I was hesitant at first to try. I haven’t bought myself a swim suit since I was an undergrad in Hawaii, I haven’t seen myself in a swimsuit since I was pregnant last summer and I don’t exactly love getting my hair wet unless I’m at the end of my five day cycle (too much work). But with enough persuasion, I mustered a little bravery, let go of my vanity and jumped it.

The first time was tricky. Swimming isn’t at all like running (duh). There’s this thing you need to do when you exercise called breathing, and it’s kind of hard underwater. When you get winded you have to figure out how to inflate your lungs without letting water in. You also need technique to keep paddling and kicking at the same time. And then there’s the assault of the river jostling around in your ears and the chlorine that batters your eyes. But once you get past all that, it’s kind of thrilling the same way that running up a huge hill with a 90 lbs stroller is thrilling. It’s the closest I’ll ever come to feeling like “yah yah yah, I’m so hard.” Take that Rhianna.

Speaking of so hard, I returned home from swimming at 9:30pm to find that my kids were still evading the sandman. The husband was home with them, but he’s somewhat helpless when it comes to soothing the Jdog who insists on his own special nighttime snack to send him off to dreamland. And then there’s Atrain, who made the conscious choice during our night time routine (that included seven books, pajamas, toothbrushing, water drinks, bathroom trips, prayers and scriptures) that he wasn’t going to go to bed. He even got redressed into his day clothes, just to make a statement. Oh yes, and his statement also included emptying all of his drawers onto the floor, tipping over the rocking chair and overturning his basketball hoop. I left the husband with both kids crying and returned to both kids crying. After my swimming high I came crashing down to a mothering low.

There are so many times I wonder if I’m doing things wrong, wonder if I’m being selfish for wanting a moment of my own, wonder how I can help the husband understand how fried my patience are by the end of the day—especially after a day that includes immunizations, a traffic jam, and a continuously howling Jdog on the way home from Spork. And even though he shows no signs of it, I can’t seem to shake the feeling that he thinks I’m a horrible mom for leaving him with a sink full of dishes, baskets full of laundry, and the kids crying so that I can splash out my frustration in a pool of water. I know he doesn’t really think these things; I’m really just projecting my own feelings onto the husband. I just have a hard time dealing with them, so I outsource. I guess sometimes I have to come up for air.

I hate the selfish feeling that sneeks up on me when I seek a little time to myself. But I also know that I am a better me when I find a place of quiet reflection each day. It gives me perspective, and helps me find my happy thoughts...though I sure seem to be struggling right now. I wish I were perfect, even though I know it’s impossible. I want to be better, and I know that that is possible. I need more help. I need to pray for more charity, for more compassion.

Maybe life is like learning to swim; sometimes I need to get more comfortable with my head under the water and every couple of strokes I need to realize that it’s ok (and quite necessary) that I come up for air.