I am not writing my blog right now because I realized mid-August that it felt like a burden instead of a release. I am too sad, navigating the twins leaving for college. I scheduled these posts that day so the blog wouldn’t be empty, but I could pull back and use the time left with the twins. A cop-out, but forgive me. Having them go is really, really hard. I need mental space to feel what I am feeling, help the kids through the transition, and sit in the quiet for a moment on the other side.

I feel like for the last several years, society as a whole has been in a war against the word okay. We curate our lives online to look happy. We read books about how to gain happiness, either directly when we’re talking about Gretchen Rubin, or indirectly when we have people presenting happiness as the side effect that comes from decluttering your life like Marie Kondo. We go on wellness retreats to regain happiness in our life and talk about finding bliss through ordering the perfect meal and hang inspirational quotes on our walls that we find in kitschy stores.

And all of that is okay. Really, it’s okay. I think it is wonderful to strive towards happiness.

But in this world we’ve created, okay becomes the last rung on the happiness ladder before one steps off into the abyss, the lowest appropriate thing a person is allowed to say as an answer to the question, “how are you?”

Read the rest here.

I am not writing my blog right now because I realized mid-August that it felt like a burden instead of a release. I am too sad, navigating the twins leaving for college. I scheduled these posts that day so the blog wouldn’t be empty, but I could pull back and use the time left with the twins. A cop-out, but forgive me. Having them go is really, really hard. I need mental space to feel what I am feeling, help the kids through the transition, and sit in the quiet for a moment on the other side.

We went to the yearly NICU reunion at the hospital. One of our favourite nurses died a few months ago and they spoke about her during the address. They also had a scrapbook set up where families could share memories about her. I got very weepy while I was there because she was this person who was there at the start and who remembered the twins year after year. She usually greeted us at the sign-in table, and she obviously wasn’t there this time. The ChickieNob saw me crying and asked why everyone was crying when they mentioned P–, so I told her that she had died and her response was the natural one: why is everyone upset if she wasn’t part of our family.

Because she was still a thread in the enormous blanket we’re weaving of our lives, Chickie.

Because through circumstances, our lives crossed and I learned all about hers in the late night hours that we stayed up in the NICU, and she was obviously a witness to ours. She held the twins long before many of the people currently in their life touched the twins. And that is a powerful thing — to lose someone who was there at the beginning. There are so few left at the hospital that we still have contact with, that were there to thank face-to-face.

Read the rest here.

I am not writing my blog right now because I realized mid-August that it felt like a burden instead of a release. I am too sad, navigating the twins leaving for college. I scheduled these posts that day so the blog wouldn’t be empty, but I could pull back and use the time left with the twins. A cop-out, but forgive me. Having them go is really, really hard. I need mental space to feel what I am feeling, help the kids through the transition, and sit in the quiet for a moment on the other side.

The Wolvog came to this awful realization during the first week of school — that this was it. That every year, it would start anew, but it would all repeat in a different formation. That from now until 18, he’s in school. And then he’s in college. Then he’s maybe in grad school. And then he’s in a daily job. But every year, at least until he’s 18, he will keep up with the race only to find himself back at the starting line every September.

When you see time stretching on ahead of you like that and how much you still have to get through, it’s overwhelming. And when you look backwards at how quickly time actually passes, it is equally overwhelming.

Therefore, instead of living my life as if I am frantically counting pomegranate seeds, I am attempting to start this year by just enjoying the new fruit.

Read the rest here.

I am not writing my blog right now because I realized mid-August that it felt like a burden instead of a release. I am too sad, navigating the twins leaving for college. I scheduled these posts that day so the blog wouldn’t be empty, but I could pull back and use the time left with the twins. A cop-out, but forgive me. Having them go is really, really hard. I need mental space to feel what I am feeling, help the kids through the transition, and sit in the quiet for a moment on the other side.

I feel like I didn’t get enough time this summer. It’s greed. I can’t point to one day that we frittered away, but I feel as if I didn’t use my time well enough. I am plagued by the idea of enoughness. There was a new beach I heard about that we never found time to visit. It feels like I didn’t do enough this summer if we never got to that beach. And yet I can’t point at any particular day and say, “see, you wasted that time.” Because every day felt full. We saw friends and family and hung out at the pool (not enough though!) and did a brief stint at camp and took some trips. We would have had to give up something in order to get to that beach, and I can’t imagine what we should have given up.

I am really not ready for school to begin. Summer feels like dry sand that escapes between your fingers. There’s no way to hold it, no way to build anything with it.

Read the rest here.

I am not writing my blog right now because I realized mid-August that it felt like a burden instead of a release. I am too sad, navigating the twins leaving for college. I scheduled these posts that day so the blog wouldn’t be empty, but I could pull back and use the time left with the twins. A cop-out, but forgive me. Having them go is really, really hard. I need mental space to feel what I am feeling, help the kids through the transition, and sit in the quiet for a moment on the other side.

I decided to read her my favourite post by Susan Niebur, Toddler Planet, who died a few years back. I bookmarked this post and return to it often because it is probably the most profound, important thing I have ever read on the Internet. A big claim, yes, but I think if you read the whole post, you’ll agree.

She explains with a story:

Life is given to each of us. We each get one shot at this sucker, and we are never really told that it will be fair. We each get one life, one daily wage, and that’s it. The guy next door gets one life to live. The mom down the street gets one too. No one ever promised us the same life, the same opportunities, the same blessings, or the same time to live.

If we look at it that way, we are all treated fairly by the universe. Even when it doesn’t feel as if we are being treated fairly by the universe. Can we really argue? I mean, we’re given exactly what we were promised: A single life. And what we do with that life, and the circumstances that we encounter while living it, are both in and out of our hands.

Read the rest here.