I love waking early. 

When the world is black and few sounds can be heard except for the wind rattling the garbage cans on the side of the house, I revel in the peace and quiet, finding direction and inspiration in the earliest hours.

I begin my day with meditation, which warms me and prepares me for a good day ahead. Today, my daughter joined me in meditating, reaching heights I can’t even imagine. These little precious souls are so much more elevated than we are, so ready to grasp the soul-level connections.

Last night, my daughter insisted that I wake her up an hour early so she could have more time with me. My eldest son asked the same, just a half-hour early. Usually my littlest son crawls into my bed in the middle of the night, but for the last two nights, he’s been surprisingly content in his own bed.

This morning, my children were clingier than usual. Perhaps it’s because it’s a Tuesday and they go to their dad’s house tonight, or more likely it’s because mid-winter school break starts Friday afternoon, and they know they’ll spend a full five days at his house. No matter. They were needing Mama this morning, moreso than usual.

When I am not working, I am with my children. Being their mother is a role I yearned for, for years, and embraced wholeheartedly when I finally stepped into it. I love being a mom, and I not only love my children, I admire who they are. They are remarkable people whom I feel lucky to know.

We have, so I thought, eased into this routine of divorce. After all, it’s been five years! But it never ceases to amaze me how little prepared they are for the transitions that pervade our weeks. With me 80% of the time, they still go back and forth to the home of a loving father, and the transitions are the hardest for them.

While I know divorcing was the right decision, I am compassionate toward what it must feel like for these innocents to have to sleep in different beds throughout the course of their weeks. Their dad and I don’t have to do that; we get to stay put in our familiar surroundings, knowing everything we need is right where we left it.

I refuse to fall prey to divorced-parent-guilt and wallow in the depths of perceived discomfort. Yes, I am compassionate, and I hurt when they hurt. But this is our life; whether we had stayed married or not, their would be transitions to work through and scheduling details they wouldn’t like. The lesson in all of it is to embrace what IS and push out of our minds the what-ifs because it’s just wasted energy.

Recently, my eldest son sang his refrain of something being so hard. All his basic needs are met and then some, so whatever is hard is not really a challenge threatening the basic elements of a life. I tried to point this out – problems are all relative, we must gain perspective lest we wallow in self-pity when we live lives full of beautiful, glorious gifts.

It is all relative, isn’t it?

On any other Tuesday, my children would pack off to school with a wave and a hug, knowing Wednesday they’d come back to my embrace with ease. Change it up just a bit – the extended school break to begin this weekend – and everything is different.

But many things were the same. My coffee with cardamom seeds and cream from a local farm. The beauty of my daughter’s smile as she helped me pack lunches. Reading at the kitchen table because we were not rushed, we had the time.

Kissing my little boy’s sweet face many times in quick succession. Taking the time to breathe them in this morning – we had the gift of time, which, whether prompted by anxiety of a changed schedule or simply given to us by the angels – was a true gift that we all could treasure.

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