Today I’m honored to welcome my one of my bloggy crushes, Julie Gardner, of By Any Other Name. Julie is a writer, a mom to two children and some canines, and is a lover of books, tortilla chips and mascara. I adore her for many reasons, mostly that she doesn’t pressure herself to publish all the time–which translates to high-quality, very readable & relatable posts. If you don’t subscribe to her blog, hurry here immediately and sign up. You won’t be sorry. She never wastes words. She says what’s on her mind and isn’t afraid. Her content is always engaging. She is a blogger and a person I really look up to and love.
Photo shamelessly stolen from Julie's blog
Some of my favorites by Julie include:
Today Call Me Complete (bring your Kleenex)
Today Call Me JulieNancy (bring more Kleenex)
She’s darling in person, so watch her vlog about her favorite books: Today Call Me Obsessed (Snow Flower & the Secret Fan is on her list, and she got to meet the author and I’m super jealous. Also? We share many favorite books. Le sigh.)
Anyway, enough out of me. Time to let Julie shine. Please visit her blog, tell her hello, and follow her on Twitter @JulieCGardner.
Goodnight, My Someone
I balance a laptop where I once bounced my baby boy.
I still feel the weight of him; hear his wet giggles; smell the Dreft from the days when I bought special detergent for his tiny socks. I would gaze at him and think, “I made this. He is mine.” I marveled at the power of it, the depth of love he inspired.
Tick tock, tick tock; I’m a little cuckoo clock.
He is fourteen, jogging by me with the rest of his Black Belt team. They’re running circles around their studio to train for a 5K race scheduled for October. He waves as he passes me. I wait for him and count another lap.
Tick tock, tick tock; now I’m striking one o’ clock.
My daughter drapes her legs across me as we sit together after school.
This is not the couch where I once spread the blanket from her great grandmother; these aren’t the cushions where she perched Lamby and Alligatey beside her in the fading daylight; my fuzzy-haired cave-girl with her entourage.
Goodnight, my someone; goodnight my love.
She is twelve, her sippy cups of warm orange juice long since recycled. Although we still read together on this new couch, she enjoys her own book, turns her own pages. She no longer asks me to sing her bedtime songs.
Sleep tight, my someone; sleep tight my love.
I was 28 when I became a mother for the first time and 30 when I had the last of my children.
Just the two.
As if two babies could ever be “just.” But in the secret folds of my heart, I wanted more.
And yet.
We weren’t sitting around, my husband and I, thinking we were doing such a miraculous job raising children that we should bring another human being or two into the mix.
Life wasn’t perfect. There was fatigue and work stress. Fears about finances. Ear infections and doctor’s appointments. The right time for another baby did not present itself, nor did we become “accidentally” pregnant as I’d hoped we might.
Instead, we changed houses and jobs; we ordered pizza or barbecued chicken; made costumes and counted squares on the calendar until summer. There were taxes and car payments and insurance premiums and bills.
There were also Christmases and home movies; camping and s’mores; we took family ski trips, enjoyed nightly tuck-ins and stories and music. There was love. More than enough. For more.
Tick tock, tick tock; I’m a little cuckoo clock.
We rushed through chaotic days slowly and watched long years pile up behind us. Our time was at once crowded and invisible; both busy and also gone before we’d turned our heads to say goodbye.
Was it really more babies I wanted or simply more time with the ones I already had?
Tick tock, tick tock; now I’m striking twelve o’ clock.
I am 42 years old, facing two middle school-aged kids and a life that balances tenuously on a semblance of structure. I am grateful. Lucky. And I mean no insensitivity toward those for whom having even one child has been or is still a struggle.
What I ask is that you tell me that my lingering doubts are okay. That we may never know what we want. Or get what we think we need. That I can let go of what is not and fully embrace what is. Because there is no “perfect” and “what is” for me is lovely; because I haven’t yet been able to stop myself from wondering.
The star is shining its brightest light.
But I need to stop wondering.
So goodnight, my someone; goodnight.
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