Life is Wobbly

A practitioner of yoga once asked a 7-year old girl what she thought of life. "Life is wobbly," she said. "There are good parts, there are bad parts. Life is just wobbly."

It's a phrase that best describes our summer. We have had many wonderful moments with people we adore-- my brother and his family in New England, dear friends from Philadelphia, my in-laws, friends that I grew up with. My husband had three weeks off from work. The two older girls had two weeks of camp that allowed them to explore their greatest interests (horses, art), as well as many hours playing with friends, lounging at the pool, investigating local museums.

We slept in, and aside from the two weeks of camp, shunned any semblance of a schedule.

With my 6-7 hours a week of babysitting, I set out to achieve my summer writing goals. In early June, I sent out 25 picture book manuscripts to publishers -- most of which have already received rejections. But still, I set the goal for myself to send them out, and I did. I completed a draft of a second picture book. My co-editor and I completed, revised, and finalized the book proposal for our anthology, which our agent has now started pitching. I wrote and submitted essays to two other anthologies. I had one piece published in a self-published anthology, and another accepted in an anthology about birth stories.

At the end of June, once I was no longer beholden to drop-off and pick-up times for camp, I recommitted myself to yoga. I attended class three times a week, without exception. My body's normal aches and pains are subsiding. I have more energy. I said "no" to any activity that interfered with my ability to get to my minimum yoga classes in for the week. Which means we bagged on all of the library storytimes and free kids movies at the local movie theater and craft workshops-- that had marked up much of my summer calendar. And that was fine with us.

And yet, life wobbled. A distant cousin, one we had gotten to know and love the past three years we've lived in Atlanta, suddenly died at age 63. A friend has been diagnosed with what is, ultimately, incurable cancer. A loved one has lost a job, while another is on the verge of losing a job. My mom became seriously injured in an accident. Though she will recover completely, it will take a long time, with much physical therapy. A dear friend's cousin lost a baby at 20 weeks. Loved ones are dealing with depression and anxiety spurred by this miserable recession.

One of my children tested and retested the bounds of our patience. She was immune to every kind of discipline, any kind of consistency. "A phase," my husband and I said, in a useless attempt to console one another. Just as we started giving up on finding ways to cope with her tantrums, suddenly, they slightly lessened. We really hope the phase is on it's way out.

In early August, my husband and I celebrated our 37th birthdays, and 13th wedding anniversary. We had planned a trip to Costa Rica, our first vacation together (without children) since our honeymoon. But our childcare fell through, our trip was canceled. A much needed time for just the two of us, evaporated.

But the summer also had more than its share of sweet spots. We spent three beautiful days by the ocean with the girls, our feet sunk in warm sand, an undertow whose taught pull made us feel daring. We spotted the crest and fall of dolphins in the distance, peaking out from the lace of waves. We giggled at the wisdom of our two-year old, who went from uttering 3-4 word phrases to spouting descriptive, biting commentary about the world around her.

In late May, the only part of the summer with beautiful weather (it has been in the mid-90s and humid since early June), our family had professional photos made. We took pictures in an open field, next to an old run down barn. Most images are candid shots. We seem natural, rustic, in our element.

There's one photo in particular that I fell in love with. We are all seated in tall grasses, half-collapsed against the weathered and broken planks of the side of a barn. My husband and I are propped up by the torsos of our children. Our 6-year old has her hands in front of her giggling mouth. Our 2-year old has spotted something wonderful in the distance -- her face a curious yet strained profile. Our 9-year old laughs at the sky -- her chin, lower mouth, and the rims of squinted eyes outline her face. My husband and I are the only two people looking at the camera. A wild smile inhabits our faces, as if we've seen something funny and somewhat shocking. The photo is not flattering.

And yet, it is my favorite picture of the five of us.

This summer has been filled with its ups and downs. Waves of happiness, were followed by waves of grief. This summer, our life was wobbly. I suppose it is that way every summer, every season. But this summer I felt it more.

Perhaps that's why I liked this photo so much. There was nothing posed or fake about it. It told the full story of our lives, despite a lack of caption. Its truth was self-evident:

Life is wobbly. Thank goodness we have this family to hold us steady.