Fall, I have fallen for you.
I have fallen for your colors and your surprise sunny days. I love you for your unpredictability. I love you for your wild weather. Fall, you give me countless cozy evenings, curled up in my favorite chair next to a crackling fire. The rain relentlessly pounds our metal roof and the wind howls angrily through the trees and I love you for it. Storm season is upon us as autumn envelops us in her arms, I watch the news, anxious and excited, with my candles ready for the power outage and my old blankets, crocheted by my grandma, covering my toes. And the red wine is ready to occupy my evening. Storms. Storms and fall. Thanks for being you.
Disclaimer: We're lucky to live in what I selfishly consider the best place to live. The Pacific Northwest is more than beautiful. The thousands of shades of green cascade and color everything most of the year. Out here, we're full of fir trees and waterfalls and mountains and just so much beauty. But sometimes, the skies get stormy.
Our first storm was about to hit our sleepy town, and I realized that this season of life has changed how I feel about this season. I still watch the news. I still want that bottle of red wine ready. But, I also want so much more.
I want a flashlight with fresh batteries by my bedside in case of a power outage. I want a full gallon of whole milk in the fridge, in case I can't make it to the grocery store to refill our little girl's stash. I want a generator ready to power our heating system and I also want to be sure I remember how to use it. This particular storm, I want my husband to make it home in time from his latest work trip because I don't want to be the only one here, not because I'm not certain I can handle it, because I can, but because there's something inside of me that says being alone during a big storm is a little bit scary. I want the monstrous fir trees that tower above my house to sway just a little less, and I want our little girl safe in my bed right next to me as we sleep. I want to not worry about the what-ifs and the just-in-case moves I might need to make if a tree topples on our house and I want a full tank of gas in my car because what if, and just in case I need to make a mad dash away to safety. I also want to not worry so much about unlikely events and I want to snuggle up and just enjoy the storm. But this season, this long and beautiful season of motherhood, is worth every worry.
Our every day is eventful yet remarkably uneventful. We have breakfasts and playtime and we color and we read stories and we have dance parties. We have lunches and there are nap times and we listen to our custom Spotify channels full of modern tunes integrated with some really good old school rock and roll. We have warm bubble baths and might watch a little Daniel Tiger after dinner and then we snuggle and read one of a few dozen books, and then we send our little girl off to dreamland, with her sound machine softly singing her lullabies. After she's sleeping soundly, we might get lost in a movie or a few episodes of our current favorite TV show (Stranger Things anyone?).
This every day is lucky. The worry is lucky.
When the storms come and the lights go out, we're transported to a different time, even if just for a little while. We're taken back to a different kind of everyday, one where we're forced to ignore what's happening on social media and all of the drama outside of our own homes. We are forced to focus on what's happening on the inside, on the conversation and the cuddles and the things that we should be focusing on whether there's a storm or not.
So moms, let's pretend. Let's batten down the hatches on the regular. Let's tune out the noise and listen to the lullabies, sung not by our sound machines plugged into the walls, but by our own voices as we sing our kiddos to sleep. Let's be our own storms, and weather them together.