April 24th, 2008


Like a teeter-totter in the park

a son on each end

my heart that place in the middle

where we all try to balance.  


I still have days when it’s hard to mother two children the way I want to, days when I can’t help feeling like somebody is getting less of me. Whenever I’m with only one of them at a time I’m struck again by how easy it is, how comfortable to focus my love on just one little being at a time, to not have to decide whose needs take precedence. And by how much more toom there is for me in the relationship. Some days, when I’m balancing both of them, nourishing both of them, I feel ragged and uncertain if my love fell on either of them that day. I tip from one son to the other and I need to remind myself not to seek the literal balance of two children on the teeter-totter, each suspended precisely 24 inches from the ground. It doesn’t work that way, doling out prefectly measured cups of love, keeping track, making sure everybody gets the same number of strawberries. The trick is to keep the teeter-totter in motion, each child rising and falling, rising and falling, looking across the way at each other and at me watching over them both, and teaching them that love is ever in motion, love is ever in play, and love is ever enough for all the kids on the playground.