Show of hands: who likes roller coasters? And who volunteers to stand in line for churros when everyone runs towards the Death Drop?
Now, I love anticipation. It's why Thursday is my favorite day of the week and Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. They are the kick off to more good stuff to come (like the weekend and the holiday season). It's also why I love pregnancy, but that's another blog entry (or two) entirely.
I'm the one in line for churros. I don't mind the coaster's click, click, click as the car slowly chugs it's way to the peak of the hill, nor do I mind the hesitation at the top where the view is just lovely. It's the inevitable drop that comes afterwards that takes my breath away. And not in a smiley, exhilarating way. More in a I-can't-exhale-by-screaming-or-bear-down-anymore-without-either-A) passing-out-or-B) giving-birth-to-my-own-stomach way.
Something else that makes me feel like I'm ripping in half lately? The internal, inherent pull from daughter to mother and from mother to daughters. I know my Mom needs me. And because she needs me, but would never say she needs me, I need to be with her, even if it's just to hold her hand while she sleeps. At the same time, she isn't down the road, she's in another state (mental, physical, and in this scenario, geographical). And who is in my state, in my city, in my house? My daughters. Who need their mother perhaps more than mine needs me.
And I need to be with them, because even as their childhood angst makes my head spin, just the sight of them makes my heart beat stronger. That same heart has strings that are half held by my girl's hands and half flailing across state lines to my Mom's bedside. They are tied in knots at both ends that I can't - nor would I want to - undo. And yet, because of that, I myself am coming undone.
This is a tricky scenario that calls for some meditation, some relaxation, and quite a bit of Chardonnay.
A churro wouldn't hurt either.