Counting Cows

We count the cows on the way to Safeway. Josie stops at 10 because that's as high as she can count, but I see twice that many in the first mile. Josie tells Owen our plans for the afternoon. "First we go to the park. Then store. Then sprinkle cookie. And then we home and play kitchen. Have dinner. Watch Dora. And then bed. Okay, Owen?" They are both perfectly happy with the afternoon schedule. I try my best to share in their enthusiasm, but today, I just feel like being somewhere else.

I like to blame my children for taking away everything that I knew and loved. My independence, my work out schedule, my healthy sleep habits, and my career. I can also make a list of the things they have given me. My greatest joys, my purest laugther, my deepest meaning and my truest love. But I really miss getting 10 hours of sleep.

For someone who doesn't like change, I have endured a healthy serving these last five years. I met my husband, a year later was engaged, a year later was married, a year later had Josie, a year later had Owen. In those aforementioned years I moved from San Francisco (Big City), to San Mateo (Smaller City), to Morgan Hill (City with Cows). Like I've handled tough times throughout my life, I adjust and see where this new life and new knowledge takes me.

As much as I dislike Morgan Hill, having nothing else to do has forced me to focus on my family without conflict. I don't high-five Norm when he gets home from work as I head out for a night with the girls. I don't let laundry pile up while I go to coffee with my sisters. I don't make a list of things I want to do on the weekends when it's my husbands "turn" to be with the kids. I have nothing to do but be with them, enjoy them and get to know them.

I know one day as we rush from one game to the next and live close to a shopping mall that the kids want to visit without me, I will not only long for the days we counted the cows in Morgan Hill but be grateful I had them.