The kids are playing together, quietly in a bedroom and getting along. They’re safe, happy and I’m not worrying about any of them. This wasn’t always possible in our home, and so I’m sitting on the couch, actively appreciating every contented giggle and sound effect they make.

this. is. good.

I’m more aware of it that normal because I’ve been doing that thing again with the gradual freaking out and stressing over nothing. I’m real good at that.

perfect example:

(I didn’t tell you about it at the time, because I was THAT bothered.)

In September, I noticed one of my ribs had thoroughly gone rogue. It was seriously, literally out of line, this left side rib. It threw off the entire Rib Cages Are Symmetrical belief that I had been led to believe was sacred, thanks to all cartoon sketches of skeletons I’d ever seen.  So one of my ribs is a rebel. And it bothered me. My ribs aren’t all sticky-outy or anything. I don’t remember how this was discovered. But upon too much painful squashing of all ribs, repeatedly for the next months, I determined that this one was definitely wrong. The only thing left to be determined was HOW wrong, and I feared the worst, whatever that might be.

I mentioned it, finally, to Mike in November, right before Thanksgiving. He laughed at me and told me it was fine. But it wasn’t fine. It was bothering me endlessly and felt constantly bruised because I’d smash at it until it hurt. In my free time. Instead of learning to knit or cook,  I would smash the rib and stress over it.  Instead of sleeping.

I didn’t want to ask anyone. Mike had laughed at me for worrying and said it was nothing. But that’s Mike’s optimistic approach to anything, which definitely has an upside. It counterbalances me.

Anyone who might have a more informed opinion on rogue ribs might have to be entrusted with the sight of my stretch mark collection. Said collection can stop a 5 yr old in his tracks and make him ask, “WHAT? IS? THAT?” at 6:30 in the morning when I have no words or patience or answers. And, worse, was the probable forthcoming diagnosis of Something BAD, Tumor Like, Cancerish and Really Wrong.  So the idea of discussing this was out.

Instead I worried and stressed and didn’t sleep and rib-smashed and didn’t mention it again to anyone. For months.

Sleep deprivation and having to ask myself if nightly rib-smashing to the point of bruising equated to self-harm caused me to re-think the Ask Somebody idea.

So one day after church I asked Mr. Physical Therapy. His knowledge of anatomy is staggering and his face lights up when he talks about boring, ligament-y body parts described with very long words. Perfect, right? Also, I figured if he ever had to see stretch marks, he’d probably laugh and say it was nothing.  But I was hoping that wouldn’t be necessary and he’d say, “All rib cages have that weird thing on the left side. Cartoonists just leave it off in the name of simplicity.” And then the whole thing could be forgotten.  But he didn’t. So I went in later that week and he looked at it, and then x-rays and basically, it was fiiiine.

I could tell you the theory about the rib, but that wasn’t really my point. What I really got out of that was the overriding message of,  “But that’s how YOU are. This is what normal is for you. It doesn’t have to mean something is wrong or bad.” (And, bonus: zero reaction to the stretch mark collection that can halt child traffic in the hallway at dawn.)

So I’d made myself silently stressed and crazy for months over something that was indeed different, but not wrong or bad. Pointless waste of energy, sleep, and valuable time that could have resulted in knitwear.

And I’ve been doing it again.

I looked at a calendar and added up the days that Mike is gone. He’s home just about 50% of each month.  And you know….? That is different. Different from what life used to be like around here. And I’ve tried to tell myself it was wrong and bad and negative…

but maybe it isn’t.

The kids are perfectly fine. I’m not a hate-to-be-in-the-house-by-myself sort. (I’m more of a ‘yea, I can wax my eyebrows in silence without worrying about someone coming in the bathroom’ sort.)  I adore silence. It doesn’t bother me that I spent today researching how to buy the perfect baseball bat or that I’m the parent at the practices, making notes on what skills we’ll work on in the backyard that week. I LIKE that stuff.

My mom lives nearby and helps me out – something Mike is just as grateful for as I am. Years ago, it wasn’t this way. He was traveling and I had four kids in an incredibly unsafe home and no nearby relatives and it was way too much pressure every day. Each day I had to keep everyone physically safe, try to manage the details of what damage had been done to everyone at home and at school, and predict/prevent future disasters. The chaos of Kim-16yr, back then, was too much for me – or anyone –  to deal with alone. We needed an army of professionals and a lot of God.

But this?

Life is sweet. These three boys are doing great, and I enjoy getting to be with them. When Mike’s around, he spends more time with them than he normally would, so I don’t really think they’re missing out.

Mike is happiest when he calls from some other city and he tells me all about the clients he helped, and how.  For whatever reason, he doesn’t sound like that when he’s here. And when he is here, he doesn’t talk to me about clients or much of anything else anyway. I’m not any better – I don’t assume he’s interested in stuff he doesn’t ask about. I never told him the ending to the  Rib Saga because he didn’t ask and I figured if it mattered, he would have. That’s how we are. I only tell y’all all this stuff you probably don’t care about,  because you have the option of mouse-clicking away and I’ll never know.

Like the rogue rib, this all might be different than how it used to be- but still normal for us and not worth the stress of assuming it’s a sign of something awful.

I think.

Today, anyway.

Today, there’s no stressing and gradual freaking out. There’s only an appreciation for this sweet life, safe home, happy kids, and an arrangement that seems to be working out just fine for everyone.

Be Sociable, Share!

•