scribblechic

It is an ongoing conversation, a place of home. The comfort of familiarity over the lure of possibility. The temptation to move tickles the quiet of our ease into an enthusiastic wondering. The balance of our uncertainties, little voices of worry dressed as practicalities, caution us against impulsivity.

I’ve been making spreadsheets of change for as long as I can recall; notebook paper scratches tallying choices into an accounting of probability. Almost every outward decision stems from an internal question of wants and needs, responsibilities and opportunities.

In motherhood I have come to list my children’s hopes and fears in the same space as my own. Inseparable and unequal, there is an imbalance of importance; like a hand that lingers too long against the scale until it is impossible to weigh the value of change. Do I guard my children’s fears more closely than their dreams? What of my own or my husbands?

Are we selfish in our wants or crippling in our protection? A lesson in change or an unnecessary experience of loss? Do we wait for life to pull us into change or march fearlessly by a map of our own design?

My children cannot imagine a home without their friends anymore than I can imagine never moving. In the same way they crave stability, I itch toward the temptation to explore.

For now our decision teeters between the freedom to choose for ourselves and the burden of choosing for our children. Drafting daydreams and counting excuses.

Tagged: Family, Home, Musings