still us

I don't talk much about Mike in these posts. You have read many an intimate detail about our family life, and goodness me, to think of the secret soft parts of our children that I have here exposed...! But when it comes to the beloved adults in my life, Homemade Time offers pretty limited information.

Let's put an end to that. Just for tonight.

I would like to tell you something about Mike: I love him. A lot! I like him too. We spent 26 hours together over the weekend, and friends, I am happy to report: I think he's the bee's knees. The cat's meow. Or is it pajamas? No matter. He's both.

Except he doesn't like cats very much, which I already knew but learned about in greater detail while sitting on a flat boulder just off a hiking trail. The autumn leaves you see here are what I was looking at while we talked about the value and limitations of life with animals. (Jim the Fish merited little comment). 

We dropped the children off with my mom in Lancaster and drove to an area north of Reading where we spent much of the day hiking to and from a rocky outcrop on the Appalachian Trail called The Pinnacle. 

We had dinner in the one lively spot we could find in desolate, sad Reading before going to see a movie. A movie! And then we talked about the movie. It was as if the Mike and Meagan who existed before the children were born had been carrying on in an alternate universe all this time. A portal opened up, we stepped right through, and there we were. It was us. We're still us.

We still like to walk and talk. We like to talk about music, religion, books, the future, the past, and all the things that matter most. We still like to buy candy at a convenience store and stash it in my purse on the way to the movies. Mike still makes me laugh so hard I guffaw, and I guffaw all the harder when he doesn't get what's so funny. And all that talking I mentioned? We still get lost (so many times!) because we're talking and not paying attention.

It was a great relief, and a great joy, to find our old selves right where we had left them, just waiting for us to get rid of those kids for a little while so we could slip back into being us.

I like that my 101st blog post is about this blessed discovery of continuity, of a love and way of being together that is the same and yet growing all the time. In the noise and diverted attentions of everyday life with little ones, it can be hard to know. Part of me, I confess, was a little scared about what we would find in the forgotten hills of Pennsylvania...but it wasn't a bit scary. To live for a day and a night as a couple, rather than co-parents, was a gift. 

And do you know what else was a gift? Staying in bed in the morning until we felt like getting out of it! Lazing about until 8 am! How outrageously satisfying.

So then we drove home and I started to miss our babies. We pulled up to my mom's house and they weren't there! We soon found them at a downtown playground. While I was anticipating a dramatic run across the lawn into each others' arms (and had to stop myself from sprinting when I caught site of them on a seesaw with my mom), they acted as if we'd been gone for twenty minutes. I went in for a hug and in response Gabriel asked if I'd push him on the swing now. Do it high, okay? Really high!

So I did. Some really high-flying big kids came and joined us. They did amazing tricks, leaping and somersaulting off the swings. We happy five applauded and shouted our approval.


My mom made all this possible. Oh, she is a treasure! The children adore her, and so do we. Besides being a little tired, I think she survived her solo flight with the kids beautifully. (At least, that's what I'm telling myself, so I can keep up this whole everything-was-fantastic! story line). 

We spent the afternoon visiting with neighbors and friends, comparing notes on apple butter making, schools, gardens, kid sleeping arrangements, mutual friends, and exchanging hand-me-downs. Watching the kids run in and out of houses, clambering up and down porch steps. Lots of easy, peaceful family fun. This in itself is a delight, but on Sunday afternoon, in the middle of it all, I felt something more rooting down inside me. A quiet sparkle of refreshed confidence. I love my husband and he loves me. It began with us; there is a very good reason we are making all of this together.