On Balance, Off-Balance

It is the flight back after a whirlwind vacation.

It is the day home with the kids after a lifetime spent at work (what felt like) every single day.

It is the return to school after summer.

It is the re-entry to the overnight after enough time dayside to get adjusted to, get used to, get addicted to, working days.

The landing is a little rocky. It is quiet, and a little lonely, in the apartment at midnight. It is dark, and just slightly unsettling, on the street at 1am. It is different to dress for the hours when others are sleeping. It is deserted when I approach the building--the same building that I left at the end of my day shift less than twelve hours ago.

But I have survived the return from vacations to reality, and the stares of both stay-at-home moms and nannies who didn't quite know what to make of my being around, and the start of every school year, so I will survive this too. There will be days when the darkness will be peaceful. There will be days when the daytime freedom will be useful. There will be days when the morning sleep will be glorious.

And just when I have completed, or completely accepted, my re-entry, my journey will likely change again. There will be days--and nights--when I can't help but feel washed up. But thankfully, also ones that remind me that nope, I'm not washed up yet...

Still About Time

I've been working a lot of day shifts these past few weeks. It's not that I have a new job, not even a new shift, really--just a little filling in and helping out when and where I am needed. My kids are thrilled to have me around for morning wake-up and school prep. And I am thrilled to have time in my bed in the wee hours of the dark night.

My body, however, has not been so quick to follow suit. It doesn't want to give up going to sleep right after dinner (part of my prep before an overnight). It still wakes me up after about four hours of sleep (thankfully, not terrified that I've overslept and missed going to work!), reminding me that maybe a solid four-hour stretch is enough. It still has me eating little meals all day, rather than sticking to the traditional breakfast/lunch/dinner hours.

Maybe the body is just not as quickly adaptable as the brain. But I have a feeling that they are both pretty adaptable. And perhaps, even more important, they are both pretty protective. Turning one's hours upside down isn't easy. So, maybe all of these little quirks are simply my entire being protecting me from becoming so comfortable with day shifts that the (inevitable) shift back is a complete (and completely unsettling) U-turn. Maybe my body and brain are actually working together to keep me prepared in ways I could never manage on my own, especially once I am caught up in the schedule I am living today.

So, I manage the middle-of-the night wake-ups. And I crash sooner after dinner than I probably need to. But I go back to sleep, and I gobble up whatever extra hours I get with my family. Because it won't be long until I am back to being nocturnal. And I will be grateful for my body keeping me ready.

Paper Airplane Parent

I go to meet-the-teacher, and curriculum night, and parent/teacher conferences (well, most of the time).

I make (or order) dinners, make (or leave options for) lunches, make (or text advice about) breakfasts.

I remind kids to brush (when I remember to).

I encourage kids to read (though probably not enough).

I proofread homework, but don't rewrite it, listen to speeches, but don't restate them, hear about problems, and try to analyze them rather than jump in to solve them.

I look for the best schools, and then scramble to work toward them, look for the best opportunities, and then help my kids prepare for them, hope for the best grades, and then waver between yelling and crying when they don't happen.

I care as much as most, but am involved only as much as some. I plan my time to do as much as I can. But sometimes, there's not enough time to build a helicopter. Most of the time, I find, there's about enough time, and enough energy, for making a paper airplane.

Now, as we all know, most paper airplanes, even the simplest of them, fly at least a little. Their path may not be long, or high, or beautiful, but they do cover distance, and require little more than a piece of paper and a few minutes of folding in order to accomplish their mission.

And quite often, in life, that's all we really have time for. We fold the best we can. And then we put our creation out there, sometimes with rousing success, sometimes with straight-to-the-ground failure. We may not have changed the world, but in that moment, we have tried. My paper airplane won't be able to pick up my kids when they fall flat, but its flight will wake them up enough so that maybe they won't fall at all. My paper airplane won't give me a constant view of their progress, but it will land me in the middle often enough for them to know I'm there. My paper airplane won't fix much, but it will remind my kids, and me, that sometimes fixing is simply about folding a little differently.

So, I keep folding, hoping that the effort that I send into the air will be enough. Let's face it, even from a helicopter, enough isn't always enough. So, if I can maintain a good view, and keep from being crushed, I guess a paper airplane, at least some days, will do just fine for me.