Catch and Release

At dusk, the lightning bugs emerge. It is well past bedtime, but we go out anyway. My son runs barefoot through the grass with a jar, chasing the disappearing lights. He catches one, then three, then none as he removes the lid for more. He loses another when he adds grass, then loses the grass when he tips the jar over his prey. As night falls, he figures out the order of things. With his one catch trapped in a jungle of lawn clippings, I prod my little boy towards the house. He places the jar carefully on the dresser at the foot of his bed.

The house is quiet in the summer night. My mind is not. The future is too uncertain. It pricks at the skin of my feet and eyes, coaxing me to get moving.

When a woman has her first baby, she gives birth to more than just the kid. A couple of mothers are born, too.  One is a nurturer. She knows in her bones her child is better for the simple gift of her attention. She is made for care. Instinct guides the tender fullness of her focus.

The other is a grizzly bear who rips the throat from any threat. Crafty and determined, she will bust through ice to catch that fish for her hungry cub. When grit is called for, mama bear comes growling from her cave. Instinct guides the sensory vigilance of her focus.

My hide grows thick. My claws are as sharp as ever.
 

In the night when the dog is walked and the lunches packed and the kid has been kissed and cuddled to sleep, the thin remains of the nurturer in me drift to Neverland. This is when my brain's fierce protectiveness awakens. In the dark, the planning begins. A list of tasks awaits me on the desk of an office I am always careful to tidy before leaving for the day. Order improves efficiency. If I can tick items off the list, there may be a small window of time to make arrangements and order books for the classes in which I have enrolled in the fall. Drafting the 30-point co-parenting document required for divorce has fallen to me. In the ever-shrinking summer months before the semester begins, I must prepare this family for the next tectonic shift.

The system is only barely working. Tasks spill over the thin edges of the to-do list. They flood every moment, every spare breath. I must find a way to increase my income to support this child. Steady, focused forward motion is required.  There is no drift here, no feeling around for my bliss or calling. I know very little about business, about job market trends, about spin. It is time for me to learn, and so I will learn.

The clock drags its way deeper into my precious night.

 

What am I missing? My grizzly brain will not ease its grip. It scans the horizons for dangers as well as opportunities. It works to force the germination of solutions not yet ready to push towards the light. 

 

These things are too big for this bed, but they belong nowhere else. They are mine. I want to begin re-arranging the desk space in my room to prepare for studying. I want to get up to finish one of the eight books I will need to read, or work through a section of the parenting plan. I force my body still in the bed despite the pull to rise and hammer away at a project that will provide a better foundation for my child and me.

I remember the lightning bug in my son's room. My mind flits past this. I am already scheduling the next training and untangling the next knot. 

Then I pause. The grizzly mama backs for a moment into her cave. In the quiet, I remember. On my son's dresser, a living creature is trapped in glass. 

I creep through the silent house with the jar. Out in the damp heat, crickets sing to the crescent moon. I open the lid and shake free the grass and the single insect. It disappears instantly. 

Sleep comes. 

The fierce mama has been on the front lines for over a year now. Her vigilance has kept us safe and her craftiness is moving us towards more abundant feeding grounds. Allowing her to be in charge comes at a cost, however. The one threat she fails to notice is her own self. 

 

The tougher I become, the further I have to travel to find my source of tenderness. This patch of earth with its inhabitants creates a small circle of life around me. To flourish, it requires the presence of the nurturer, too. In more ways than I ever imagined, I have to become two parents to my boy. I did not know I was capable of being a provider and a protector, but now I am called on to take on these roles. I am, however, still the mother whose arms fit perfectly around her little boy. That mother is the one called upon to show her son how to love this mystifying world.