Tell us about a journey — whether a physical
trip you took, or an emotional one.
I’m going to
take you back in time with this one and share a piece created for a writing
course I was taking back when my boys were only babies. It is an example of
both a physical and emotional journey for me. It’s titled….
RIDING
THE MOMMY WAVE
I’m not a morning person, but when I was a
teacher for the College of the Marshall Islands (CMI) my job required me to be
on a boat by 7:20 am. Now as a mother of an infant and a toddler I’m still not
a morning person, but I’m up every day before 7 a.m. because my children
require me to be. I often think back to those reflective sunrise hours when I
traveled across the ocean to teach. Where once I rode the waves to work
teaching English to other people’s children, I now ride the waves of mommyhood,
teaching my own children how to speak, eat, potty, and have a little more
patience, understanding and virtue than even their own parents sometimes reveal.
Before I became a mom, my weekdays went
something like this: many mornings I skipped my shower, pulled on a long skirt
and T-shirt (the required dress for women at the college), grabbed my backpack,
and pedaled my bike as fast as I could to the dock. There I boarded the
military landing craft unit (LCU) that carried me from the U.S. missile defense
base of Kwajalein Atoll to the island of Ebeye. Low wooden boxes built on the
floor of the LCUs accommodated life jackets and up to ten people seated around
the top. My commute crossed five miles of the Pacific Ocean that is part of the
world’s largest lagoon. Certainly, commuting to work in a boat is not unheard
of, but the contrast between a commute across a sun-drenched Pacific in an open
air boat of cool breezes and salt spray, and the crunch times of those stuck in
traffic and angling to read the morning paper on the subway lent my daily
commute a bit of the unusual.
After the 7:20, there was no boat until
lunchtime, so I couldn’t miss it or I’d miss half a day of work. The teachers
from Kwajalein were the only ones on the last morning boat to Ebeye, and
because of those unusual circumstances (for the boats were never this empty at
other times), the commute was a time to reflect and relax before work. Some
teachers graded papers, read a book, or went over lesson plans, and I did that
when necessary. More often, I got distracted by the swish of the waves or the
pile of birds searching for fish, so instead of working, I’d gather my thoughts
for the day. I’d daydream. I’d marvel for the thousandth time at the beautiful
water, alternating blues and greens based on how high the coral grew below the
surface. For someone who was not a morning person, I couldn’t ask for a better
start to the day. It was important to have this time because I’d soon be in a
classroom of students speaking little English and hoping to succeed in an
English speaking world so they could one day rise above their impoverished
status.
This was my life for four years, until I
became pregnant with my first child. Now my days consist of shuffling my
toddler and baby boy to various playgroups, outings at the park, and on errands
with mom. Where once I rushed out the door to catch a boat, now I rush out of
bed to the living room to help my oldest son out of a wet diaper or to get some
juice. Where once I could at least relax a bit by the time I hit the boat, now
the day starts with my son’s tap, tap on my arm, asking mommy to wake up. The
demands come before I even have a chance to go to the bathroom or rub the sleep
out of my eyes. Being at times a true terrible two, my toddler will pitch a fit
if he doesn’t get what he wants when he wants it, so I may start the day off
wrong by yelling at him or sending him for a time out before I even get out of
bed. I should have more patience, but my role as a mom is the most challenging
job I’ve ever had. My daily behavior is teaching my child new lessons
constantly, and I’m often not well enough versed and practiced in the ideas I
teach as I hope to be. I don’t yet have a degree in patience or understanding
when it comes to being sleep deprived and facing a whiny two-year-old and a
needy infant.
I miss beginning the day with the
reflection off the water and the hum-drum of the boat’s engine as we slowly
pushed across the ocean. Still, I wouldn’t trade back for the world. As many
times as my day begins with an impatient two-year-old and a guilty mom who’s
just finished yelling at her precious children, it just as often begins with
smiles and hugs and a request for juice “peas,” which is my oldest son’s way of
saying, “please.” If I was still taking the boat to CMI, I would have missed my
youngest son’s first giggle and hearing all my mom friends rave about his lovey
nature, bright blue eyes, and the joy they get from visiting with him.
Even though taking the morning boat to
work at CMI was relaxing and an unforgettable experience, being a mommy carries
me to new heights as an individual and a woman. I’ve learned so much about
myself and the kind of person I want to be from my children because I see
myself through their eyes every day.
Every experience is an opportunity for learning if I’ll just allow it to
be. At times when my life as a mom seems unsuccessful and I feel like going back
to teaching English, I take a minute to imagine myself on the boat to CMI and
reflect on how the surrounding waves always take me where I need to go if I
just ride them out and enjoy the experience.
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