letting go

I hold on to a lot. As if that isn't painfully obvious. I hold on to my children. I hold on to past wrongs. I hold on to the memory of my babies. I hold on to my rules. Like I said, a lot. This summer held several moments when I would look over at the kids and feel like I was holding them back from some quintessential kid moments. Fire fly catching or dirty feet or staying up late or going to bed smelling of chlorine or, or, or, or.... But I like my bed time, I do. And I like my clean sheets probably even more than that. It's an issue I'm retaining from childhood... Where I would literally sleep on the floor in my room rather than dirty my sheets because I hadn't showered yet. True story. It still amazes me that I now only wash my hair every five days or so because that was like a major thing for me when I was younger....

I let go some days and let them play late and go to bed dirty..... not a lot, of course. But every now and again. The other night we were having our Fitz Friday and there was this massive mound of dirt in the lot next to their house and you could just practically see the pull that mound had for the kids and so.... I let them. Well mostly Matt let them and assured me they would be fine and we would bathe them and the world wouldn't implode.... But they went off into the dirt. They pushed diggers and trucks and climbed and excavated and I was assured that for years to come they will remember the night their mother let them get filthy. It's a rare occurrence, for sure. But for a few hours on a Friday night they played so contentedly in the dirt.... under the sunset (such a gorgeous one it was! These September skies have been killing it!). And it was sort of awesome, even if they were disgusting.
Don't worry.... they stripped off all their clothes upon entering the house and all got showers before being promptly sent to bed. I didn't let go that much.