In five years (2012):
My children will be *three, five, six, and eleven. I will be homeschooling all at levels appropriate to them, with the world as our classroom. There will be long, happy, fulfilling days of being outside enjoying and studying nature, and content evenings surrounded by books, board games, and family chatter.
My wild self will be nurtured by being outside, my deepest, inner self completely content to be teaching, sharing what I know and learning even as I teach them, and my parent self always, always, revels in them and helping them through whatever ages and stages they are in. I will be at peace, doing what I know I need to be doing, what I am called to do, with my life.
My days of not being well will be far behind me, because the changes I have been making in the last few weeks will be paying off in better health far before then, as, indeed, they already are. I will have fewer allergies, fewer problems with my fibromyalgia, and less worry about my health as a whole, knowing that I am eating as I need to be.
So I will continue to slowly eliminate allergens from my diet, and move away from chemical-laden and processed foods to simpler, healthier choices. Removing two of the most common allergens (wheat, dairy) has already resulted in a dramatic turn-around, making me able to actually envision a future in which I feel well. A month ago I could not.
In ten years (2017):
My lifemate and I will have been together for seventeen years. It is hard to imagine that span of time, with where I have been and the much shorter relationships I witnessed as a child. Can we do it? Some days, I think not, but I know that, underneath everything else, and, first and foremost, we are friends, which is what it takes: true friendship, and commitment.
To get there I know I have to continue to fight fair. I must resist the occasional urge to push buttons just to have a good disagreement with someone, which, thank goodness, is something I feel less inclined to do than I have in the past. Through it all, I must keep the sense of the ridiculous that has served me so well thus far, to be able to set aside the emotions of the moment in favor of laughing at how completely silly we are being. No one lives with anyone else in close proximity and is never annoyed by them or something they do, especially not two introverts who feel strongly that "Hell is other people at breakfast." It is natural, and I must remember, and be understanding, of not only him, but myself. I am sure we can do it.
Our children will be *eight, ten, eleven, and sixteen. Still homeschooling. Time to be nearly ready for college, for our daughter. We're just making ends meet now but I can see things slowly improving and have faith we will be in a good place by this point.
They should all, by then, know how to cook, sew, and grow things, understand the value of hard work, love the Earth, and each other. My job will be to continue nurturing their creativity, exploration of self, and world discovery. To let go slowly, with grace, but always have a hug and time to listen when they need it.
I will have more of my own time, and be able read, meditate, and create in accordance with my bliss. I am sure writing will express somewhere. It is what I do, I put no limits on it, no desire, other than improvement and use, for it is what it is: my gift, which serves the world in any capacity I am called at that moment, sometimes going dormant when I need to focus on something else, but always humming softly beneath my skin.
In twenty years (2027):
My children will all have embarked on their own lives. I will know the heart of the mother who hopes she has given them all the tools they need to navigate the world successfully, aching over their grown-up versions of falling down and scraping their knees, wishing it were as easy as when a hug made everything better again. I will scrapbook with the pictures of them I have, and wish I had taken more, telling the stories of their lives on those pages. I wonder now if I will feel my heart as heavy as it is this moment with the awareness that they will be grown and gone.
I hope at least one of them chooses to have children so that I can again know the pure joy of big sloppy baby kisses and hugs from sticky toddlers, but I will never let them 'feel' that pressure from me. Their lives are their own.
I will have been with my lifemate for as long as I was on the earth before I met him. That's hard to wrap my mind around. It feels like he was always with me and always will be, yet this would be longest relationship in my experience, not just for myself, but within my family.
My time will be my own, and I will read, and roam the wild at will. And somehow, somewhere, I will write about it.
© Lune Wolfsong, Sept 20, 2007 in reponse to a Write On prompt. * = I've had another little son since this was originally written.