Mom angst

Charlie is coming home.

I have been feeling a strange malaise the last couple of weeks. It's hard to explain, but my default mood of happiness has abandoned me. Which is odd, because it's summer and I have been able to indulge in lots of my favourite activities. Playing with the grandchildren, evenings spent with the local offspring, lunches with women friends, a satisfying amount of work, outings with Jeff, outdoor concerts, puddling around the garden, riding the bikes, lots of time for reading, a calm and tidy house, exciting trips to anticipate. These things usually bring me joy. But lately, when I am left to my own devices I revert to inactivity and mindless diversions and a general feeling of ennui. My lazy self is gaining dominance.

Ennui.
Of French origin.
Describing EXACTLY how I feel.
Boredom, languor, listlessness, tedium.
States of being for which I normally have no tolerance.
Antonyms: bouyancy, enthusiasm, energy, vigour.
I usually lean towards the antonym end of the scale.

What, then, is my problem?
The only anomaly on the horizon of which I can think is that Charlie is coming home for a few short days before deployment to Iraq.
Maybe I am not as mentally steeled against the prospect as I imagined.
He is, after all, my baby.
Albeit a strong and manly, tending towards the ornery, baby.

Charlie came at the end of a particularly horrendous pregnancy. For him, I endured nine months of constant vomiting and twice-daily self-administered heparin shots in my ever-expanding stomach. My dear Dr. Weil called it my "psychadelic stomach." It was every shade of the bruising spectrum, from purple to green to yellow. I had hoped to have another baby after Charlie, thinking he would be a lonely little soul, six years behind Annie. But it was not to be. Just as I had feared, Charlie would be almost like an only child at times, needing friends to fill the place that his three siblings often filled for each other.
He was an angelic baby, the delight of all of our lives. Blue eyes, blond curly hair, and a happy disposition. He loved pieces of string, empty boxes, playing with friends, and being outside. If you were to accuse us of doting on him, you would be correct.

As the years went by, Charlie was shaped to some extent by the people who loved him, his family and friends, and by the difficulties we have all shared. He has always been gregarious and charismatic, drawing people to him in numbers that are unprecedented in our family. The last few years were quite troublesome in many ways, yet he always had that fan base, especially at church, of people who loved him unconditionally. For which I will always be grateful, because sometimes they loved him when I found it hard. When he comes home on leave now, his time is spent frenetically connecting with those friends. And I'm okay with it.

Here he is, on his last leave, at Abby's pizza with a whole squadron of friends.


Charlie in one of his favourite roles, that of uncle.


Charlie, songwriter and musician.


This was at the dance festival in Portland. Charlie was well known for his break-dancing and hip-hop skills. Turns out he dances a mean ballroom too.


Brother and sister, before their birthday outing to see Rascal Flatts. Did I mention they are both big country music fans?


Charlie the patriot.


Charlie the Marine. Dead centre of the photo.


Charlie loves to have fun. Especially on roller coasters.


Now what?
Might have to hit Jeff up for some TLC.
For a change.