recovery

We're in auto-pilot, after three+ days with all my in-laws (When I say "all," I mean the immediate ones - if it was truly "all," I'd still be hung over, as I married into the two biggest families in Montana. Seriously.). The visit was good - Blake's getting old enough to be plenty of entertainment, though he also had some attitude with Rachel, big Blake's sister who has seen him least.

For some reason, this visit was harder to prepare for, and I'm not sure why. It could be due to seeing all the immediate family at the same time, which can be exhausting for me. It could be due to some random seasonal thing. It could be due to my heightened awareness that every time I see all the Morstads, I'm doing it without my very reason for knowing them. I love my in-laws - we were plunged into deeper relationship with Daddy Blake's death, which was a blessing in horrific circumstances - but my emotions are always mixed when seeing them. They love me back, praise my parenting, and are not overly unreasonable with the degree to which they want to spoil little Blake (well, at least they are no worse than my own parents). And yet there's a "but..."

It's hard to pinpoint, hard to acknowledge, and hard to talk about. Perhaps it just puts my aloneness in starker contrast to what it should be.

I do look forward to times when Erin & Rachel and I can have one on one time together. Every time I talk to them on the phone or in person, I get a sense of the potential in our relationships. I think we could be more than just in-laws - I truly think we could be good friends. I look forward to developing that kind of intimacy with them, though I know it will take time.

Until then, God's given us a lot of grace for one another. They look past my strictness with their grandson and nephew, and I look past their need to sneak him treats before dinner. God's blessed me with an amazing family, and I'm proud to call myself a Morstad. I just wish there were one more here...

So, tomorrow we are off to get ourselves some coffee or hot chocolate, and I'm going to start training little Blake on sorting laundry. Or sweeping. Or back rubs that don't involve him actually walking on me. That, or we'll plug in something mindless and cute and rot our brains in front of the TV. It all depends on how strong that coffee is.