Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Holding Time

Another month is ending, not quite soon enough, another month I wouldn't choose to relive if given the choice.  Not horrible, but a struggle almost every day, just to get through.  I remember from Laura Ingalls Wilder's The Long Winter that her father strung a rope from the house to the barn and used it to guide him through blizzards, so he wouldn't get blown off course and freeze to death feet from his house, walking in circles.  I string myself a similar rope of small happinesses to guide me back to a place where living is, if not a constant joy, at least not a constant effort. 

My rope is made up, in large part, of the fresh smell and soft cheeks of my children, of their sweet small hands around my neck and their squeaky small voices in my ear.  Of my pride in the big boy for always pursuing justice and trying so hard to do the right thing.  The smaller boy fighting his own emotional roller coaster but trying hard, so hard, not to lose his temper.  The twins' enviable love for each other, their long periods of play divided by small bursts of ridiculous fighting.  My guiderope is also made of friends and family and even the structure of school, helping me put one foot in front of the other when it is all too tempting to just stand in the blizzard and let it have me.  It is the promise of the future, in small things as well as large - a trip, a graduation, a change in weather.  It's not a bad rope, actually.  I think it will do.

And when I reach the end of this rope (not the end of MY rope, that's an entirely different thing), I know life will still have challenges.  I know I will still have days that are hard to wade through.  But, hopefully, there will again be times that I would capture if I could, times sweet enough that I will wish I could relive them again and again.  Times I want to hold in my hands and keep safe.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

American highway

I drive home late, so very tired, and the sound and fury of tires on pavement lull me into a peaceful reverie.  Time out of time, time and place suspended as I listen to bad pop music and have four full lanes all to myself.  This freeway, ubiquitous product of American rushing and sprawling, could be anywhere.  I imagine myself on I-10 in LA, on I-5 in Seattle, on I-40 in Tennesee.  I am anywhere and everywhere, and for these moments I am alone in the best sense of the word.  I can imagine my mistakes yet unmade, my challenges far in the future, and feel only the love and the goodness that surrounds me, often hard to find under the competing noise of my life's current upheaval.  The motion of the car soothes me, and although I yearn for home and bed and rest, I don't really want to take my exit.  I want to wrap myself up in this moment and this feeling for just a little longer.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

House of Cards

One bad day makes everything feel so untenable.  I feel like a big mistake I made a while back may color everything forever.  I do feel remorse, but I don't know if or how to express it.  I can't think of any way to make amends.  I try to live right, to be good now, to not make more mistakes.  I know that doesn't repair anything, but I can't think what else to do.  I'm afraid, I'm so angry with myself, and I don't know what to do with any of it.  It gets harder and harder to hold everything up.


Thursday, January 07, 2010

Balancing act, redux

I live a dual life, forgoing sleep to be mom by day and me by night.  It seems untenable and yet I am happy, happier than I have been in a long long while.  At home, I play with the kids and listen to songs that wrench my heart.  When out, I let my hair down, play the fool without guilt or fear, and it feels good to be myself.  Home again, home again, and still alone, I don't feel lonely but instead revel in the freedom of doing what I want, when I want.  Is it so awful?  I know there's something broken, something I'm not sure I care to fix.  I don't understand, literally can not relate to people caring about each other in the way I'm supposed to want to, the way I once did.  But I don't feel the lack, I don't yearn any more.  I don't miss it.  I don't want it.

Monday, January 04, 2010

Absence Really Does Make the Heart Grow Fonder

I have never been happier to say goodbye to my kids than I was this morning when I dropped them off at school.  It's been 17 days of snow and sniffles and too much sugar and not enough listening and way way too much fighting.  I came home and lazed decadently around the house.  Paid some bills, took a nap, curled up with several blankets since my ancient house lets in more air than a tent.  It was slightly-boring heaven.  The big surprise was that when the kids came home, only a few hours later, I was absolutely delighted to see them.  It was straight out of an airport scene from Love, Actually.  I felt like it had been years.  They really are amazing little people.  I guess I just haven't had enough distance to see it clearly for a while.