I held my breath this December as the new year hovered. I’ve no issues with resolutions or the holidays, my trepidation is in the echoes of change, these passages I am coming to know as a mom. I did not want, was not ready, am not ready, for this door to close. I know (though a part of me even as I type this thinks, “If his vasectomy somehow failed, if something slipped through, somehow, someway, it would be ok.”) that Finley is my last.
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We’re in the midst of the Adirondack winter. Late January always teases, making me think we’re rounding a corner, when really it’s just new waves of ice and snow. Mornings bleed together, dark and frigid, and then night comes. I find myself wondering if life is suspended in ice, if all my hopes will somehow be miraculously fulfilled with the spring—the routine will get easier, the challenges will soften under the warmth of the new sun. When a new storm blows through I realize it can’t possibly all just wait for spring. My time cannot be best spent murmuring, “Soon, soon it will settle.” Turning away from the unpacked boxes and the tension that comes home from work each day I look through the…
I won’t say, “Just as I think I have the hang of it…” because I know I don’t. The closest I get to having the hang of it is having the wherewithal to keep my knees loose so that I can sprint, duck, twist or hurl myself in whatever direction the next moment demands. So, no, I don’t have the hang of it. I did for just a moment think I understood me.
Categories: Me
My life is measured in a staccato fashion, with the hours being broken into minutes and the minutes being broken into directives. Orange juice. Snack. Wipe me. Hold me. Ad copy. Furnace service. Hygiene (rarely mine) I am trying to be present. Just this morning, with Sean away for work, I was struggling to get the girls ready for school. Finley won’t wear but one pair of shoes, Briar gave her a different pair. Ave can’t zip her coat and needs to know which shoe goes on which foot. Briar get hungry at the door. I was ready to yell, but something made me stop. It was as if time froze and I held my tongue. I dropped my head, looked back up at…
Categories: Me
I’ve not written in far too long, but there was a thought process involved in the absence. Our house went on the market in July. It has been an ordeal to keep it show-ready and free of thick disillusionment as we’ve been battered by a dead market and insulting offers. Toys, clothes and dishes have all been kept in their places. We’ve made our beds, wiped down the shower and hidden any semblance of a personality. The girls have been stoic as box after box of things have been shuttled to dark corners of the attic. Trips to a storage unit, walk-thrus of other houses, not to mention the innumerable showings of our house have led to Briar say things like, “Mom, can we…
Categories: Me