Wednesday, October 17, 2012

The Search for Something to Say

Come on Christy, think. I sit at my computer day after day trying to think of something, anything I can say which would offer something unique to the world, but alas I am not overly intelligent, witty or clever. So I sit and struggle…ridiculing myself all the while.

“Mom…” Then the day really arrives, I’ve accomplished nothing already and the distractions begin. Getting the children ready for school, packing lunch and preparing coffee, ensuring everyone knows I love them before I send them off for their day.

They are gone…a few hours of solace to do as I will. “Momma!”

Sigh. The little one is bounding with energy searching for her stuffed kitty, cartoons, snacks and attention. Time to be her teacher, mentor and playmate…finally she is worn, but unfortunately so am I. We have our lunch and snuggle for a few minutes before it is time for the trip to retrieve the kindergartner.

Again home, sigh of relief, but he is full of spirited vigor telling me of his day; sharing his joy and sometimes aggravation. I go over his studies and ensure he performed his best and I am relieved today there are no discussions of playing in the bathroom or talking while he was to be completing assignments. He is off with a snack and little sister in tow, playing giving me…freedom? No the house screams for my notice as well. The laundry, dishes, floors and more…everything slips over me in an authoritative embrace, demanding I observe and resolve every issue.

Sweat gleaming on my brow reminds me I have forgotten the exercise I must complete six days a week without excuse. My waistline and heart once again petition that I react without fail. So off for an hour of more intense labor and sweat, I trudge my way through an hour of complaint which has been interrupted by phone calls and children seeking lost toys. I continue until my hour is complete even though it has taken me an hour and a half.

Shower…sweet reprieve... “Mom!”

“Please guys just ten minutes. I’m in the shower!” Then I see them, eyes peeking through the curtain and I know I will not have a moment’s peace until I no longer wish for one. Forget the shower I am clean enough, my hair will be in a pony loop for the rest of the evening, so much for trying to look nice for my sweetheart, which reminds me of the time. Darn. I haven’t even started thinking about dinner.

A quick dressing and off to the kitchen for some staring into the abyss of the freezer. No matter what I choose it will not be what he wants, so I wait. He comes home beautifully drenched from the hard day’s work and I have a pang of guilt when he asks, “What’s for dinner?”

After a back and forth game of ‘I don’t cares’ he takes the reigns and prepares dinner for us all and again I feel shame for not having done it already. He of course is understanding and offers me amnesty, but it is too late, the regret sinks in.

Dinner is finished, dishes done once again…time to drown the kids in bubbles and play. Baths are over, time for stories and snuggle. Kids are asleep. Eight thirty, not too shabby. There is still time, maybe I can…nope. I see the look of love in his eyes and remember how kind and sweet he is. I give into our affection and …okay he is asleep. Now I think maybe I can write just some little something, but all my brain can register is how my feet ache with vengeance and my eyes burn as if salt was poured in them.

I snuggle back into the warmth of my husband’s embrace. He who is the quieter of all my storms. The one who shushes the demons inside me who say I have failed at this day and replaces those judgments with reassurance and realization that I have spent the day doing everything I needed to do.

I will find time to write and be the author I long to be, but life is spinning my stories before my very eyes and through my very soul. It is molding my words with feeling and experience that one day I will miss. These hurried days will be but memories which will wrench my heart as they pour onto the paper. My life will be quiet someday and my hours of busy work will culminate my search for what it is I need to say and how I will say it. I would much rather rack my brains to find minutes now, than to be showered with occasion that is wasted on obtuse imagination, rather than genuine depth.

No comments:

Post a Comment