Hiding

At the moment I am hiding in the bathroom. No lie. I didn't lock the kids up somewhere nor are they clawing and crying at the door, I'm not that bad. Beanie is watching a show and Minnow is taking his quick morning nap. I have but five minutes to myself after I jump in and out of the shower; the only thing making me feel like a living person. Brushing my hair and teeth help too. If I happen to have a second to use the fabulous Burt's Bee's Wild Lettuce Toner I'm in absolute spa mode. Shikai Yuzu lotion on my feet? I'm transported back to Burlington. Loomis Street sitting on the couch by that big back window. Lounging, black coffee cooling on that little wooden whale table, NPR, oats and soy milk, computer without Facebook. Fearless squirrels travelling back and forth on the other side of the glass. Working that lotion onto my chapped feet, my biggest concern of the moment. How to condition my feet better? Hmm... Forget it. Bike ride, off to the gym, a vegan scone from Stone Soup, coffee from Uncommon Grounds, Sevendays, the Crow, work, make a bunch of money, guilt-free midnight nachos at the Pub and Brewery with Jason, beers, sleep, wake up, repeat. Ahh...

Of course I'm trying to forget that this time is sandwiched between years of complete loss of identity, breakdowns with no bottom, dark holes of loneliness. Life was not so perfectly uncomplicated for long and even when it was weren't we feeling map less? No course set, anxious for life to really begin?

So here it is. Days in and out full of exhaustion, stress, kisses, dirty diapers, bedtime stories, bubble baths, tears, whines, first steps, heart shape waffles, allergies, bumps and bruises, hiding in the bathroom from it all... Stepping out and examining the current chapter, looking back and forward again. Breathing. Smiling (sometimes through tears). Opening the door and running towards the sound of your own life. The one you wouldn't trade for anything in the world. Thankful for all the different seasons of your crazy life. Thankful for a few minutes to hide. Thankful for this Yuzu lotion.

A Bit of Melodrama...

Survival Skills by Kay Ryan

Here is the virtue
in not looking up
you will be the one
who finds the overhang
out of the sun
and something for a cup.
You will rethink meat;
you will know you have
to eat and will eat.
Despair and hope
you keep remote. You will not
think much about the boat
that sank or other boats.
When you can, you sleep.
You can go on nearly forever.
If you are ever delivered
you are not delivered.
You know now, you were
always a survivor.

..........................................................................

Now, I'm really truly not comparing motherhood to being shipwrecked or insinuating my life is straught with substantial difficulty and that I am, in essence, a survivor of something more than the common cold but..... Damn. This is hard. (I always feel the need to tag on "but I love it!" to a statement like that. My mother guilt kicking in full effect, like admitting hardship means not taking pleasure in every single moment equals bad mom. The same way my mom says "just kidding!" when she slips that things might not be perfectly peachy. It's in our genes.)

Well these days I'm overflowing with honest to goodness exhaustion. These days are not long they are endless. This season is not difficult it is impossible. I do, I hate winter this year. I hate the sickness that circles our home and paralyzes our lives. I hate the negative degree weather that I can't step foot out in. I hate the three feet deep snow with it's ice crunch crust that traps me six feet into the backyard. I hate the two foot long icicles dangling from our roof daring us to step forth. But more than the weather I hate being a wimp. I hated more than anything being sick this week and helpless. I hated calling Jason and begging and then demanding he come home and help (and then hanging up. He did come home.) I hate watching these babies get sick every month. I hate being negative when I'm generally a hardcore look on the bright side-er. The sun will come and melt this snow (and this frozen unenthusiastic heart) and I will walk! Walk for god's sake outdoors again. For now I survive it. Keep my head down if only to lay my chin on top of a perfect little head. Or two.