Strictly Fiction

Once upon a time, I was a girl with many dreams. An ambitious girl, I set goals every year and worked to achieve them. I had plans. Not all of my goals and plans came to fruition, but I was okay with that and adjusted where necessary. Life happened. I grew up. I did not follow every planned route, but took some great scenic back roads that took me to some wonderful places. All was well. Then, I got pregnant. It was like driving off a cliff into a deep sea of intoxicating, pure love. I was officially derailed. Goals? Gone. Priorities? Completely shaken and reset. Plans? Erased and replaced.

They are school-age now, and I'm trying to remember how to be human.

Surely, there are things that motivate me outside of motherhood. Surely, there is something important to me in addition to my children. Surely, there is a life to be lived that will show my children that there is more to me than just Mommy.

I'm trying to remember.

Little moments of happiness,
like dust motes
floating;
we intersect,
I smile,
a second of perfection.
Those are the pieces
that will flash before my eyes.
All of them,
someday,
dying with me.
Just as it should be.

I wanted to write something every day
and pledged
to start on the first of the month.
Only it's the third now, the third of April,
and I've just now
remembered
the pledge.
The days bunch together
blur together
whir together
and then
it's Monday again,
all over again,
the to-do list looming
the commitments
blooming
and where does the time go?
Where does it go?
I sometimes wonder,
will it always feel this way?
Or will there come a point,
someday,
when I take a deep breath
and let it out,
let it out slowly
peacefully
without thoughts of
all
there is to do,
all
the things to organize
all
the things I've probably
forgotten.
I suppose that might be my dying breath,
but perhaps it will be
a good one.

and in the night
the calm eludes me
I try not to think
not to worry
not to sink into
what-if
and
why-me
but even without the
words
or pictures,
thoughts
or sounds...
it's there.
It's there.
the calm eludes me
sleep will too,
tonight.
and tomorrow
will come and go
all the same.

i can feel everything all at once,
she said
i am scared and aware of
this world so big, so wonderful,
so tumultuous, so alive

pent up breath,
always
perched on the cusp
because the motion is dizzying
no matter how tight you hang on

the only obstacles are the ones we
allow
but no one want wants to admit that
and fewer will learn that they, too
can move forward

my barbed bridge over troubled waters,
you stirred those waves yourself,
made the passage a difficult one
and

i chose you
all the same.

i forgive
and it begets
an ill-advised trust
but trust it is,
all the same.

perhaps the comfort of the bottom rung
is in knowing that the fall is done.
acceptance or complacence?
all the same.

i am stronger for the wear.

I’m brewing a pot of mid-afternoon coffee in hopes that it will carry me through the rest of the day. When I’m tired like this, I’ve got no patience nor stamina; tolerance to all things noisy is reduced to nothing. Knowing I’ll feel this way doesn’t seem to be much of a deterrent, however, even when I pointedly remind myself of the near-guarantee of burning eyes and brain-ache. Staying up late is the only way to get any time to myself, and it’s worth the occasional flat day. Alone time restores sanity more effectively than sleep does.

I disgust myself sometimes. My own immaturity stares me in the face, and all I can do is thumb my nose at it. A task sits in front of me-- not a difficult task, just one that requires time and concentration. There are six million things that suddenly seem more important and certainly more alluring than The Task. I find myself actively searching for distraction and jumping at every chance to drown out that voice who persistently reminds me of what I should be doing. The guilt-cloud above me is even worthy of attention-- hence, this ode to distraction.

I’m beginning to think that I’m not cut out for this level of domesticity. Keeping the house clean and the laundry caught up is not only a thankless task-- it’s all but impossible. Yes, I realize that women have been doing this for centuries, and have had much taller mountains to climb than my own. Yes, I am aware of the fact that I’ve only got two children to clean up after... but the mess these boys create is shocking. Where’s June Cleaver when you need her? I could use some housewife lessons; I’m not doing a very good job.

Yesterday, I was ready to sell my boys on eBay. On top of being extra cranky and agressive, they were whining up a storm. The best part? I’d asked Max to please stop whining and to talk in a normal voice. The answer was laughable: "But I'm noooooot whiiiiiiniiiing!"

Their behavior, coupled with my sleep deprivation (which I can only blame myself for) resulted in an entirely stressful and unhappy day. By evening, I was crying tears of frustration and was wishing for someplace to run away to. Anyplace. All I wanted was a few moments to myself, in silence.

Today we took the boys to City Hall so we could vote. We did our best to explain the importance and process of voting, translating it all to fit a four-year-old’s mindset. I never saw my parents vote, and they didn’t talk much about it; I didn’t really have any political awareness at all until a few years ago. Even now, I’m not sure how to help things change or progress-- all I know to do is vote and write letters. It doesn’t seem enough. I feel helpless sometimes, politically. Is there anything We the People can do?

It feels like I am drowning in all of the STUFF lying around my house. Between the kids' toys, the papers that need sorted, and the various shoes, jackets, blankets, etcetera, there's barely room left to breathe. Periodically, I go on a cleaning rampage and throw things away. I'm somewhat discriminatory-- I won't throw away favorite playthings or books, for example, but there's a lot that gets tossed out at the risk of being missed someday. At that point, it doesn't matter: once in culling mode, sentimentality matters less than sanity. It’s time to carve out some more breathing room.

Tonight is sad and lonely for no good reason at all. Tiredness colors things differently, though; maybe that's why. I'm surrounded by my family, by the people who make me feel so loved, safe, happy... there's no reason to feel anything but good. Perhaps knowing that it will be short-lived makes me hesitant to invest too much emotion; or maybe it's just knowing that I can't really be a part of their everyday lives. Yes, that makes me sad. Tears are close, so that must be it. They are so significant to me... and the miles between us belie that.

There used to be something inside of me that needed other people. I didn't crave alone time, nor seek out solitary things. Motherhood changed that, and now, from time to time, I find myself nearly desperate for an hour to myself. It's hard to be needed all the time, though perhaps not as difficult as not being needed at all. I have to remind myself that those days wait ahead-- I will miss being tugged at, climbed on, and hearing the ever-present cry of, "Mommy!" The moments that I struggle with now will eventually become the memories I hold tightest.

I miss him terribly, and hate how weak I feel for putting that out there. I know I can handle him being gone, that the kids and I will be all right and that for the most part, it's just business as usual. The differences are in the little things-- a hug here, a kiss there, holding hands while brushing our teeth. The world just feels better when he's near; I feel more grounded, more sane, somehow. His presence is both reassuring and smile-inducing... I find myself waiting impatiently for the weekend to arrive. I just want him nearby.

Bathing my boys can be the most exasperating task imaginable. As soon as they hit the water, they’re splashing each other and fighting. Then it’s time to soap them up and scrub them down-- cue the wiggling, giggling, and squirming. It’s nearly impossible, and by that time I’ve had an elbow to the lip and soap in my eyes. Shampooing is next, and that’s when the earth opens up and the demons of bathtime come out to party. Oh, the fits that ensue! You’d think I were washing with hot lava. I’ve perfected high-speed hair-washing out of necessity.

When one lives in a small town, everyone knows where your house is. This can be both a curse and a blessing. Curse: I couldn’t throw parties when my parents were out of town. Blessing: the activity bus came to my house to pick me up for the regional track meet once when I overslept. I won the state high jump that year, but wouldn’t have qualified if I’d missed that meet. Curse: when I did something wrong, people knew where to find my parents. Blessing: when we had family tragedies, those same people brought cards, food, and good thoughts.

Morning and I have never gotten along well. Today, though, was different: the tides might be changing.

Last night I failed to set my alarm clock upon crawling into bed. I actually slept well, which is not par for the course these days. For some reason, I woke up around 6am and in glancing at the clock, realized that the ‘set alarm’ button wasn’t illuminated. A quick flip of the switch, and I was in dreamland again. The alarm went off at 7am, and except for the actual waking-up nastiness, all was right with the world. Miraculous.

I wonder sometimes why I even bother. Why am I spending time on this? Is this doing anything to help me? Do these words find my voice? I don't know, really. I spend precious little time on myself, and maybe this is something small that's just for me. Now there's a novel idea. I don't do many things just for me-- most of my time is spent taking care of everybody else's needs and wants. Such is the life of a mom, I suppose. Maybe writing will help me hold on to something of myself while giving the rest away.

Thumbing our noses at good judgment, we took the boys to the mall today. Yes, the mall. On a Sunday. I had forgotten just how bad malls can be-- but rest assured, I've had my fill for another year or two. If it's that packed in October, I have to wonder how much worse the mall traffic must be in December. It's probably not wise to set foot there after mid-November, especially with children in tow. Surely there are better ways to die than to be trampled to death by rabid shoppers. Although, that does trump death by shopping cart.