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Two halves

Matt took a day off of work today.  It’s foul outside as only the Pacific Northwest can be.  Dense fog, ice crystals, dripping noses.  It’s beautiful if you have the resiliency for visibility a hair shy of deep depression.  He slept in, snoring softly while I turned on lights and dragged kids into the routine of our “morning” defined only by the clock and not by the pitch black windows.  I wanted to crawl under the blankets beside him and pretend I am not responsible for five human beings who are less than stellar decision makers when left to their own devices.  It’s not worth the mess in the kitchen when I’m not present.

Half of me understands.  He gets up every single morning.  Rain or shine.  Happy or sad.  Sickness and health.  Puts on his work Polo and goes to his job.  On the weekends, he rises at 5:00 a.m. to take the boys to hockey practice.  I run the morning routine every morning, true, and I keep things clean, run the house, run the errands, run the small business that owns LTYM Spokane and our writing classes.  Run, run, run. Then again, I am the spoiliest of the spoiled. I often have my own time to go to the gym and have coffee with friends.  Half of me understands.

But there’s this other unreasonable half stuffed in a back corner of my brain that’s all GET UP AND CHANGE THE BABY’S DIAPER, MOTHERFUCKER.

Shhhhhhhhhh, demon half of me, Matt’s sleeping ;-)

A decade of motherhood

I couldn’t sleep one night a couple of weeks ago because I felt guilty that I hadn’t done enough for Garrett’s tenth birthday.  We had a cake and dinner, but he didn’t want a party – he isn’t a very social kid – and his one gift was expensive and on back order. I even…

Personhood

They are people now.  People who can talk to me with cohesive persuasive arguments and fascinating insights.  People who can make me laugh. Interesting people with thoughts and opinions. Poorly emotionally regulated people, at times, with impulse control problems, who slam doors and hit each other and say hurtful things. I finally get it, why…

Pajama day

The kids had squabbled over the last of the good cereal at the kitchen island.  Milk puddled on the granite and dripped steadily down the side of the counter from an overfilled bowl.  She wiped with a wet paper towel, mid-scold, “not those pajamas, not the ones you slept in.” “But it’s pajama day,” Nate…

Invincibility cloaks

My only writing for months has been for a writing group that formed after last year’s LTYM show.  I adore it.  A lot of my words for that group of ladies don’t feel safe to share here.  I like the intimacy and the trust born in mutual vulnerability, but our recent prompt was “a time…

Shortcuts to intimacy

On days like today when the fog fills the deep, narrow valley to the west of us and every pine needle is individually coated in ice, I feel like the witless victim of an impending Stephen King plot.  The creatures in the mist are not going to get us this time though … we will escape…

Making a wish on a passing car

She’s talking to angels, counting the stars Making a wish on a passing car She’s dancing with strangers, falling apart Waiting for Superman to pick her up In his arms, in his arms Waiting for Superman — Daughtry   I finished cutting the construction paper parts for fifty-four parrots a few minutes ago and that’s…

My rugged heart

I’ll love you long after you’re gone And long after you’re gone, gone, gone. You’re my back bone. You’re my cornerstone. You’re my crutch when my legs stop moving. You’re my head start. You’re my rugged heart. You’re the pulse that I’ve always needed.  –Gone, Gone, Gone, Phillip Phillips   It’s funny how different a…

Shrugs

I mopped the living room floor this morning.  When I’m in a bad mood, mopping strikes me as the ultimate act of depressing futility.  It must be mopped, but it will not stay mopped.  Futility doesn’t seem to matter as much in your thirties.  Possibility still exists for floor mopping and surfing in Bali.  Drudgery…

Truth or dare

I walked yesterday with someone I trust more than anyone in this world and she said, “but you’re feeling better? it seems like you’re feeling better.” And I lied. I can’t think of when I’ve ever really lied to her.   I laughed and I said yes, lots, like it wasn’t an issue any more…