Its the seconds that heal, and the hours that hurt

December 13, 2006 | Category: In My Life

So, 2/3rds of the way through my 100 days - I crashed in a ball of gray fog. Landed face down in the mud. Huh.

I hate my own self-wallowing. The icky pity headache. So, housework. So, routine. A million parents have marched before me, over the mountain a step at a time. Finding the joy and the crinkled up laughter and making peace with rest.

So I push a foot in front of me.

And breathe deep.

And look at world news.

It's a tonic, to dwell on the planet's life and struggles beyond my kitchen. Or to stand under the spray of a long hot shower, using up the nice shampoo in luxurious handfuls. Or to dwell my thoughts on the little things that make progress.

With barely dry hair, Bear helps me gather up stuff for Goodwill and the shelter. After lessons at the dining room table, we carry the bags to the van, him barely able to see around his bundle.

He asks me why we don't bring the homeless people home to our house. And I don't have a good answer, except to repeat the old homily about "give a man a fish, or teach a man to fish..."

He reminds me that he asked Santa for a fishing rod.

I remind him to get his homework zipped up in his backpack.

Oh, and now it is Tuesday. The gray fog faded to blue. The blue lifted into the sun. The house got a little tidier. The dishes humming in the dishwasher.

I bought plastic bins for our haphazard collection of photographs. Another item on my 100 Days - to face the pictures, and who I was, and we were. And make peace. And pack away.

So this was overwhelmed, in yawning hours. And then this was better, found tucked in the quick seconds of in-between. And now I can stretch, a good night's sleep ahead.

A relief inning, maybe the first of many. I'll need to learn the signs.

Share: Delicious! | Stumble It! |   Slashdot It!