Yesterday’s morning rush–up to fix a pre-HSPE test breakfast for my older daughter, bag lunches for my sons heading to fifth grade and community college, respectively, then trying to keep the atmosphere from crackling while my younger daughter goes through her morning routine (she wakes up charged and needs quiet and calm to defuse) and then heads off off to middle school. Fed the hungry dogs and cats and sent them outside, and the house was quiet, the sky promising spring rain.
How did I come to so enjoy this moment when I am left alone by the people I love most? Just like I was never a homeschool mom at all. I luxuriate in the quiet and the prospect of a home pressed latte and time to read and write.
Yet that morning my own circuits were charged too, and I felt a strain off center. I I couldn’t sit still, nor focus. Felt a longing for something outside my normal desires, a discontent I could not address. I tried to decide whether to go outside and work on the sod removal (exercise can ease so many tensions), sit down and finish a post previously begun, engage my mind in the recall, conception, development of ideas, or maybe paint the doors and trim for the sense of completion and execution of manual skill, or work on the vacation itinerary. But I only wanted to engage my husky dog in a group howl, vibrating from the deep center, so we both felt better about our confinement in this modern life.
I should be productive, not selfishly enjoying moments stolen from my hardworking spouse; I hear him inquiring as to how much I’d blogged this week. Time is barreling on, to the day we leave for our drive to California and back, by which all must be planned and arranged. To the time we find the perfect house and have to be ready to sell this one quick, all ceilings painted, yard seeded to green lawn and beauty-barked. Toward greater challenges and darker possibilities for which we are not yet prepared.
This morning, to be proactive, after my son and I had our morning swim and I saw my daughters off with affection and a drive plan briefing, I immediately made coffee, read a few favorite blog posts, listened to Jennifer Warnes singing Leonard Cohen, and took out my guitar. Without (this time) grimacing (much) at my cramped fingers and breaking notes, sang a bit of Joni Mitchell, Crash Test Dummies, and the Song of Bernadette. Now I’m ready to roll with the official homemaker’s work.
Here’s Jennifer Warnes, and I suggest you only liste,n not watch, as the essence is in the poetry beautifully sung, not the stage presence.