I yawn into the screen of my laptop and play around on facebook for a few minutes. It's 8:00 a.m. and that's a late sleep for me, but it's Sunday, so shut up. My son Jim and his Sara plus Arya and baby Olive, are planning their trip to Iowa this week. They will join us for Thanksgiving and aren't we glad.They had talked about leaving Tuesday and possibly taking a couple of days for the eight hour trip because two of their group are youngsters, age 3 1/2 and the littlest pumpkin seven months, a breastfed infant. Jim has always been an accomplished procrastinator and has shown up hours even days after his intended arrival time. So, this will work for me as I have toilets to sterilize, sheets to wash, recipes to study and groceries to buy. Sonny wants to go to Olive Garden tonight and I must work the evening shift.
My email screen flashes before me and I feel a slight tightening at the back of my neck as I read Sara's message sent 5:14 a.m., Iowa time. They left at 7 o'clock this morning and I hit the ground running.
Not bothering to change out of my nightgown or putting on underwear or brushing my teeth my eyes run around the room calculating the best mode of attack. I live in a clutter of litter despite my love of an overly organized environment and this is what I am observing right now. I live with a hoarder. David throws nothing away, the old shoes when he buys a new pair, the barrage of postal paper that gags our mailbox everyday, used deodorant and shaving cream bottles because there might be a few drops left.
Two hours of food shopping finds mostly produce in the trunk of my car for my vegetarian son. I purchase the vegan black bean soup at Panero's and it looks like the contents of a clogged toilet and I won't even go into a discussion of the taste. So there will be veggie enchiladas and brown rice and organic peanut butter and - I forgot to buy humus - in the upcoming week.
In years long past I would wait not so patiently for my children to return from faraway schools and mountain homes, and visits to their father in Omaha. Over icey treacherous highways and slick runways I would will them home safely for the winter holidays. I would lay in my bed that night looking out at the Christmas snows knowing that they were here, protected, all of them for a few short days and nights. This was a peace that came only occasionally and I basked in its warmth. I have loved my husbands, my friends, parents and siblings, but not until the birth of my first child did I experience the terrifying, beautiful skip a heart can make when confronted with a love more powerful than the self.
In years long past I would wait not so patiently for my children to return from faraway schools and mountain homes, and visits to their father in Omaha. Over icey treacherous highways and slick runways I would will them home safely for the winter holidays. I would lay in my bed that night looking out at the Christmas snows knowing that they were here, protected, all of them for a few short days and nights. This was a peace that came only occasionally and I basked in its warmth. I have loved my husbands, my friends, parents and siblings, but not until the birth of my first child did I experience the terrifying, beautiful skip a heart can make when confronted with a love more powerful than the self.
4 comments:
is that a picture of your bedroom? It looks lovely.
It's a bit intense, but I was going for a warm pink glow kind of a thing. The guy at the paint store made a mistake and we got tired of repainting the darn walls.
Turkey stuffing 21 hours and counting.
Pressure.
Post a Comment