How does a homeschooling mother of five children have time to make supper with no background noise? How is she able to actually think a single thought through from start to completion as she folds laundry? She speaks of watching her children play outside, rosy cheeked as they build a snow fort, just before taking time to herself to read the bible.
I don't want to sound like a whiner. And I completely agree with her "attitude of gratitude" that demands finding joy in everything, here and now. I simply ask: what am I doing wrong?
Because here is how it goes for me:
I enter the bathroom, luxurious dreams of opening whatever piece of literature I have tucked into the "rack" (a faux leather basket that had been gifted to me one year loaded with feminine bath items) and before my button is unfastened IT happens...the shriek, or worse yet: the THUD (followed by the shriek, or even worse still, the thud followed by NO shriek at all which usually indicates extreme concussion-like problems and hospital visits). Or perhaps it is one of those fortunate days in which I actually make it to the seat and then, voila, in dramatic fashion, our child who is overly prone to head injuries manages some feat that probably looked impressive had I been able to observe it.
Desperately sometimes I want to call out, "Is this only MY reality???" Does anyone else experience this? Someone else must surely "get it"???
In the course of writing this blog, which has, so far, taken 3 hours 12 minutes and 29 seconds I have been listening to the chaotic cacophony of a playdate. Only our two children plus one extra so nothing extraordinary...nothing mindbending...yet:
- twice, as our daughter chased after the boys her feet outran her shoulders-and-above and she toppled over with great wails and scrapes and cries for ice.
- One shout-out of "MOM..have you seen my spy glasses?" (sunglasses-cum-mystery tools)
- and one polite demand for milk.
- Some obviously-overtired sobbing over a broken backhoe
- and a proud and continuous bellow of "COME SEE ME!"from the bowels of the bathroom where our daughter decided to paint her toenails teal blue, white, and pink. (I trip over some of her "tools" as I enter the washroom to view her bodyart.)
A coyote has been spotted a block over several times in the area of the newest park in town and somehow this conversation sparked adventurous plans for the boys. Several over-my-shoulder aimed-at-me questions of "What do coyotes eat? Will they eat US? Do they come out at night? How would we scare one off? Can we go look for them?" felt almost like what I envision a coyote attack to be (stated while they quickly nabbed boots and, without jackets despite the cold and rain, ventured forth).
Right arm: torn off, blood gushing. Left arm prevails, slowly tap-tap-tapping at letters...brain chewed upon, bits of cranial fluid and other such grey matter mixed with hair follicles clinging to my ears and neck.
"Stop!" I yell out the door as they run and our daughter again falls flat on her face. "We can't go now...the banana bread is in the oven!" Ten minutes later we drench ourselves in the misty rain hunting for furry dingo-like creatures.
I am joyful. I AM filled with joy.
Just tired...and speculative...and losing my right ankle to the hungry jaws of a fierce town-dwelling coyote...
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