Getting two boys ready for school is pretty straight forward, so I make my way, first, to the coffee maker. I sometimes use filtered water but the Brita is so slow I sometimes get water from the faucet. This is my idea of living dangerously.
As the coffee maker starts shushing and slurping, I open the fridge to survey the choices for breakfast.
Cinnamon rolls in a can.
I press the "ON" button on the oven and I walk into the boy's room.
They are wrapped in their favorite blankets like swaddling cloths lying in their bunk beds. I flip on the light and begin digging through the closet for outfits suitable for the day's weather forecast.
Yellow shirt, black shorts, small.
Red shirt, grey shorts medium.
I dig through the sock drawer and fish out to pair of similar socks. I place the items on the foot of the lower bunk laid out like melted people with the shoes under the shorts on the floor.
Then I hear the preheat beep and I return to the kitchen to smack the can of dough against the table edge. I take out each spiral and arrange them effortlessly with one hand while my other hand opens the oven door, slide them in...12 mins, I note in my head. I don't even need a timer.
Then I grab a coffee cup and reward myself, creamer, splenda.
Then I walk back into the boys rooms and remind them to get up. They moan and wiggle but that's all for now. I walk back to my bedroom to fetch my phone to glance at Facebook as I pour glasses of Sunny D, find clean forks, grab some paper plates and the Sponge Bob vitamins from the spice cabinet.
Then,I loudly say something about a cup of water.
That's when the activity level in the boy's room starts. Call me cruel for splashing kids with water, but hey, I've only had to do it once.
I am putting icing on the rolls as they stumble into the room, completely ready, except for the wild hair. They sit and start telling me about the dream they had, or ask a strange math question, or start discussing how many days are left in the year.
I put two rolls on each plate, and they slowly begin to eat. This entire routine is usually completely stress free, except when we can't find a shoe or a library book. As they sit and enjoy breakfast I thumb through backpacks and double check the contents, all paper are signed. Check. Zip.
About that time, my husband returns from the bathroom, ready for work. He pours some coffee and grabs a roll. (I never eat these things, no matter what...or biscuits or cinnamon toast... yet, I still struggle with my weight!)
They finish, put on back packs, and file out the door behind their daddy climbing up into his big pick-up.
I shut the door on the truck for them, "Bye! Have a good day. Love you."
7:47 am
I am alone with much "free" time and I just want to go back to bed. I make a list just to make myself accomplish something before 3:30.
This time is sacred. This time is vague. This time is sad. This time is depressing. I have lost the housewife desire for domestic perfection. Heck, I barely care. I'm just trying to keep the mess at bay, I am conquering nothing.
I see my life in a hamster wheel of repeated actions with a few variations and I think that I am missing something. Discouraged with attempts to express myself as an artist or "revolutionary", now-a-days, I think , why bother?
I know that I should use this time to work out. I should use this time to get super organized. I should write or paint or garden. But I don't. I pour another cup of coffee and sit down on my big grey couch and surf the net on my iPad.
I force myself to check on the dogs, move the laundry, pick up the man-cave. But I usually find a way to sit. I sit because I know I don't have the strength to realize my hopes and dreams as an accomplished individual. I could teach art, I could do this, I could do that... nah... better do the dishes again and figure out something for supper.
Dang, the phone is ringing! I get really miffed if anyone contacts me during he day. It's just wrong. I HATE talking on the phone... period.
So I answer it and it is my husband telling me that he is thankful for me... I talk back very sweetly but I'm still mad on the inside for having to converse. Ok... you too... uh-huh..... really... ok... Bye. I feel convicted for being such an ungrateful bore.
Today, I am sick of feeling this way about my life. It is monotonous, predictable, full of repeat chores and requirements that never end. I wonder if there is anything fun left in the world... I mean the kind of fun that makes you feel alive with belly laughs and panoramic views of something pretty. I have fun with my kids everyday.... I think I am missing plain old recreational freedom and awe.
I am self-ish, I know.
Anyway... this is my life. And today, it occurred to me that there are people who would GIVE ANYTHING to trade places with me in my safe, predictable, boring, routine, small-town life. To some people, I have it ALL.
I'm gonna ponder this the rest of the day and maybe I can stir up some kind of contentment and gratefulness. Maybe the sorrow I feel for being so far away from the culture and excitement that I once knew, can be replaced with "happy". I hope so.
I think I have been taking this period of my life for granted... at least that's what my 80 year old Mamaw always says.
Lord, help me see this situation with fresh eyes and a flood of new joy. Amen
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