Get up and shower. Eat breakfast, feed baby, take vitamins, do hair. Kiss husband, send girls to school, dress boys, beds made. Change laundry, do dishes, supervise sibling rivalries. Pay bills, find shoes, change diapers, run errands. Feed baby, answer phone, attend meeting. Make lunch, supervise homework (early out all week), change laundry, fold laundry, sweep, check email. Answer phone, threaten groundings, wipe off table. Feed baby, change diapers, rock baby, think of dinner. Apply groundings, listen to readings, make dinner, endure whining. Kiss husband, feed family, supervise clean-up and other chores. Feed baby, change diapers; pajamas and scriptures and teeth and prayers. Lots of kisses, good-night, go online. Edit, upload, write, edit, pray computer keeps working. Feed baby, kiss husband, go to bed.
Sleep for a little...
More or less.
Nearly three years ago, I started this blog with only three children, not many hobbies, very little ambition, and a few piano students. My husband had a good job, we had no desire to move, and we were content, just slightly busy, and had no idea what stress truly felt like.
Now, here I am. We have moved twice, had two more children, and Brandon is not only in school, but working full time as well. I have had to cut down my piano students from 17 to 6, I have two other large jobs (one paid, one not), two callings, lots of ambition to socialize, and a need for voracious reading. I have grand desires for gardens, novels, and flawless chore charts. I fiddle with my music and prose; but really pray for sleep. I do not resent napless days, but I do dream of flawless moments. I muddle and mull...I keep it together. My expectations are simple, and yet I still have no time. I search for it daily --looking under piles of cereal, wet sheets, hurried day-dreams, and ouchies. I stare at my older face, and surprise myself by not recoiling when I find 6 long gray hairs on the top of my head.
I wonder when I grew old. I think of when I was 14 years old; so young, so clueless --wishing my youth away, wondering when I would accomplish all I wanted to accomplish. Worrying over clothes and boys and mascara; not realizing that in 16 years, I would still worry about clothes, my boys, and mascara. When did time add bills, cars, books, blog design, money, intimacy, the salvation of children? Staring at young eyes with older skin, I feel the same. I have not changed --desires for accomplishment, organization, validation, love, hope, laughter, joy --I am the same. I am Fourteen-Forever. Only experience has changed my views; my accomplishments are less, my organization is refined, my validation is deeper, my lovehopelaughterjoy is found in smaller places. Moments are captured and held longer, and there is no frustration at compassion. I weep more. I think longer. I capture momentum, and push it longer than exhaustion.
My days are long; my nights are short. I carry on, for stopping creates more. More of more. When I wake, I see the trees, the sun, the shortness of night. I wonder, I ponder --I stroke the dreams lingering from the impossible until the whimpering waking reflex takes over; I begin again.