My kid’s in yoga and I’m the one sweating. That’s just how our lives fit together right now – her in class and me in the car. Waiting.
Writing. With pen and ink. Filling stolen bits of time with words. Making the most of the moment.
I ought to be at the store buying pretzels.
For her tutor.
The truth is, I’m mired in too many moods today to make poetry. Or prose. Or sense.
Perhaps you know the feeling?
What’s more – most of these moods are not mine. My partner’s pre-menopausal. (She’s using the word now, so I can, too.) And our youngest flung herself headfirst into her tweens some time ago.
It’s a magical combo.
You know those big families who have trouble getting a photo where everyone’s smiling at the same time? That’s my house at dinnertime. Our dinner table seats four. Sometimes six. More often three, since Grace is home for awhile but working nights – serving other people dinner, dealing with other people’s moods.
To the hormones.
To each other.
We’re learning the new normal. We’re discovering – when all the words and worries, flared tempers, diminishing hope, when all the small talk and back talk and cross talk and just talk is stripped away – what each of us really needs. We’re learning to take what we need. We’re learning how to ask each other questions, too. We’re learning.
Do you remember those childhood board games where the dice were inside a kind of dome that you had to push down until all the dice popped up with a loud clattering sound and as a kid, it was fun to pop the dice over and over again if for no other reason than to grate on your mom’s nerves? (Not that I would have done that, Mom.) That’s my house. That was my house earlier this week, all loud and popping.
Until the dice settled and we went on.
We went on with the game.
We waited for the dice to settle, and then we went on.
Learning new rules. Making new rules together.
For this new game.
Photo discovered here.