There’s been far too little of me to go around, and far too little time to accomplish all that wants to be done of late. Too many mornings I’ve felt my feet and mind moving before my eyes are fully open, and too many (late) evenings I’ve struggled to sleep and fought to stay awake as my brain reviewed and reordered all that required attention the next day. A new semester has begun at the university where I teach English, concurrent with To-Shin Do lessons and after-school Nordic skiing for Silas.
Always, I try to keep the little people here at the front of my mind. But I’ll admit that when it gets busy like this, when they most need my attention, they’re also most likely to be moved down in the queue. On days like yesterday, when more than four hours of my day was spent behind the wheel of the car, rushing between home and class, class and home, and home and lessons, I remember that I’m driving because of my children. I don’t always remember that I’m driving for them.
And yet, I try to remember to stop and look around now and again. To notice what they’re doing. What we’re doing. What the world is doing.
This last week, there have been: big boys reading Calvin and Hobbes beneath layers of vintage quilts, evidence of squirrel visitors on the porch, old wool blankets (some have been in my husband’s family for 80+ years) drying on clotheslines in subzero temps (after bouts with stomach bugs–on the top bunk), ski lessons and ski paraphernalia about, small boys beside big trees, on-campus office desks full of work (and yes, two laptops), evening meetings, rediscovered exercise classes, windy days and unruly skirts, disintegrated windshield wipers, technological hiccups, and snow storms.
Albeit divided, we’re still here.