8:30pm and all’s well.
It’s quiet at least. I imagine all is well. I’m not going upstairs to make sure because if I do then three little boys’ heads will pop up. They sense me in the room despite my fancy ninja skills. I’ve been working on that soft but sure foot walking thing since Riley was born but there is not fooling them. They can hear me coming from afar. Note to self: give up on ninja skills.
It’s been about a week since we moved and I’ve been ruminating on what to write. How much “catch up” and how much “contemplation?” It’s all a mish mosh in this little melon head I’ve got. There are moments in which I literally cannot see straight. It’s not so much the heavy lifting I’ve been doing…boxes upstairs, boxes downstairs. It’s more the planning of where to put things, what to store, what to keep out. We have a lot of stuff. We have a lot lot lot of stuff. I thought I had pared it down but when the boxes came off the truck I counted, a little, I stopped at 100 and then I had a lie down on my bed, the one piece of furniture we had in place. #good choice
And this got me to thinking about the bags of “donations” I’ve been driving around in my car for the last week. Dave keeps taking them out and putting them in the garage or suggesting we toss them out but I’m not having it. There’s a plethora of good stuff in these bags. It just doesn’t happen to fit any of the kids at the moment. These are bags from the garage sale that never happened. Bags that meant to get dropped off in Nashville, then in Franklin on our way out of town and now in Chicago. Traveling bags of donation clothing.
So this is an apt metaphor. This is just exactly the story of my life and my poor overworked muscles, brain, ninja skills. Driving around old baggage, good stuff but stuff that doesn’t fit anymore, stuff I can’t throw away, stuff I can’t work in time to give away and it’s only the tip of the fuzzy brain iceberg. I decided that what I really need is one full day- uninterrupted, fully caffeinated. I need one full day to sort through all of the emails half-written, commitments that will only take a minute, I mean really, only one freakin’ minute to get me back to the follow through, tasks that require no thought at all and a modicum of movement but I’m so overwhelmed with the minutia I start to believe I cannot afford the time it takes to do it.
It’s a weird cycle and a losing battle.
But then, in the middle of it all Miles has a meltdown, like he does and I say, “what do you need, little kid?” and his answer is simple, “will you read me this?” It’s been more than a week since we sat down to read “If you give a mouse a cookie” and that’s just plain wrong in my book. Hang the minutia and the unpacking and the organizing and the bags in the back of my car…hang it all. And we sat down and read about mice and cookies and drawing pictures because that’s the whole reason we do any of this other stuff anyhow.