That’s the word of the day, the week, the year (so far…)
“Blech” and “Ack” run neck and neck for second place. I’ll consider any one syllable utterance able to accompany a heavy sigh at this point.
It’s not “writer’s block” exactly. It’s more “writer’s weary” perhaps. That might not be entirely accurate. I’m not weary from the efforts of writing. I’m weary from mothering and moving and domestic engineering endeavors altogether. Life is crazy right now. Aw, who are we kidding? Life is always crazy.
But to illustrate my real commitment to keeping up on my writing goals I’ll tell you that at this very moment I am blogging from the bathroom. Don’t panic, I’m sitting on a small bench and waiting patiently at my youngest child’s request, while he takes a shower. He doesn’t like to be alone. He thinks our bathroom is “creepy.” Luckily, he’s still young enough that me sitting in here keeping him company is not “creepy.” So there’s that.
If I was anyone else apart from Mrs Metaphor I’d say the above paragraph would end up being my entire post for the day, the whole meat of the meal so to speak, but I am Mrs Metaphor and I have a reputation to uphold.
Generally my children like to be alone. They like working things out for themselves but they’re not afraid to ask for help. When I began homeschooling lo’ those many years ago I promised myself that I’d always say “yes” when they asked for help and clearly, I’ve kept that going. It has its drawbacks, blogging from the bathroom being one of them I guess, but overall things do work out eventually. The other three do dress themselves and figure out things on their own now. Miles is funny though, he’s capable of fiery independence one moment and clingy reliance the next. He is the embodiment of every angst and every joy in the house. I confess there are moments often in which I don’t know what to do with him or how to react and it weighs on me.
He’s the child with whom I spend the most time and so, he’s the child with whom I have the least patience. He’s the one I feel I have to hold close every single night because I am afraid he gets the short end of the stick which is a little crazy because more often than not, the stick is not a stick at all. It is actually a heavy black monolith and it feels as though it’s resting on my shoulders all the time. It’s what I have to give and it’s what I have to give. It can be overwhelming, the responsibility of it all.
In my never-ending search for balance and harmony it’s helpful for me at this point to step back a little and to realize that I am not really meant to carry this block of stone around, in fact I’m not sure it’s really possible for me to carry it around at all. In reality, that monolith doesn’t move, time courses around it, life courses around it, like water around rocks in a stream.
In times like this, sitting in the bathroom waiting for the youngest child to get over his fears and let me work in peace it’s important for me to remember that I am not the monolith. I am the water as much as any other member of this family. I’m as changeable and uncertain as us all. The monolith is a good place to hang out, a smooth surface upon which to climb and bask in the sun a little perhaps. My great hope as I bask, water coursing around me and the clouds rolling in, is that I might remember that I am not the monolith and that this weight, the weight of the world, doesn’t rest on me.