Wednesday, March 25, 2009

If Wishes Were Horses

The Spring yo-yo has gotten under my skin. 
When the daffodils bloomed by the front door, and the purples of crocuses and grape hyacinths were clustering at edges, I was optimistic, delighted, content. Now I'm moody, can't tell if I'm grouchy or worse, unreasonable. The thermostat says the temperature is the same moderate 72 degrees, but I can't get warm. I'm sure it said the same thing last week when I basked in cooler clothing and went on a walk without a sweater. 
This last season especially, I made an agreement to myself to be content with winter while winter was here.  I would not be petty and spoiled and always wish for something that I could not have. I would take the time to feel the wonder and beauty of dusted fir, and snow powdered slopes; pause to take in the contrasts of light and shadow. I would take time to look at the ice cycles and examine closely the first large flakes of each new storm.  The howling wind and drifting snow would foster gratitude as I curled warm and safe in the lamp light to read. I would have extra family time to pop corn and see movies that we were too busy to watch before. We would sing and do puzzles. And we would cut and hang the traditional snow flakes and watch the fire (when we got enough wood dry). Then there would be Christmas and soft colored lights and oranges and hot cocoa. New Years parties and St. Valentine's Day. I promised to relax. Enjoy the season. And I have. I have tried not to lose a single wondrous moment. How truly marvelous it has all been. I have not neglected one or these resolutions. The memories are in a welcome stack, heaped like warm blankets in their wicker basket.  
Spring always comes... How is it the I can still wonder after all the years? 
But, yes, is spite of all the memories we have made, the laughter and the love and the sweetness of the family circle, I am impatient and irritable. I was supposed to be weeding and preparing flower beds, trimming the edges, and raking away old leaves. We were supposed to be finding pussy willows and listening oh so carefully for the song of the first meadow-lark. We were supposed to be holding hands and lifting little ones to see now lambs and wobbly colts, who are now trying to pull grass from under snowy mounds, without us wandering and watching. Yes, the lake ice has nearly all melted, yes the fields are still greening, and sap rising (and falling) in the orchards; but the mushy,cold snow seems to have sucked out the pleasure, and I am again, wishing for something, in spite of myself, that I cannot have.

Thursday, March 19, 2009


I have a mommy question. Its about paper. 
I have a file cabinet and a file box too, there is a file with each kid's name on it and a divider and the save stuff is on one side and the respond to stuff is on the other side, but then sure, I found that reading chart, but it was due last month, (if its not where I can see it, I miss things)  and there are all these important notices that have to be responded to this week, like the phone bill that is waiting for the next pay check before paying, the notice that girl scout cookies can only be ordered on Thursday and you have a parenting class that evening. Last chance for book orders and the Mother's Day gift your second grader is making needs xyz; please sign and return this field trip form with your child on Wednesday or they cannot ride on the bus; the Health Department suggest an update on the chicken pox shot before next week, since there was an out break in your child's school; the furnace will be repaired at 2:00 on Friday, but only if you are home; please look for this name when you are working on that file on Friday; take down this number and call Mr. X and ask if he can meet Wednesday morning; this warranty will expire if not renewed by x/x/x/; the band rehearsal is Thursday and its your turn to bring the chips; my play is tomorrow, Mom, and you have to buy tickets before four o'clock for the student discount; the orthodontist called and she needs to be there after school today, but she needs to bring her old records with her; This is the job agency, can your child call us before Friday?Mom, you know that tie, one of the kids would like to borrow it for the concert, will you bring it with you? Mommy, I made this in school today for you; me too; me too. 
Some people have desks. I can't spare the space. I selected a drawer, but it's not big enough. The calendar works for some of these notices, but not for others. By the time all the teens have their schedules posted it reads like a book report. I have in and out boxes, but they are overflowing, and the drawer, and the fridge. My family thinks I've cleaned the kitchen when all I did was remove the last week's notices off the refrigerator. 
How do real people do this? I met one person who simply threw everything away and dealt with the consequences. I can't. I can make decisions like that for allot of these pages, but not all, not even most. I had thought I can wrap each sheet around an arrow and shoot it at the wall and make the world's largest porcupine model, but that was more out of desperation than practicality. Now either other people have a fridge door that is 8 ft. x 10 ft. and it still looks like a paper mache pinata or they are orderly and brilliant, or just plain common sense people who have solved a small reasonable problem and I obviously need their advice, so I'm asking for it. If any body lacks wisdom let him ask.. Well to be honest, I thought I'd check with other moms before I picked up the big red phone.  I have six kids in school, at least only six that account to me for scheduling, etc. Is this just a stage, like terrible twos that I'll grow out of? Is this normal?I'll risk sounding really stupid and say, what am I missing? How do real people do this? (I'm not a real person, if I miss the obvious.) Any body??


Go quietly among the stars, the hills, along the edge of night. Closed and quiet unborn thoughts lay sleeping, wet with dew. Softly, softly the light comes pale to the grass. Thoughts made translucent and ethereal in the warming air rise unseen in the mist, surrounding the world with it's radiant aura. I sometimes think my days go too quietly, not in the sense of stirring sleep, clanging lids and band-aids, but in the broad sense where great men change lives, heal and help, and carry mankind forward to the next generation. But I am convinced that every soul that breathes leaves the global envelope changed. I pray to somehow contribute to the pinpricks of light in the vast  universe where I have loved and slept and labored. If the Great Unseen can sway heavens and earth beyond our reach, then I too unseen and unfelt, will change the world as surely as morning comes again. 

Wednesday, March 18, 2009


I think I cna, I think I acn. I think....I think I can! I have a blig. I mean a blog. Whew!