when the lunch that I barely managed calcifies on the counter
next to the leftover french toast that ages where it sits,
while the children throw things down the stairs
and at each other,
and I flash angrily at each compounded affront to order
and peace
and my authority,
when each effort to carry on until bedtime extracts more from the marrow
of my bones than I have left to give,
I despair of raising functional adults with minimal baggage,
and I know that I have failed–
the future stretches out blearily before me
full of too many lunches of hot dogs and macaroni
incessant television
cavities
chaos
and the living room floor eternally covered in couch cushions.
But then, barely audible in the recesses of my over-taxed mind I hear
“this is a season”
and it is
and I know, down in my weary bones that I am equal to this task of wrangling these three beautiful souls into civilized adulthood, and some day they will chuckle to their therapists and say “there was a lot of macaroni and cheese, and sometimes I thought she might actually pull her own hair out, but I always knew my mom loved me.â€
liz | 17-Nov-10 at 3:45 pm | Permalink
That’s fabulously beautiful, and you are, as ever, very talented. I love you (and I’m pretending all the commas in that sentence are for you).
Em | 17-Nov-10 at 6:38 pm | Permalink
Brilliant and beautiful.
the ant | 17-Nov-10 at 6:44 pm | Permalink
I wish there were a word for what this does to me. With your permission, I would like to share it with Mr. C. I was generous once and shared you with him. Remember?
Sarah | 17-Nov-10 at 6:49 pm | Permalink
<3
rachel | 17-Nov-10 at 7:23 pm | Permalink
I do remember, barely. And you’re welcome to share it if you want.
Emily | 17-Nov-10 at 8:59 pm | Permalink
Love it! It speaks to me this week (and many others). Thank you ( :