[Quiet Thoughts] There is Always Next Week

 

 

 

 

The boys are up, Dear Reader, but the house is quiet. The Husband has them under control, at least for a little while. So I’m in our office in front of this computer and I’m searching with all my might for some Quiet Thoughts.

 

I’ve been going back and forth on writing about Monday’s incident at school all week. This is an honest space and I have spent the better part of the last 4 days in an angry, sad, miserable funk that really was all-consuming. I’ve decided not to write about it because it would end up being a 2,000 word post that would be miserable for me to recount again. I just pulled myself out of this hole and to crawl back into it would be painful.

To be clear, the pain is still present. The incident, my sons’ extremely challenging behavior this week, the homesickness from watching the papal visit to DC, the general feeling of isolation that comes from this suburban living… I was in a very sad place for a while this week. I kept pushing myself out of my bed, off of my couch, out into the world because I know that stuff just will not function around here without me. Little boys need. Husband needs. I need. Someone has to get it done. Even if that someone wants very much to curl up and let it pass for a while. I admit that I arrived at a playground for a playdate I scheduled a week ago and looked out at the crowded area and said out loud, “I don’t want to be this person right now. I really just don’t want to be this person.”

I’m not sure if everyone has this feeling, but I certainly do. I go through the motions, perform the duties, get to the places where I need to be, but not with fullness of heart, certainly not with gladness of it. So I get to a place, kids in tow, and just before I put on the kabuki mask I think to myself, “I’m really too tired to be this person right now.”

But then I perform. I’m an adult and that’s what adults do. But you get to the end of a week like this one and you find yourself empty. My jar, after taking the time to fill it last week, is almost completely empty today. I’m sitting here wondering what I have to show for all of the fighting, all of the nonsense, and it’s really… so little. Yes, my children were enriched this week with school and other activities. Yes, they played and imagined and had a good time. Yes, this house is clean and was filled with the smells of good food all week. Yes, the laundry was done. But these are the minimal things. These are the automatic things. I never start my week with the expectation of doing the absolute minimal.

But it’s the best I could manage. Sad, but true.

All I can do is be better next week. A regular week of school is going to be incredibly helpful for that. I have 2 weeks of work to make up. I have to find the songs and stories again. I have to make sure I post and post well next week. Sometime along the way, I’m going to have to fill my jar. One thing at a time.

Dear Reader, it’s Friday. Some of us danced our way to it, some of us crawled, and many more of us steadily traversed a few peaks and valleys. However you come to this Friday evening, I hope you can look toward the horizon of the weekend to come and feel excited. There are things to accomplish and explore! I hope you are able to do those things with the people you love. I wish for you, on this first weekend of Autumn, a lovely warm sweatshirt and a comfy pair of pants. Seriously! Something perfect for strolling around a park with a good cup of warm something. Apple cider would be preferable. I wish you a small cup of your first soup of the season. Something with tomato in it because, of course, there are still tomatoes to be had and enjoyed! I wish you music, heard outside among the trees, their changing leaves and the happy breeze. I wish you a time at a small market or a yard sale, maybe a chance to meet a new neighbor or make a friend. I wish you time with someone close, to share an intimate thought or an important truth. Share a little of yourself with someone this weekend, Dear Reader, with vulnerability and sincerity. I hope that they trust and care about you enough to share something back. Just another affirmation of how much you are loved and worthy of that love.

Until Monday, Dear Reader, take care.

 

 

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2 thoughts on “[Quiet Thoughts] There is Always Next Week

  1. I’ve felt that way every day since the accident. Something knocked loose and rolled under the couch and I’m just this much too short to reach it. So I’ll keep working to get stronger, and eventually just move the whole damn couch.

    And don’t despair those little things. Those are the exact same things I remember and cherish about home, or my grandmother I lost, or friends long gone. Those things are the things your family will carry through life. Those little things that you do are the tools they carry on their own journeys.

    Not every person gets it right when we’re learning and developing new skills; sometimes we seriously BOMB. My sister and I did all the right and just and moral things when raising the boys; they still ended up addicted to drugs and in trouble with the law. They are in their early twenties now, so most of the drama has passed, and they’re building their lives; and they’re forgiven, but never allowed to forget what dicks they were lol.

    Seems like Major blew it really hard; how much is your disappointment just yours? Can you let any of it go because shit happens? If you’re carrying it around, you have no room for other things. Can you chalk it up as lesson learned? Can you file it away for later if Minor pulls the same shit, or Major does it again? I don’t know, dude; but I hope so.
    We hurt each other, which builds us up; it strengthens us to move couches, and sometimes mountains.

    I admit I don’t know facts (and am not trolling for them), but I know that feeling. Get rid of it, or recycle it into something more useful… like a big yummy pan of brownies for me perhaps 🙂

    Good luck, my friend. I have total faith in your abilities; I have complete faith in time. And I am always here if you just wanna bitch. You’re allowed.

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