These days..they’re just so rich.
I mean that with both the good parts of our days, and the bad. As in, you can overdose on the fattiness of these days. There is a point of too much. There’s also a point of not as much, but really bad for you. You can get food poisoning from the toxins of these days. And you can also indulge in just the right amount of everything – with a huge appetite for a buffet of life’s goodness. And that’s ok too.
I was remembering days in my teens and early 20s. Maybe I’d sleep in and eat a big breakfast but I wouldn’t really be feeling the whole “doing anything” type of thing, so I’d sunbathe or talk on the phone or read a book or watch a marathon of bad TV. And that would be what I accomplished that day. That just doesn’t fly anymore, even if I wanted it to, which I very much do many times over!
These days..richness. I wake up earlier than I want to and I accomplish breakfast and baths and clean diapers and clothing for two kids. Then there are playdates or work and I might publish a blog post that touches the lives of 100 people..or only one…it only has to be one. I’ll see no less than five great friends or neighbors or fellow parents around town. I’ll read a chapter of a great book. I’ll push two kids on the swing and catch another from falling off the slide. I’ll have a semi-intense discussion with Cassidy about life, love and money. I’ll get a text or two from friends I’m so grateful to have in my life, who are saying the same to me, and then maybe a few tweets from friends I’ve never met in real life but we’re very wrapped up in this crazy world of social media. Lives touching. Touched.
And that right there is a huge accomplishment.
I may have a doctor appointment for the kids, or two, or once – three in one day. I get all of the days and times and doctors correct (for the most part – I showed up on the wrong day TWICE last year). I may worry about Scarlet’s scratched cornea (all better now) or if Des is afraid of heights and that must be why he won’t walk early. I worry about myself and providing some money for this family.
I spend a lot of time working on writing and photography. A lot of time.
I apply sunscreen and diaper rash cream, day in and day out. I pick up groceries and then get to my friend’s house in time to watch her two kids for an hour or two. And I bring my own kids. You do the math. That’s four kids with me. I’m horribly outnumbered.
Then I may get home and call my mom, who has terribly sad news.
Her Facebook status from last week:
“I will miss your hilarious whinnying every morning to make sure I feed you first. I will miss how you always wanted to be the lead horse on our trail rides. Most of all, I will miss how you give depth to these words:
Oh yeah, all right
Are you going to be in my dreams
Love You, Love You, (x15)
And in the end
The love you take
Is equal to the love you make.
Oh, Rocky, so sad that today had to be The End. See you in our dreams and in other lives. I will love you beyond time and space.
June 17, 2013″
So I scramble for the inevitable wall of sadness to hit me because I intellectually know how freakin’ sad it is that her 37-year-old horse passed away, but my distracted self won’t let it sink in right away. Not before dinner for four people. Sometimes four separate meals. Sometimes four separate bedtimes. A game of musical beds throughout the night. Where will we all wind up? Nobody knows.
Yesterday we went to tag sales. We came home only to go back out to a wedding. We came home only to scramble together a cooler and blanket and then everything the babysitters would need while we were gone, and we went to Tanglewood to see a Jerry Garcia Symphonic with Warren Haynes. The conductor wore tie-dye. The supermoon rose over the music shed in time with the instruments, and strangely lit balloons passed by in the sky. The audience howled like wolves. The food was delicious and the air was warm and dry.
It seemed so BIG at the end of the day, but I realized that nearly every day is that big. It’s just that most days are broken up into smaller chunks that assemble into a big day, rather than two or three large helpings that so obviously form together a big day.
‘Cause I go to sleep nearly every night – with the heavy-lidded sleeping dreaming of having had a big day. Nearly every night.
This is big time, baby. Strap on your safety belts (and you have a lot of safety belts) because you’re in for a ride.
Those looks on their faces? That means we’re getting some things very right.