The Grey
It's a whirlwind.
"Gweta!"
"T-Teeeeee!"
"Sim-ey!"
"Mama!"
Orange rinds everywhere.
"Clear your plates please," said with the sigh of repetition.
Chairs askew.
Everywhere askew.
When can I have my thoughts?
When can I sit down and get up when I WANT to?
Popcorn everywhere.
The fullness is overwhelming. It won't stop.
Go go go!
Make food.
Clean it up.
Make food.
Clean it up.
Make food.
Clean it up.
Make food.
Clean it up.
Am I making food again?
Am I cleaning up again?
If I'm making food again, why is no one eating it?
If I'm cleaning up again, how has it gotten so messy again?
When will they do these things for themselves? Without reminders?
Should they do these things for themselves? Without reminders?
Or should I be helping them with these things? Without nagging? Because that's what a mother does?
Just like should I say that differently, do that differently, be less pre-occupied, be more present, be more fun, make better food, clean up less, clean up more, sit down and read to someone, sit down and play a game with someone. But what? You want me to get up AGAIN?
That thing over there, that thing I need to write in, to be "involved", it's still sitting there.
Waiting.
That other thing over there, that I need to schedule, to be reliable (for one thing), it's still sitting there. Waiting.
That stack over there, of memories, that I need to organize, to remember them, it's still there.
Hurry up! Time's a-flying!
Better make the most of it.
What should we do with it? Tick-Tock...
...The last things are always chores and playing at the community park.
Both for consistency.
One for responsibility,
one for sheer joy. Friends, nature, sports, running, imagination, climbing, feeling fully alive, ending on a beautifully high note. At least that's the hope.
For consistency.
And then:
the hand-over.
Outwardly seamless.
Nothing I'd like to write home about.
"The chaos of love...
.........fast forward nearly 3 days.........
...the loneliness of order"
I can hear the clocks ticking.
Like when I used to visit my 95 year old great grandma.
Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick.
The refrigerator is humming.
I'm waiting for someone to open it, for it to make its weird sound, for us all to yell "Fridge police!"
Hmmm so many THOUGHTS. I can hear them so well. So uninterupted-ly.
Maybe I'd rather not?
Find some distractions.
Wait, what was it I wanted to do?
Write, sing, tidy, pay bills, organize photos, make that appointment-- I still didn't make that appointment, do that thing--I still didn't do that thing.
Hurry up! Time's a-flying!
Better make the most of it.
Tick-Tock...
Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick.
What should I have for dinner tonight? All I have to think about is myself?
The kitchen is messy. But it's not urgent. It's only me here.
The laundry needs doing. But it's not urgent. It's only me here.
The bed is unmade. But it's not urgent. It's only me here.
I see their things. Papers strewn. Sea glass in tupperwares. Balloons floating around, birthday party leftovers. But I am just me. (Not a mother?) I mean...sometimes, I forget.
What was that time? With Simon, doing that new-relationship-thing, making-out in the woods.
"I have to get back home now. I have to turn back into a mother," I'd told him.
"Well, what are you now?" he'd said.
It's the grey I guess.
I am the overlap. The thing that exists in both places.
The thing that adjusts.
Adapts.
Soon,
it's going to get loud. And messy.
And adorable. And full of hugs and kisses and I yove-yous and stories and laughter.
The chaos will return.
Which do I prefer?
The black or the white?
Thankfully......
I don't have to choose. I'm the grey.
....................
It's often best when we accept the grey with grace.
"Gweta!"
"T-Teeeeee!"
"Sim-ey!"
"Mama!"
Orange rinds everywhere.
"Clear your plates please," said with the sigh of repetition.
Chairs askew.
Everywhere askew.
When can I have my thoughts?
When can I sit down and get up when I WANT to?
Popcorn everywhere.
The fullness is overwhelming. It won't stop.
Go go go!
Make food.
Clean it up.
Make food.
Clean it up.
Make food.
Clean it up.
Make food.
Clean it up.
Am I making food again?
Am I cleaning up again?
If I'm making food again, why is no one eating it?
If I'm cleaning up again, how has it gotten so messy again?
When will they do these things for themselves? Without reminders?
Should they do these things for themselves? Without reminders?
Or should I be helping them with these things? Without nagging? Because that's what a mother does?
Just like should I say that differently, do that differently, be less pre-occupied, be more present, be more fun, make better food, clean up less, clean up more, sit down and read to someone, sit down and play a game with someone. But what? You want me to get up AGAIN?
That thing over there, that thing I need to write in, to be "involved", it's still sitting there.
Waiting.
That other thing over there, that I need to schedule, to be reliable (for one thing), it's still sitting there. Waiting.
That stack over there, of memories, that I need to organize, to remember them, it's still there.
Hurry up! Time's a-flying!
Better make the most of it.
What should we do with it? Tick-Tock...
...The last things are always chores and playing at the community park.
Both for consistency.
One for responsibility,
one for sheer joy. Friends, nature, sports, running, imagination, climbing, feeling fully alive, ending on a beautifully high note. At least that's the hope.
For consistency.
And then:
the hand-over.
Outwardly seamless.
Nothing I'd like to write home about.
"The chaos of love...
.........fast forward nearly 3 days.........
...the loneliness of order"
I can hear the clocks ticking.
Like when I used to visit my 95 year old great grandma.
Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick.
The refrigerator is humming.
I'm waiting for someone to open it, for it to make its weird sound, for us all to yell "Fridge police!"
Hmmm so many THOUGHTS. I can hear them so well. So uninterupted-ly.
Maybe I'd rather not?
Find some distractions.
Wait, what was it I wanted to do?
Write, sing, tidy, pay bills, organize photos, make that appointment-- I still didn't make that appointment, do that thing--I still didn't do that thing.
Hurry up! Time's a-flying!
Better make the most of it.
Tick-Tock...
Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick.
What should I have for dinner tonight? All I have to think about is myself?
The kitchen is messy. But it's not urgent. It's only me here.
The laundry needs doing. But it's not urgent. It's only me here.
The bed is unmade. But it's not urgent. It's only me here.
I see their things. Papers strewn. Sea glass in tupperwares. Balloons floating around, birthday party leftovers. But I am just me. (Not a mother?) I mean...sometimes, I forget.
What was that time? With Simon, doing that new-relationship-thing, making-out in the woods.
"I have to get back home now. I have to turn back into a mother," I'd told him.
"Well, what are you now?" he'd said.
It's the grey I guess.
I am the overlap. The thing that exists in both places.
The thing that adjusts.
Adapts.
Soon,
it's going to get loud. And messy.
And adorable. And full of hugs and kisses and I yove-yous and stories and laughter.
The chaos will return.
Which do I prefer?
The black or the white?
Thankfully......
I don't have to choose. I'm the grey.
....................
It's often best when we accept the grey with grace.
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