I feel once again like I am at this crossroads where anything can happen. Here at the library without children for the first time in days, it feels as if the world should become quiet and stop for a time, and yet it keeps ticking on, the sound of espresso jetting out into a Styrofoam cup, the self checkout machine bleeping and blooping. I have another hour and a half of free time ahead of me and it seems that whatever I choose to do, it will be a wasted hour. I want to work on my book, my blog, my imaginary store that I’ve been building in my head. I want to curl up on a pile of cushions and read a book, take a nap. I want to spread out on the floor with paper and scissors and make the series of child’s stories that have been brewing in my head. I want to create. I spend my days cleaning and sorting and straightening and averting imaginary disasters. I inevitably find myself standing over the sink and dishwasher with little fingers pulling my hair, pushing my head. “Weren’t we just here?!” they seem to demand.
Yes we were, little one. And we will be again before you know it.
Then I am pounding out a cheap, but unsatisfying dinner and hoping that my husband won’t hate it. Wondering when, when he will be home to relieve me. Tired of being the last remaining sane brained adult in the house. I need a fresh ear to listen to the girl, a fresh brain to help me make decisions. Mine is toast.
Once he is here, I stop. Leave the dishes on the table until the morning. Hope future me will forgive this present me for giving up and handing the reins to her.
