time and change

When I go to bed without posting, turning a critical eye toward myself in the bathroom mirror, I feel like I haven't done everything I should do.  When I wake up in the morning and look back, it's easy for me to see that there are demands in other parts of my life, incredibly rich and robust, that result in less writing.  Plus, I'm trying to afford myself permission to be finished with the day before all my work is finished.

With the changing weather has come some changes in routine.  Most notably: we're all spending more time inside.  We're crowded in the kitchen baking, muffins to pack in school lunches and cookies for after school snacks.  The area bustles at breakfast -- empty and refill the lunchbox, flip the pancakes, drain the bacon, distribute the vitamins.  And at dinnertime -- review papers and permission slips and reading books, warm up leftovers, wipe down countertops.  The dining room table houses half-complete puzzles and partially strung leaf projects.  On the couch the boys snuggle, heads tipped toward each other sharing a screen, bodies covered by soft blankets, up again in a blink, building block towers as tall as possible only because they want something to knock down and the rule is not each other.  The laundry area is as busy as ever.

Sometimes the chaos gives me the sense of being inside a crowded thumping heart.  I've experienced enough cycles to feel a little calmer about how temporary each thing is though, and can manage the way I process the disorder.  I know that herds of tulips will pop up like periscopes, craning this way and that, sent by an inquisitive spring.  I know that summer will come too, that the boys will be screeching and splashing like some future spring break-in-Mexico versions of themselves outside again someday.

Right now the sun sets too soon, the end of the day unravels and exhaustion drapes like lead.  The boys will be up earlier than ever tomorrow, loud and ravenous, playing and eating and doing everything with their whole beings.  Caffeine helps me keep up with them, but at bedtime, when writing doesn't help and wine doesn't help, when I can still hear their heartbeats swishing in my ears, I know I just need to close my eyes and let it be a lullaby.