This is the kid who's off to preschool. This is the kid who's home sick. This is the mother (not pictured; possibly wearing frowny face) who is not using her "work" morning to do much more than make peppermint tea with honey for said sick kid while fielding innumerable bored comments as he sits beside me and reads the words I'm typing.
I forgot to bring my camera to the preschool drop-off. Will have to stage the moment next Friday. It was the first time I've felt like a commuting, all-working, no-one-staying-at-home family; though in fact the feeling was pretend, because here I am, working from home. But anyway. We all ate breakfast, got packed up, headed out the door together, and drove to the preschool, where we said goodbye to Kevin and CJ, and then I drove the girls to school (Albus stayed in the vehicle and "spied" on people). On a Friday when no one is ill, this schedule will mean that I'll return home to utter quiet. Today, not so much. Albus is all about the sound effects.
But even that possibility reminds me that once upon a time, Life was very quiet. I frequently returned home to an empty apartment. And while there is much pleasure to be found in quiet contemplation (or the potential thereof), I'm grateful for the noise and chaos and activity that these four extra personalities bring into the house and into my life.
Last night, despite a raging and persistent head cold, I went to hot yoga. This is my winter replacement for school. I'd gotten in the habit of leaving the house on Thursday evenings, as had everyone else, so I figured I'd better keep that habit up. Hot yoga it is. I walk into the room, lie down on the mat, and it's like being on vacation in the tropics. Yoga is most effective when the mind turns off and empties out. I love it. By the end of class, I feel spiritually renewed. Each time is a little bit different. One time, I was moved to tears, though I couldn't say why. There is something about emptying oneself out that makes room for more, for change.
However, I did not get to meet with Nina afterward, which was our plan, to discuss our words of the year. I'm looking forward to it. I think my word will be EXPERIENCE. I like the duality of the word, how it both honours the repetition of my mothering life and days, and points toward the new and challenging as well. Experience can only come from practice, and from putting in the time. It requires patience and commitment. But to have an experience can be quite a different undertaking altogether: it requires a leap of faith, openness, willingness, recognition, courage. Experiences drop out of the sky; sometimes you simply find yourself within them, and sometimes you have to look for them and seek them out. (I'm thinking of "experiences" as adventures, of a sort, but more mundane than that, too. Experiences can include anything: finding yourself in conversation with someone you don't usually talk to, or sitting down to play the piano and finding you want to write a new song, or picking up a book and being unexpectedly touched and moved by a random sentence. ie. my definition is pretty wide open).
And now. I need to get to work. I've just pointed my sick son toward the television. I'm going to let him watch YTV, which is usually off-limits due to the wretched advertising. Does my child need to be inundated with the latest and greatest in toys, cereals and movies? No, my child does not. But an hour or two can't hurt.
In about an hour from now, Kevin will arrive home with our youngest.
"He won't be able to tell us about his day!" AppleApple pointed out, as we drove away from the preschool. Unfortunately, that's true. Or mostly true. He likes to mention details about his experiences, but unless we already know and can make the connections, these are hard to piece together into a full picture. For example: Boat! Shoe! Shoe? Shoe! Daddy coming! etc.
In happy self-promotional news, I've learned that my story "Rat" has been nominated by The New Quarterly magazine for the National Magazine Awards, and the Journey Prize. These affirmations do the heart good. They really do.
Labels: kids, preschool, short stories, sick, spirituality, work, yoga