Sunday, November 13, 2011

Space to Breathe

Some days, you get a little space to breathe . . . drawing deep breaths before compulsion to plunge back into the fraying fabric of life resurges. My tea water just "dinged" for the sixth time today; still haven't managed to make a single cup with it.  Today's sandwich began and ended with craziness, but held lovely thick slabs of breathing space between.

We had a quiet day at home, the half of us. I stayed home with HJ today, to let him finish getting over his fever (one more day of good naps did it, while missing today would have set him back days). MissE stayed home with me, as she had a slight allergic reaction to something over the weekend, and I wanted to keep an eye on her. And finally, Bear stayed home with us; Vern is in our bishopric, and my Bear doesn't govern himself well with only siblings to hold the reins, no matter how much he wanted to go to nursery.  I think the Larabar he brings for his snack each week played a big part in that. ;o)

So, Vern left for early leadership meetings as usual, two hours later I loaded everyone up and dropped off MrC, Anderman, and Lil'MissL a little before Sacrament Meeting started, and brought the remainder home.  We gave HJ a snack (his appetite began to come back yesterday), I did a few things with MissE that she held near and dear to her heart, and HJ and Bear both got their naps in good time today.  (Let's try to overlook the little issue of me waking Bear early due to a mental lapse which included not shutting his door and then going and doing dishes, k?)

Taking care of the children today, with only half of the usual crowd, felt like a vacation.  A sweet, peaceful, restorative vacation.  Granted, two of the dependents napped a good portion of the time we had at home, so it felt as though I had even fewer around.  Being the Sabbath, I also stayed completely away from the internet, didn't get lost in (or overwhelmed by) housework undone, or a blogroll unread, and just did what we needed for today.  Refreshing.

I feel as though I have a new perspective; one which allows me to perceive my world clearly, instead of in a blur.  So much of the time, I feel just like this shot of MrC . . . 

and looking on the bright side simply looms too large.  (We were able to joke our way out of that small catastrophe . . . never fear.  We had him laughing into his lap after a minute.)

But today . . . today was lingering in a sweet meadow, far above meltdowns and sticky fingers and missed garbage trucks.

I hope I can keep my eye on this afternoon's little valley . . . remember how I felt today, how I really can find the space, the peace, the time; only do what really needs to be done; pushing back the pressing of multitudinous minutiae so it flows around and past.

While in Utah a month ago, we hiked around a little lake called Mirror, up in the Uintas.  A long, brisk walk it was, with all kinds of weather as we made our way around.  Most of the way, it was just me and my Bear.

He thrived on the conversation and adventure, while I reveled in the miracle, the monumental creature, trotting along beside me.

At one point along the trail, his shoe needed emptying.  We stopped and he saw to it silently, picking a low trailside ledge for sitting, carefully working the velcro tab, removing his shoe to liberate the gravel inside.  Waiting for him, I suddenly found myself very still.  Turning and looking up with a deep breath, I tuned into the massive, living, sentient presence of the mountain.  Rising up and washing over me, I breathed it in: the damp earth, shifting evergreens, the crisp early fall air and the earth's breath off the lake.  But standing and breathing wasn't enough . . . it was all I could do to keep from laying out full length to look up into the sky and feel the rejoicing earth solid beneath me.

Day by day since, successfully distracted, I've rushed and worried and blustered and run too far too fast.  But today, there was space.

I will remember.

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