what now?

I don't think I know what to think any longer. Every time I think do, something forcibly smacks the point into me that I don't. I go one way, circumstances veer the other. And I give way. Is that weak? Don't know.

Just now I hurried downstairs to grab the camera so I could load pictures into this week's farm newsletter, and I thought my foot cleared the cricket pull toy, but I wound up half flying, half skating cross the room and simultaneously managed to smack knees into the dishwasher door and head on floor. It was certainly forcible, but left me no clearer.

I'm after change for change's sake now. Is that right? What about my children? Am I the most selfish thing since I don't know what?

They are everything. Pull toy ice skates and markers in bed and tender pureed peas all over every inch of me. I imagine life without sometimes, but I'd never give them up. One glance and the world is brighter, sweeter, and fresher. I would like sleep. But I've got decades for that, or at least I hope I do. I want all for them. I'm so filled with doubts.

Wrong

While I still think some things can forgiven, I'm wrong for thinking one can believe in one's senses. Think, at all times. As much as it sucks.

Summer

I think one can be forgiven for some things. If you close your eyes and all you feel and smell and hear is beautiful, and you open your eyes and all you see is beyond beautiful, it kind of becomes incomprehensible. So shutting out all thought, and just believing in sense—well, it makes sense. And, letting thought back in, I think it's worth holding on to. No matter what end.

Someday

That's the book Calvin wants to read at bedtime every night these days, and it makes me cry. I know I'm overly emotional sometimes anyway, but wishing for so much in his future and thinking of him long after I'm gone just makes me cry. Especially when so much is changing, or about to change in his little life. And I don't feel adequate for the impact I may have. Penelope needs so much right now, and Calvin wants so much, and tonight he's exercising his best I want Daddy, you get away from me, tantrum and tears. And as his mom, I should be able to withstand this, and not get transparently sad. But what will this be when daddy's not ever here? How angry will he get? Am I being unbearably selfish?
And just as I despair, the spell is over, and he comes back to me. But how long will that last?
All parenting is filled with equal measures doubt and optimism I guess, and a good dose of wonder too. I'll put this down to being tired and still sick with whatever they both had last week. A wavery sort of night. Wondering what Someday will really bring us. I never expected it would bring this turn of events. So who's to say. Trying to remain hopeful is about all there is to do.

To Flee

Why is the idea of cutting and running so appealing? And simultaneously soul destroying? What's left in between is what will happen. I wish I knew what that was.

Lately life has been filled with more of the things I love than usual. Cycling and riding and hiking and swimming and in general basking in summerness outdoors. And yet it's no closer to right. Still, I guess that's progress of a sort. Tonight I hope to get out and see the Perseids. Since the light over the back door is burnt out (it's too high up for me to replace, sigh) I won't even have to tiptoe down the drive for the best viewing. Ha. There's a positive slant to everything if you try hard enough to find it.

Wilting

Maybe it's just the heat, but we all seem to be melting down. Calvin and Penelope are up nearly as much of the night as I am, and days are both blurring by and yet painfully long. Working out what's next is impossible. And standing straight under the burden of what is seems impossible too. I keep thinking of seeds—in the hot, dry dirt, still managing to pop out and up and through. It does happen. Or maybe that's wrong, that's already passed. Now's the time of wilt. Reserves exhausted. I don't know. I'm waiting.

Is this typical?

Now that we've agreed to quit this thing, my husband seems, while sad, also happy. Little glimpses of the person I married are peeking through. A bicycle has appeared. Saturday morning breakfast has returned. It's like he's looking forward to his future again for the first time in a long while. It's gladdening. But it's also really sad, and hurts. I feel accountable. And I'm also, if I'm honest, jealous.

First trip in a few weeks to the coffee/cocoa/cookie shop this morning, chocolate immediately covering all shirts, followed by a first trip to the Mt. Horeb library. Wow! Two hours later, after watching Calvin play on the train table, the lego table, and in the castle with the dragon (and tell a little girl very seriously that it's not nice to push) we were off back home, where, showing off for Kari down by the barn, he took a slip and a good skid on his bum and eventually flat on his back through the mud and came up laughing. So much for the shoes that just came out of the wash, much less the clothes. An hour long bath, squirt toys in the lawn, Penelope's first playtime in the over-full kitchen sink, some sewing with Calvin directing from my lap, another hour pouring over Around the World with Mouk (again! I need to start looking up some of the foreign language words I don't know for him), and everyone, including dogs, is asleep momentarily. I do absolutely love these long days wholly absorbed in them. I wish I weren't reminded that sharing that love might be so nice, making what's bright even brighter. (And yes, making what's really hard a little less hard sometimes.) Still, I'll take what I can get. Off to see if I can nap for a moment too.

Oh my

I think I understand now why people keep journals, and swear they are cathartic. Here it is June, 2010, and I thought perhaps I should start this again, rather than let my thoughts swirl so wildly in a head too small to contain them. And I read through what I've posted over the years (years!), and I almost have nothing left to say. It's all here already.

So much has happened. There's now Calvin and Penelope, my new baby girl. There's now quite likely no more active farm. Or husband. But the way I feel is identical. Clearly, despite whatever reluctance, all this new change is good.

I was thinking as I was cleaning this morning (work that has always helped when I'm down, or at the least kept me occupied) that I haven't been this unhappy since a little over a dozen years ago. But oddly, that reminded me of other things, and signals I've been valiantly ignoring all this time. Like the winter I dragged poor Wilbur to Governor Dodge every Saturday and most Sundays too to hike or snowshoe just because I had to get out of here. And the day with the foot of new snow when we got so lost and exhausted, he practically pulled me out in the end.

So, time to get happy. Let's see how I do. Step one, get motorcycle fixed. Her predecessor (once known as the Bitch Demon), got me through a lot a dozen years ago. Reminded me of the magic of trees and grass and sky after years in New York. With two little ones, I can hardly spend hours riding as I used to, but just going to work and back (on some of the same roads I would ride back then), just might help. There's something to the thrill of the ride.