Saturday MornIng

I passed out at ten O’Clock last night. I woke up well rested in a gloomy living room so quiet I heard the furnace tick. 

I didn’t snooze an alarm. I didn’t run for a shower. I didn’t pack a diaper bag or a lunch.  I didnt rush to find someone’s homework (we still have to do). I didn’t change a landslide diaper that sometimes requires a bath while I’m putting on my eyelids. 

I didn’t forget the check for school pictures, the signed permission slip for field trip,the payment for daycare, the carseat for grandma, or a blanket for child…

I didn’t move.

I waited until I was able and not a second sooner, then made a pot of coffee (ten beautiful cups of it). I openned the curtains, loaded the dishwasher, poured a cup of Brita-Joe and added 5lbs of mocha creamer just because it made me happy. 

I sat down at the table, read some articles and listened for the thuds above me (first a jolt, then a leg out of bed, and then two feet pounding across the ceiling). I hear my three year old slam porcelain against porcelain and I laugh at the next 18 years of my life. I hear a baby cry and a dad get out of bed. 

I just sit here waiting like Santa’s bringing me presents on Christmas. I have a Saturday morning.

Positive Vibes that Rhyme

I am a superhero.  That’s what I say every morning, when my son kisses my head, a feeling of glory.  I’m a Queen, a tornado, an unstoppable force, with endless motivation – keep running life’s course. Doing more than just sitting in the clouds of my dreams, even though I’m not sure exactly what they mean.  Pushing it forward – another place and time, a place that parades ‘success’ in my mind.

This place isn’t so bad, just not ideal within my head.  What is the ideal? Not asleep, depressed in my bed.  I want a house without rules like, “No, you can’t paint here.”  A front yard and a backyard, with smells of pancakes and cookout beers.  A tree with a swing, and a fort for the kids.  I want a career that feeds our bellies, lacking all killer additives – replace the preservatives with expensive, fruitful feedings – beat cancer and alzheimer’s and crohn’s before aspartame takes us all along with it.

I want a school system that gives my children room for growth, lets them apply their creativity – puts it on show.  I want standardized testing to fall through the cracks so our teacher’s can freely do their own task.  I want what’s best for my children – their own pace respected – socially unmocked for being different – off course – rejected.  Tell them they’re bright, let the stars shine through their being – special in their own right, all passions being heeded.  A school that doesn’t make the montone maddening – but a place that holds standards of their individuality.

I don’t want a career that financially makes me happy.  I want to apply my happiness into a career so I’ll never go napping.  I’ll take what I love – turn it into something green, even if it’s just a faded mint in the beginning.  A passionate interest keeping me on the go – Not a selfish, hopeless wish but a constantly moving reason to wake up and roam.  My kids will see their mother doing what she loves – see her prosper as she chooses, a vanishing sense of ever losing.  And maybe, just maybe, they’ll end up doing the same.  That’s what I want more than anything.

I want to tell other women in less fortunate places, where I’ve been before and can relate to the phases: cynicism, regret, an insecure fate.  Give love to the wounds that were created by hate.  Know that time is not a barrier, not a social status either.  You’re amazing, a survivor, a limitless leader.  Say, “I am a superhero, a queen, an unstoppable force – running through the phases of life’s troubling fast pace course.”