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.

Climbing Clouds

Silly, we beings for hating the ground – caving to our self-conscious callings & climbing the clouds.  What was wrong with the grass and the dirt and the bugs that with seeds provided a living?  What’s in the sky but a lack of easy air and a degree of cold that makes breathing hard to do freely.

Has our compass gone haywire? Lost its moral traveling course – a child brings home a baby bird in a shoebox – “Mama save it or crush my heart, I won’t sleep or eat until we do” – A dire love to all living things that as adults we seemingly forget to move for.

What happens to our simple souls when we wish to travel into the sky? Our obsession with the rise, never fearing a fall but bitter when we crumble, unexpected – it’s the risk we take before our leap, the lack of thoughtful possibility – it’s hardly even worth trying at all not having wings in the first place.

How silly, we beings – never wanting where we’re born – always trying to fly like the birds our children yearn to save – we’re all so busy climbing clouds we lose interest in our ground’s wanting of our stay.

Find comfort in knowing, we’re fine where we lay – no need to climb the heights of wonder, when wondrous life is not about rising to another place but feeling at home in our heartland instead – a cumulus bed of sky not made for sleeping, but seeping – back to our soft grass padded bed.

Stop fearing the ground, the depths in its face.  Explore what we’ve already been given – learn to run instead. Save our bored feet from our dreaming heads – put purpose back into the life we’re already living.

Queen City Kait