When You're Needing a Break

On many occasion I stand at the kitchen sink fixing my eyes on the view from that window--the apple tree and shrubs, the sloping hill, the slick glass pane--as if my looking will save me from the agitation blooming from a day spent doing endless mom things. For every sock or crumb or wrapper or art project or doll I pick up, at least 10 more items will be tossed randomly throughout the house in that span of time. The nonstop questions and fits and whims of kids--their needing your constant attention--your hoping you're doing everything right and some day your words will sink in. Having to tell them 20 times to brush their teeth or clean their room or get their shoes on only to hear "I know mom" in exasperated tones even though they still don't budge. They freak out when their shoes laces are too tight or their shirt is scrunchy or the crust is on the bread or there's a bee that exists. They lose things and expect you to know where to find them. Days of this without much adult interaction--who wouldn't feel drained and want a blessed break? But when I am standing at the kitchen sink giving my breath a silent viewing I remind myself how much I'd miss them if they weren't here. I know how much I think and talk about them when they aren't at my side. I remind myself to embrace what is right now. I tell the kids all the time to want what they have. In those sink-filled moments I'm reminding myself the same lesson of thankfulness and satisfaction. For me, that act is enough to tamp the frustrations down and adjust my mood so I can get back to being soft and lighthearted. I know what I'd miss, I know what I'd miss. It is that sentiment that gave root to one of my recent poems, which goes like this:

Spring Storm Coming On

All day you wanted even

a cup of quiet, an inch

in your trail of bread crumb

thoughts outside of all the things

you must do, to remind you

of you. And now the rest

of the house is asleep

and the west is rain and eastward

breeze.

Spring crickets have unearthed –

betwixt as present always is

with wanting and having.

Every time I catch a break I miss

what lead me here. I want

the house to stir and share this sky.

It’s all flashbulbs, a Morse code

of lightening. Could be it asks –

how can you not love it here?

Oh lucky stars.

Casey Lord