Saturday Afternoon
It's been pouring rain all day and getting progressively colder and we're all home. It was a busy morning with cleaning and shopping and serious talks with some of the kids. But the day has slowed down. Dinner is in the oven, fresh bread is cooling on the counter. Music on the stereo, the 18 year-old reading by the fire. The other 2 teenagers are playing Monopoly at the kitchen table, while the 10 and 8 year-olds are playing in the basement. Jay is playing Stratego with the 5 and 2 year-olds while he tends to dinner. I'm walking through the house, taking this all in and I had to stop and breathe. Breathe it all in.
This life is hard and easy at the same time; sweet and bitter, rewarding and frustrating. Some days are downright unpleasant and I feel like crying or screaming. I spend a lot of time wondering if I am doing anything worth remembering. Am I doing the right thing? How will my life and decisions affect my kids? Too much time spent in self doubt. But then along comes a Saturday afternoon.
An afternoon of laughing, tantalizing smells from the kitchen, someone tickling the baby, the crackling of the fire, and it all comes together like a symphony, the soundtrack of my life. All the days of crying and moping and fighting and struggling to figure out this life: those are the days of practicing, and then all that effort fits together, if only for an afternoon, into a beautiful work of art. And I see the big picture for a short time; it will be time to work and practice soon. But for this time, for these moments, I am just resting and breathing it all in.
This life is hard and easy at the same time; sweet and bitter, rewarding and frustrating. Some days are downright unpleasant and I feel like crying or screaming. I spend a lot of time wondering if I am doing anything worth remembering. Am I doing the right thing? How will my life and decisions affect my kids? Too much time spent in self doubt. But then along comes a Saturday afternoon.
An afternoon of laughing, tantalizing smells from the kitchen, someone tickling the baby, the crackling of the fire, and it all comes together like a symphony, the soundtrack of my life. All the days of crying and moping and fighting and struggling to figure out this life: those are the days of practicing, and then all that effort fits together, if only for an afternoon, into a beautiful work of art. And I see the big picture for a short time; it will be time to work and practice soon. But for this time, for these moments, I am just resting and breathing it all in.
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