How is it that days after days that are so seemingly full can go by without so much as an articulate thought for me to record here?
Things are the same, as is the way when life falls into a pattern, and this is both rewarding and exhausting at the same time. The girls wake and play and shout and scream and kiss and cuddle and beg for tv or for snacks or to go to daycare or to stay home with me. Professors drone on and on about increasingly boring subjects and while they talk I daydream about taking a Creative Writing class or some Can Lit. Steve goes to work and comes home and goes to work and comes home. In between there are spats and love making and running the vacuum and running the dishwasher and the ever exhausting chore of laundry.
There is always something that manages not to get done, most often emails that I was supposed to send or taking the dog for a walk. Sometimes I forget to pay the daycare bill, reminded by the Late Payment notice taped to Alena’s cubby. Sometimes I am overwhelmed by happiness, by my kids, by the intense love I still feel for my husband. And sometimes I am overwhelmed by a sense of futility. Sometimes it feels that so much responsibility rests on my shoulders that even if I wanted to stop for a day, a week, I couldn’t. And these responsibilities weren’t necessarily the ones I asked for: laundry, dishes, meals.
Sometimes, as I sit in a classroom listening to a lecture about Regret Tables and Probability Trees I think, Is this really who I am? Is this really me? And sometimes when I lift my sleeping preschooler out of my own bed and back into hers, I think, How could I be anyone other than this?
My days at home and my days at school contrast each other so profoundly. Yesterday was playing and imagination and an afternoon stroll to the park, a well balanced supper and bath, whispers and kisses and sweet dreams. Today was rushing in the morning and hurried goodbyes and traffic and the taptaptap during my computer class, a quick run and shower, another class and home again to type assignments.
And so I sit, in this quiet house, punching out equations for the last of my assignments this term, and even though it’s quiet now, the ghosts of little voices, of footsteps running, of happiness and tears and time-outs, it seems so deeply absorbed by these walls that it distracts me even when I am alone.
I’m not sure, I can never quite tell which days I like the best.