There is no point to this post

I am a weepy, sad mess today. I want to be invisible, quiet and alone. I won’t be though. I’ve felt it coming on for a few days now, but have ignored the signs and powered through my days, not allowing the tears to come, not allowing ‘it’ to win.

Today, ‘it’ is winning. Yes, I’m telling myself that ‘it’ isn’t real. That ‘it’ too shall pass. That ‘it’ is just part of me, a part that I control and doesn’t control me. But today, ‘it’ is winning.

I know this dance, it’s the one I know best. I will continue to go through the motions of my day. I will make breakfasts, lunches, dinners. I will mediate arguments, delegate chores, repeat myself numerous times, give hugs, soothe boo-boos and fold laundry. I will gather up my youngest four and head to Mass. I will smile. I will have conversations. All the while, I will be folding up inside myself, feeling the twisting and turning in my stomach, bending to the hold that ‘it’ has on me. I will argue with ‘it’ all day and into the night. And no one will know. I won’t share it with those around me, who need me, who love me, who are looking to me to make their worlds right. I won’t burden them with ‘it.’

Today I am especially grateful to have a home to hide in, an endless supply of music to help me steady myself, and access to language and words to write in a feeble effort to begin to untangle the furled crepuscular mass of anxiety, fears, sadness and uncertainty that is tightening its ever-strengthening grip on my inner world.

Yes, today ‘it’ is winning. But I know that ‘it’ won’t always win and that I will find my way back to the resplendent hopefulness and happiness that I know just as well as I know this darkness.

Do not go gentle into that good night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas, 1914- 1954

Is it just me?

Is it just me or is this school year just not grooving yet? I cannot seem to fall into my lunch and snack making routine. I cannot get the hang of collecting and signing agendas, weeding through Lunch Lady ads, life insurance offers, and school lice alerts. Or maybe the letter ‘L’ is the problem.

Either way, signing forms in triplicate plus one (because I don’t know the right word for quadlicate or fourplit or signing the same form four times) and keeping the schools straight, being mindful to remember whose forms I’ve signed and who I’m waiting to receive forms from, along with which minion has or needs ‘indoor’ running shoes, new ‘outdoor’ running shoes all while checking to see if we’re nearing frost or desert temperatures on a daily basis so I can bark accurate dressing orders in the morning equates to me being officially ‘done’ with this whole school year thing. Five days into the year. (Note: I started this post over a week before it was finally published)

On the upside, my smalls are all happy with their friends (new and old) and their schools, classes and teachers. And so far (after day six now), there have been no catastrophic events that have led to any of my elementary school aged children to file for emancipation and leave home. So I do have that positive to cling to.

There was once a time when I LOVED back-to-school time both as a child and an adult. It was a time of new beginnings and new school supplies, clothes and books. It was a time of a ‘brand new me.’ Akin to New Years, I could make new resolutions, decide that “this year I’m going to xyz.” And I could relish in the list making, planning and minute details of creating this ‘new me.’

And now, I just want to freeze time and live in a bubble with my family. Shutting out the stresses, pressures and darkness of the world. I no longer want to change everything about myself. I no longer want to overhaul my whole everything. I want to grow, encourage and learn, but I want to do that with those whom I love. I don’t want to run myself ragged ensuring that I’ve properly declined life insurance for my five-year-old or remembered to recycle the offer of over-priced, nutritionally lacking delivered daily lunches.

But, instead of going on, and on, and on. I think I’ll just post some pictures and remind myself how fortunate and blessed that I am to have the people I have in my life and the opportunities that I have to enjoy said people. I probably just have the end-of-summer blues and I’ve screwed myself by not having ‘forget-about-it’ vices (Note to self: do look into a new vice at your earliest opportunity).

Watermelon smiles all around.

Watermelon smiles all around.

One of our three sunflowers <3

One of our three sunflowers <3 Next summer, I need to aim for one for each babe.

Another summer day, another playground to conquer.

Another summer day, another playground to conquer.

Hamming it up at the Rogers Store in town while we were replacing our modem to end our bandwidth drought. Gawd, I love this girl.

Hamming it up at the Rogers Store in town while we were replacing our modem to end our bandwidth drought. Gawd, I love this girl.

I carry these times and blessings around in my heart to carrying me through the dark moments, the sad days and the times when I really wonder what I’m really doing here.

And the weeks roll on.