Lost Zen

I lost my Zen some where today.  Not sure when, or how.  Just that it was some time between beautiful baby girl spilling searing hot coffee into my lap at Glamdoll Donuts, and sweet sucker Leify breaking his cereal bowl during lunch.  I am fairly certain it is overrated anyways.  A mere accessory for the young and beautiful.  Hipsters unite in crescent moon and tree pose, at the 10 am yoga class. All while nursing a hangover from the night before.  Dangling it like a talisman around their necks not even fully knowing what it is, and you probably haven't heard of it anyways.  I don't hear of much these days, and traded in my tree pose for balancing a baby on one hip while moping up the spilled milk on my kitchen floor.  My jeans still smell like coffee, they could smell worse, much worse.  It was hot, yet I didn't loose my cool.  Didn't even make a noise so as not to disturb the business men who looked at me with an air of suspicion when the littles chose the table next to them.  Jumping quickly up, shaking it off, checking the baby, and simultaneously explaining to my children what happened so as not to alarm them.  Deep breathing and closed eyes to focus on what needs to be done.   Take that yoga, you can keep your zen.

Heart of my heart, me to the bone.

Now sitting in the kitchen surrounded by sacred silence, and the aroma of fresh, hot, black coffee.  Beautiful baby girl sleeping after an epic drive in the van to bring the boys to school.   Snow drifts, running starts, molasses traffic, and 50 minutes later the precious cargo has been delivered.  Dropping off two of the things that are most precious to me, entrusting them to a system that I don't completely trust, praying for Gods grace to make up the lack.  Lack of care, of supervision, of tenderness.  Knowing that the underpaid workers do there best, but there is simply not enough of them to go around.  The bright shine out, the dull are buffed, the in between forgotten, left to hold up their own.  I was an in between, not brilliant, not dumb and completely unmotivated.  I still have anxiety dreams of being tossed back into high school, having missed a class completely. Now having to sit with freshmen and take a test that I never studied for on which my future relies.  I take pause to sip down the fresh hot coffee, and savor the silence in the kitchen.  The floor is still sticky from an early morning mishap.  My mukluks bear the residue a silent testimony, a witness.  I was never known as graceful and am the antonym of athletic.  So it was no shock and at the same time a great one, when the bottle of rice vinegar landed on my forehead as I attempted to reach the crackers, so obviously out of reach.  Glass and sticky vinegar everywhere, as I befuddled attempted to clean it up in bare feet and tears.  It was a real "Wieditz" moment.  Hearkening me back to the days when athletics ruled the world, and I couldn't catch a pop fly for the life of me.  I didn't fit the mold, and wanted for the longest time to be able to re-form myself.  Never completely satisfied with the reflection in the mirror.  Looking out instead of up.  Teachers aren't given the tools to handle things like this, they teach a subject, have objectives, place a value on the work of a student and move on to the next class.  I don't fault them, they get paid far too little and do way too much.  Still as I drop off the pieces of my heart, a wave of concern occasionally crests.  Leif will have no problem, he is adventurous, outgoing, cute, and athletic.  My only concern for him is that he will use his powers for good and not evil.  Ezekiel, heart of my heart, flesh of my flesh, me to the bone.  He cares so deeply, wants so much to do good, to get it right, to be accepted.  Once again the mirror is in front of me.  I know him all too well, and so I pray that God will protect his tender heart.  And I release him full well knowing that he will be hurt by others, he will be rejected, but to love him is to let learn how to cope with out me.  Heart of my heart.  If only I could carry you for always, but soon you will be too big for my arms and too far for my reach.  The kitchen becomes crowded as housemates begin their morning routines, they are unaware of the silence my soul craves.  Choosing to live with so many people, good and bad, bitter and sweet.  Completely of my choosing.  Wouldn't change it except in this moment, and so I pick up my things and move to the parlor room.  Sunlight streams through windows that need washed, Cats in the Cradle plays as I piece together my thoughts.  I realize that my fears are not Ezekiel's reality, and that I am no longer "Wieditz".  One day I will learn to cast my vision up and not out.  Until then, Gods grace is sufficient.

I used to have time.

I used to have time.  Time to sit.  Time to sleep in.  Time to think about myself, my future, my life.  I no longer have time, every moment busy.  Unwashed hair, 3x reheated coffee, muffin top mama kicking it in her minivan.  Daydreams of travel, higher education, and romance have been replaced with nothing simpler then the wish to go grocery shopping alone.  Young single women look at me in fear, a glimpse into a possible future filled with washing diapers, runny noses, and peeing while holding a baby.  I gaze at them in their skinny jeans.  Freshly washed hair, $5 coffee drink.  The beautiful, yoga mat toting, craft beer drinking, socially redundant people.  Time to think, time to act, time to be, time to pause.  I take time, squirreling it away during naps, trips to the YMCA, and after bed.  Coming to the same place, landing on the same conclusion.  Allotment, the same minutes in every day.  Choosing to use them how we please.  Interests, hobbies, a career, a loved one.  Time is no longer mine, it was a gift gladly given.  I may not have time, but this kick-ass family is mine.  Minutes wrapped in an entirely precious, frustrating, loving, surprising, wonderful, time consuming existence, with no regrets.

Dead end road to perfection

Little girl runs by.  Pink boots, leopard leggings, puffy vest.  Mamas little helper as she offers to get 3 cups of water for her family.  The mama says two because she has soda.  "But sodas not healthy for you."  The little girls voice chirps, causing a grandmother at the next table to laugh stating.  "I didn't know she was so well informed."  The tall skinny (gap between the thighs skinny), fashionable mom of two smiles.  Embarrassed, "Sometimes a little too well informed."  she blushes.  Mamas little helper comes back proudly carrying 2 Styrofoam cups of water that she filled up at the water fountain.  They are out of fashion with the rest of the lunch, little raisin boxes, applesauce pouches, and it causes me to like this mom even more.  Her son walks around with a bag on his head.  I smile.  Her compromises delight me.  Trying to be good, do good, be right, do right.  So tiring trying to uphold all the time.  A little bit of grace goes a long way on the dead end road to perfection.

Coffee in the locker room

Sitting in the locker room, pulled up a stool, sipping Folgers coffee out of a Styrofoam cup.  Gulping down the caffeine while I can.  No time this morning, chose not to make the time.  The polar vortex strikes again, causing me to willingly succumb to lazily nursing the baby under warm covers.  Throwing toast and bananas in the general direction of the boys, with a movie on the computer and me back into bed.  Enjoying the complete lack of an external schedule and thinking about the disaster that would be me homeschooling until I realize just how late it is.  If we are going to make it to the YMCA it needs to be now!  Lazy morning quickly turns to chaos as boots and coats are thrown on.  Purse, diaper bag, gym-bag, car seat and kids are unceremoniously tossed into the van.  Little boys finish with mittens and hats after seat belting.  Why so tired?  The road unfolds before me, and the lack of coffee dawns in my brain.  Cold and foggy, distant and blurred.  No time, didn't make time, and so I sit coffee in hand, surrounded by geriatric nudes and light conversation.  Staring off into the distance at nothing in particular.  Sipping as quickly as the heat of the coffee allows.  Not that bad, not that good.  Just humbly grateful that there was any at all.     

Don't read this.

There seems to be a trend.  It started simply enough, a few artistic types looking for ways to express themselves.  Jot down a few words, share a deep thought, a journal to the public.  But things like this never seem to remain simple and soon every thirty something looking for deeper self expression has caught wind.  It just sort of exploded.  Self help, fitness, decor, parenting, and the list continues to grow.  With growth comes regurgitation of the same thoughts, again and again.  I am not looking to regurgitate for you, second hand food for the soul is never that good.  And so I say don't read this.  Don't read this if you are looking for answers.  Don't read this if you are looking for personal validation through my words.  Don't read this if you need more then can be offered by simple text on a screen.  This is only an experiment.  Taking the ramblings of my mind and attempting to make sense of them.  A storage unit for my thoughts, a small window to my soul.  So I ask you not to read this with any expectations in mind only take it for what it is.