Wednesday, September 30, 2009

I Write. Therefore, I Am.

I crumple up the little brown bag containing the rest of the cranberry muffin. How dare I eat even that much of it? The door behind me swings open again, tiny bells jingling. Footsteps across the raised hardwoods remind me of something distant, probably a childhood memory of some retail store of my youth. People traverse the well-worn path from the door to the register, back and forth, either scurrying off in a respectable hurry or resting with a friend.. or an associate.

Something has been in the back of my mind lately, something bugging me. I can never quite pinpoint its exact location in my brain long enough to grab hold of it. It slips away again and I move on.

The skinny decaf Peppermint Mocha is doing its trick for me. The smiling baristas greet everyone with renewed enthusiasm upon each new encounter; perhaps giddy from working for a locally owned coffee shop and still in possession of their soul.

The quick-paced conversation going on directly in my left ear behind me has veered off of its professional course and is focused on the gathering of acorns. This is so refreshing. I pause to think about the squirrels gathering acorns in our yard (at the present moment only. They are given a dog-free chance to gather but a few hours a day. The dogs, definitely ticked off and mildly defiant, are no doubt counting down the seconds until they reunite with the squirrel population, once again safely overhead in the majestic trees.)

Something I must do. What was it? The 20 or so hours a week I'm putting into this volunteer fundraiser already has 15 reminders popping up, can't be that. I remembered to set up a scandalous baby #2 registry yesterday (scandalous because how dare we purge the house of larger gear after baby #1? Should we not be prepared this time?) When, in fact, the easy answer to that is.. NO.

My three hours of freedom are nearly up. I look up and around, holding on to each moment of clarity. I focus my attention on the energy slowly building back up within me, propelling me forward to lift my toddler from the ground into the air. Enabling me to lavish my entire energy stores on his happiness. Forging me through the pregnancy-induced sleep deprivation, the lonely 4am hour of the night, chasing me into submission of putting on -- and believing -- the smiling happy face to my smiling happy son.

The baristas have caught a break. A lull in the constant flow of footsteps across the hardwoods. I pause for a moment to quell the myriad of importances in the forefront of my mind. What was that thing I needed to do?

Ah yes. Write about it.


Thursday, September 17, 2009

La Vie Boheme

I've written this post so many times, over and over in my head. I like to think that's how writers "think". But most writers follow that with actual writing. I've continued to blog in my head, the obvious issue with that being that all of you are not, sadly and joyously, in my head. Imagine that living nightmare , if you would.

And, for my Facebook readers, please know you are reading my BLOG, it just so happens that I embraced our A.D.D.-generation and it automatically imports to FB for you. No clicks necessary! But (warning bells), I'm thinking of changing that.

Today I can wait no longer. Why have I not put ink to paper in so long? Or fingertip to delicate tapping sound?

I need to write that post on our vacation in Ithaca. How it wasn't all that I'd planned. How life happened, and the extra appendage known as Toddler was still that. How I still felt that need to break free of... my own life. When my Mom took us to see Rent, and, upon watching the stunning closing number, feeling the sudden rise of emotion, uncontrollable, unfettered emotion, upon realization that life really is measured in love? That above all else, no matter the frustrations and agony that is the human existence, love is what is measured? What else do we take with us?

My frustration of late, which I share so readily here, has been the one-ness of my life. The constant-ness of being solely in charge of a two-year old life (okay, not solely*. But I don't always have The Village around me when I need it!)

There have been few times in my life when I wanted to be alone. As a kid, I was never alone. I didn't live alone in college. I hated living alone for a two-month period after college, and bent over backwards to get out of that house, and town, to have a roommate again. I wouldn't go get a bite to eat by myself. I would never consider going to see a movie alone. Never, ever. Death!

I have been, and until recently believed myself to always BE, a true Extrovert by Myers-Briggs standards. Preference: People.

Having a constant, two-foot high companion (at times, appendage) definitely has made me yearn for the times when I am completely. And utterly. Alone. Being bossed around by a two-foot-high stack of concentrated energy actually takes a lot out of a person. Let alone a person carrying another person around in utero.

Don't get me wrong. I always respected those confident-looking coffee shop dwellers engrossed in their books. I just wanted to be engrossed in conversation with them.

On Wednesday this week, otherwise known as NewFreedom Day, my toddler went to preschool for 3 hours in the morning. Ironically, as duty would have it I had to appear at the doctor's office, where I jubilantly read the paper in the waiting room. The paper! But in running my requisite solo errands thereafter, I found myself on a bit of a high. An alone high. Happy to just be. Alone. Inconceivable!

The Moms are supposed to hide as the two's come down the hallway from the playground, so we don't distract them from their line-forming concentration. We hid. I peeked. I spotted my toddler, following the direction of the teachers, in a line of two-foot high people. Looking up at times, bewildered. Furrowing his brow, making his miniature way in the world. Obviously pooped from the stimulation that is toddler-hood.

It happened. Tears came to my eyes. I missed him. I missed him so much, in my alone-ness. My reconvening with my independent Self. I couldn't wait to catch up with him. After three hours.

* Because my husband reads my blog.




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