Monday, October 18, 2010

on being human

Curled up in the fetal position with my head and knees on the floor, snots and tears cover my face and my world seems dirty and desperate. Two little terrors in tutus come over and pull my shirt up enough to see my ink: goodness and virtue was tattooed on my skin in urgency during my 19th year of life to remind myself who I am just in case I forget someday. The little people start to whack away and to then rub my skin, saying, “Back! Back!”
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I think of the hamster food, spread over the entire carpet. Stupid hamsters. What fool leaves hamsters at a church just so they will be rescued? If I decide I don’t have enough goodness and virtue left, I may dash the children’s hearts and desert the little rodents at the proper place: the SPCA.

I feel a mouth on my back. She drools on my skin and then rubs it around with her chubby hand. I’m too tired to care. I think about the highchairs. How could I have forgotten to collapse them? I know what happens—they get used as ladders to the mother load of chalk. What could be more fun to two toddlers than to cover every surface with pretty colors when mommy’s not looking? She bends and blows wet raspberries on my back and giggles. I peek out of my tears and see the reflection of the other one who is twirling in her tutu.

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Is this the moment I inked my skin for? You are good. Your life has worth. You are loved. You love. The dirty floors and windows will be clean someday. (Even if it is when they are all grown and gone and I am so sad and lonely because the house is so quiet and clean all the time.) Everyone is always telling me to cherish these times because they are the easy times of motherhood, and the real challenges are yet to come. The bitter thoughts creep in. No. I will not think of that right now. I will pull myself together and take a deep breath. The sun is shining and the leaves have turned into something splendid. I will not think of all the millions of things that need doing that are not getting done. I will focus on the task at hand: remember who you are. You are a girl. You love the fall. You will show affection to your tutu clad babies and feed them lunch. You will open the dirty window and pray for peace as the fresh air comes in and cleanses your lungs.

the leaves have turned into something spendid


lunch

15 comments:

ANG said...

I have been on the floor like that before. These are the moments that make us mothers...real goodness and virtue.

Emma Jo said...

I kind of feel like assuming that position right now so thank you for sharing. Always beautiful, always profound and always wise.

mindy said...

i love you.
that's all.

calibosmom said...

I kinda miss the drool...hang in there mama!

Jessa said...

You need a laborer to help you! Call me, girlie! I am a great laundry folder and window cleaner! :)

the wrath of khandrea said...

i usually have these episodes inside my closet, because the carpet absorbs the tears and snot and then there's less cleanup when i'm through.

seriously, you have a tat? i wanna see it. pleeeeeeze????

jenica said...

oh hun, right there with you. SO love everything about this post. i'm here to pick you up.
oxox

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Georgia said...

Sooo feeling you.

xoxoxox

Kyle said...

Something I learned from you before I became a mother that has stuck with me... "You are doing God's work. You are doing it wonderfully well. He is blessing you, and He will bless you, even–no, especially, when your days and your nights may be most challenging."~ Elder Jeffrey R. Holland ("Because She Is a Mother," 37)

Dallas and Krista said...

Love you relentlessly. I think every mother has had that fetal position moment- but I don't know that every mother would emerge from it as gracefully as you. You ARE good, so good. And virtuous indeed.

Shannon Gish said...

I read somewhere something like this: "We all experience defeat and despair so we can burn it as fuel for the rest of the journey."

Abby said...

So well put, as always. You are not alone...but you already knew that. I have had a week of trying to remember to breath. One foot in front of the other. Thanks for saying it so nice.

Anonymous said...

I love the human you!!

Kara said...

How do you make drool and pain and tears sound so pretty? I hate hearing about you in need of helpful hands that are 3000 miles away. :(