Mass and minutiae.
I have a confession.
I don’t like who I become by the end of each neverending wisp of a day. I am churlish and abrupt. I am tired and overwhelmed.
And it’s even more frustrating to me because I wake up with such enthusiasm. The heaviness and crud of the day before peeled off by the restoration of the night. I get ready with optimism and greet the girls with silliness and joy.
From there the day descends into the frenzy, picking up speed until somehow it is 5:30pm and there are hungry humans wondering what’s for dinner and I’ve only finished half of what I had been hoping to.
But there were spelling lessons and martial arts tech setups. Rice crispy treats to make and lunches to feed. Spanish and piano lessons to oversee and booboos to kiss.
And yet, the highlight lies in this bookend of the day, at dinner. The 4 of us suspended outside of the push and pull of the day, enjoying stories and silliness and the sustenance. Time slows, held within a golden orb where you know exactly how lucky you are in this moment.
It can’t last. And time picks up again. Dishes, pajamas, teethbrushing, stories, endless tidying. Get the girls to bed.
But it doesn’t end there. There are emails to answer - oh how emails are crushing me right now. There is navigating federal funding sites for a relative that’s been laid off. There is checking in with friends and family, worry sitting heavy on my heart, making it hard to breathe.
So yeah, by 10 pm I’m a fraction of myself. Just a ball of worry and disappointment and anxiety.
My being that started the day so light has tumbled through the day, gathering mass and minutiae, until it can bear the weight no more.
There is nothing to be done but to write my confession and hope it can be my absolution. That perhaps tomorrow I’ll find it in me to be more patient, less panicked. To be more …
To be more.