Thursday nap time

Nap time is like a tax return that I spend over and over again before it arrives. Will I do some work? Will I write? Will I clean the kitchen? Will I put toys away? Write a letter? Sit on the couch and watch TV? Read a novel? In the hour and minutes leading up to this precious time my mind races and then tries to slow itself, picking and choosing a value to follow, attempting to ascertain which element needs the most attention. Or which avenue will bring me the most pleasure. The most rest. It is different every time--both the need and the decision.

The exquisite peace that comes with the sound of four sleeping children has not worn off. Not in the slightest. If I hated all else about parenthood, which I do not, it would be worth it just for the experience of this quiet.

I haven't been writing here because there has been too much struggle in my own mind. This Monday I was uneasy, having a hard time sitting down and focusing. All I wanted to do was eat. And not do my work. Monday is a work day for me. I take the kids to Stephanie's house a mile up the street. It is good practice for the days when we will be getting everyone ready and out the door for school--in other words, it's a complete shit show. We arrive disheveled, which is our norm. Hair not brushed, sometimes fed, several bags hanging off my shoulders as I carry four raincoats, four or eight changes of clothes, a random assortment of food and a gallon of milk in the door. The kids love it there. I leave them and come home, turn on my laptop and get out my work plan for the day. The adjustment from mom of four to project coordinator is harsh. Confusing. My brain slowly uncurls and sits there, waiting to be pushed or kicked or reminded into action. The ten hours of freedom spread out like a raft at my feet and the possibilities are so numerous that I stand up to make myself a cup of tea to avoid being crushed by them. Time is a different animal when I am without my kids.

The uneasiness, the agitation, stuck to me like glue. Felt pulled to blog, opened it up, didn't want to. Completed a task for my project, had to stand up and sweep the floor because I couldn't stand sitting still. Called some patients. Wrote and responded to email. Turned in circles, mentally and physically, and sat down to work some more.

Today is much better--my state of mind has improved each day this week. Seeking out and receiving the wise counsel of some friends helped. Reading has helped. Talking to my dear husband about two things I've been struggling with helped a lot. The relief seeps in as I'm able to step off the hamster wheel in my head. There will possibly be two essays that come from the difficulties of this week, though not today. Today is checking in, clearing the shelf, taking the temperature and moving on.

What caused the stuckness? The wanting to shake off my skin, wanting to step out the door and walk away, wanting to eat sweet and salty things until my belly rounded out even more? A big fight with a dearly loved person in my life, stirring things up and refusing to be put down no matter how much I wanted to stop thinking about it. A possible change of health insurance making me feel rushed and scared and uncertain. A visit to my old organization to give a talk at their monthly meeting, wanting to say thank you for my liver. For my life. For my children. All of that and the first big deadline at my new job approaching, reminding me for the zillionth time how much I prefer starting things to finishing them.

With practice I am getting more able to roll with these things. To give myself a break and say "I'm feeling stuck and feel shitty and I wish I felt differently but I don't." To call a friend and say "I need help. Can I talk to you about this for a few minutes?" To say to my husband "I don't know how much my health care is worth to me. To our family. $9,000 seems like too much to claim for myself and yet the idea of leaving the security of what just started working and trying something new makes me so afraid." And to have him say "Ok." So many opportunities to practice. To breathe deeply. To sit still when all I want to do is move away from the discomfort. To not swallow the anger, the fear, the resentment, the shame, the loneliness, the sadness. To look at it, be curious about it, squish it and stomp on it and push it away. To be in the struggle and see it, over and over again, as my teacher.

All of those things are going on and then on Tuesday evening three of the four kids started throwing up. Blech. Talk about being brought right into the moment with a vengeance. These four small people are my teachers too.