Off-Center

It's been one of those days where it feels like all I've accomplished was wash dishes, cook meals, and damage my precious offspring.

I was haunted by nightmares last night.  A good friend and fellow English teacher I spoke with before bed was grieving a student's suicide.  It affected me bone deep.  What causes a junior in high school to give up on life before he's even tasted it?  Then I see my little guys, and I'm horrified by the tests they'll face in the world as they grow up.  Can I do enough to save them?  To instill in them a constant fountain of hope?  After this disturbing and sad phone conversation, to relax and escape from the hard real world, Aaron and I popped in a movie that had just come in on Netflix, in the hopes of somehow disconnecting from those horrible realities that wound us and others.  Sometimes life is just too dark to look in to.  It was a spy thriller that had been sitting in our queue for a while.  Pretty graphic and bloody.  No wonder I had evil dreams.  I woke up feeling unclean in my mind.  Like I had seen something I wish I never had.  It was such a strong feeling, I rose from my blankets feeling tired and off-center.  It didn't go away all day long. 

I wish I could rise in the morning before they do.  I have waken before them in the past.  I can do it.  I know how to set an alarm or respond to my husband's gentle nudge as he slips into the dark hallway to jog at the gym at five in the morning.  But my kids (and I wonder if this is true of others') can sense me walking down the hall.  As soon as my toes land on the carpet in the hall outside their door their antennae quiver and their little dark eyes roll over like sharks, they throw off the covers, launch from the bed, to tackle me en route to the office where I write my morning pages.  This account may be only slightly exaggerated.  On more maternal days I absorb AJ's morning smell, his gangly, floppy limbs shaking off the sleep, his crazy hair poking out all directions.  Today was not one of those days.  I felt robbed and raged at him.  "Stay in there until I tell you to come out!"  I huffed like a quarterback in a huddle.  My time, albeit brief, in the morning was stolen from me. 

Coffee. That's what makes a day a bit brighter.   A jolt of caffeine in the system is warming and cozy. Should level me out.  I ground the beans then yanked R from his crib none too gently, and changed him.  My adoring husband had gotten pull-ups rather than diapers for him and overnight had wet through everything.  I was cranky and getting worse. 

It didn't help that when I dragged the boys downstairs, slammed them into their seats and commenced making breakfast did I notice the waterfall of coffee pouring from the machine to cascade onto our floor.  The lid hadn't opened on the thermal pot, the grinds and hot brown liquid drenched everything. 

Ten minutes later (coffee grinds, right?  IMPOSSIBLE to clean easily!) I throw the boys bowls of cereal, stomp up the stairs spitting mad at this point to get dressed and take Aaron to work.  Aaron listens as he buttons his shirt and loops his neck tie.  He must think I'm crazy.  I think I may be.  But he's quiet and I finish my diatribe, and stomp down stairs again to wipe the boys off from breakfast, load them up and take them to work. 

The rest of the day was a list of events that kept me half a step off.  The worst part was the boys.  I was so unfair to them.  I was cranky and moody and didn't show much love or understanding.  I feel like my cup wasn't even half empty today, but barely wet.  And I put them to bed with tired eyes, limp arms, and a cold heart.  I had nothing to give at all.  I hope they forgive me for being human someday.  When they have their own children and have days like this.  I pray they love me anyway.  And know that even on days like this when the rain is constant, the wind is cool, and the worms cover the cement, I loved them so much it physically hurt me knowing I couldn't pull it together enough to show it.