The weather turned quickly after unseasonable warmth, and last year’s burgeoning woodpile beckoned an early burn. So we burned. Morning fires on repeat, three times over, until the wax preserve drips clean from a child’s leaf garland. A wonderful mess, scraping beeswax from brick. We resign to flameless candles until leaves are swapped for winter navels. Sooner than we think, we say.
Last month, the kids and I sneak into an early dress rehearsal of dear friends performing in Mill Girls. I am unfamiliar with the story, knowing only of its artistic depiction of a woman’s hardship working in New England textile mills during the American Revolution. Of course, there is more. Even in the midst of shift bells and pending strikes, each woman bears a whispered suggestion that perhaps the conditions aren’t as difficult as the choices that come before, and after. Their lives imitate their work; they are but shuttles, shifting back and forth through the warp and weave of cultural expectations.
“We can’t win!” the main character Octavia shouts. “When we speak, they can not hear. When we yell, they do not listen.” My friend raises her eyebrow at me from a few seats over. We listen.
Books finished:
Adventures with Waffles, by Maria Parr
The Whistling Season, by Ivan Doig
Water to Wine, by Brian Zahnd
Of Mice and Men, by John Steinbeck
Beyond Mere Motherhood, by Cindy Rollins
Latest pursuits: Threading button ornaments, nightly rounds of Monopoly (thimble for me). Cheese toasties, crisp from the Air Fryer. A post-dinner walk. Costumes procured for our thespians: Imogene Herdman and Teddy Shoemaker, respectively. Paintboxes open, brushes damp. Unbraiding garlic. Noticing robins, drying sage.
Last night, after awakening to a familiar feeling of tightened grips and whitened knuckles, I rise early to watch for the sun. As I read a morning liturgy and confess my own need for control, I find kinship in a frenzied family of backyard squirrels, seeking the same futile ends. For them, acorns. For me, tidy surfaces, ideal behaviors, organized shelves, that one missing sock (and the other five).
I pad back to the kitchen, stick a post-it note to the fridge.
For today, it is enough.
p.s. I haven’t published my journal entries in many moons, but if you’re curious, all weekly prompts are here!
I am not in the same season of life as you are. My three boys have all flown the coop and I enjoy grandchildren now. I remember well, the crazy, challenging, exhausting days of young family life. From this vantage point the edges are all smoothed out. I think with fondness of those lovely times and count my many blessings. It is a lovely adventure after all is said and done!
“From this vantage point the edges are all smoothed out.” So wonderfully said.
Couldn’t agree more. :)
The loveliest reminder. Thank you, Kim!
I always save your posts for a moment when I can just sit with my laptop and take in every word of yours – so thrilled when I see your name in my inbox. I am sitting here – with boys age 12 and 15 – in an airport lounge reading your post. I am watching young mothers run after tots and deal with littles who are tired and frustrated and just want to run around. Watching the moms who just want to sit for a minute and exhale themselves. I remember those days and watch with part envy and part relief. My two are now self-sufficient units – able to get their own food, go find the bathroom alone, choose their own entertainment. Traveling with them is almost like traveling with equals – different, easier. But the many years of it being different are just below the surface. Just there in my body and heart.
This is a beautiful sentiment, Alex – I’m experiencing something similar with our own pre-teen and it’s a joy to witness it all unfold. I’ve still got one foot into the early years, but I can relate to the idea of “equals” with our oldest. It’s a lovely thing to witness! My pastor once told me that all the things that can make you a wonderful parent in the early years – hands-on, vigilant, a kind but firm authority – can often make you a terrible parent to the olders if not lessened and lightened along the way. I’m listening, lessening, lightening. :)