Head in the clouds
3:12 pm: I’m sitting in the car in a parking lot because both kids just (surprisingly) fell asleep on the way to the grocery store. It’s very quiet. It’s been a very hectic, all-uphill kind of day. I’ve been busy making breakfast and getting everyone dressed and cleaning up messes and setting up activities and making lunch and cleaning up the lunch mess and redirecting energy and using up my energy. I’ve felt stuck on fast-forward all day, hardly time to breathe, hardly time to think, even my cups of coffee downed hastily rather than enjoyed.
I am surprised to find this quiet moment. And like an empty-nester must feel, I suddenly don’t know what to do with myself. I forgot my book. I’m exhausted. I try to sleep but can’t. I open my eyes and a lady is smiling in through the window and points to the sleeping kids in a thumbs-up aren’t-they-cute kind of way. I smile weakly back and watch her walk into a store.
Then I notice the clouds. I start watching them. I tune out all the cars and street lights and poles and I tune out all the ugliness. After a few minutes I even tune out the static inside me of worries and to-do lists and the feeling of getting-it-wrong I’ve had all day.
How restful: see how they move. See how the grey and white and blue are shifting. They’re moving fast today, they’re dramatic. And they won’t be put into any category. Dreamy and strong, brave then hesitant, wispy here, thick there, swirling in that corner, floating there, flying there, rushing there, resting there.
