I’ve finished two of the four assigned readings for this week, and have barely skimmed the text to be analyzed over the next three weeks. I’m not behind – really, I’m not! – but probably this hour or so of free time I’ve miraculously discovered would be better spent speed reading the next paper on my list, in preparation for the note-taking/highlighting/summarizing assault that awaits it tomorrow.
Especially when tomorrow night is gym night, and my body feels like it was used to demonstrate ground-breaking innovations in athletic apparel, and I’ve got bruises running from my hip to my knee as a result of Tuesday night’s adventures with dry-needling.
Hot chocolate with Bailey’s, you suggest? Don’t mind if I do….
This was one of those days where I was running all day. After boys with selective hearing and girls with complex dramatics, and all of them equipped with pounding feet and shrieking mouths and the chaotic crashing joy that is children. This is one of those days where I nailed everything on my to-do list but feel like there is so much left to do. And my brain is spinning with philosophy and linguistics, creativity and analytics, and whether or not my daughter’s birthday party will be just as good eleven days too late because that was the venue’s only availability.
Two of my extra kids lost loved ones this week, and I hurt for them even while they speak so frankly about how Heaven is a forever place for the part of people that love comes from. I admire their unquestioning acceptance of this, and wonder how much of that comes from the inherent uncertainty in childhood. Adults expect things to stay the same. We manufacture stability. And loss – death in any of its forms – shakes our foundations and leaves us scrambling for support…. I held my kids a lot this week. Maybe we’re not so different.
I missed my daughter’s skating lesson to tackle a particularly difficult reading, last night. She skated fast – faster than her older, more experienced classmates. And had excellent behaviour for her new teacher. And my son did a great job of keeping himself busy from the bench, beside his dad. And all of them came home with laughter and hugs and didn’t need me there at all.
That shouldn’t make me feel sad, I know. But, ouch, you know?
This thing that I’m doing just for me…. My instructor has already thanked me for my critical analyses in group forums, and the reading is difficult and interesting, challenging and captivating, and more than I thought it would be in all the right ways. It is a good thing.
But my body aches from running like crazy to get everything done. My leg hurts, still, and I’m just sick of dealing with it.
Happy Thursday, y’all. I’m going to draw a hot bath, find myself a good book, and let the tension run out through my pores.