Thursday, September 25, 2008

You are the reason I've been waiting all these years

Oh, what is it about the transition into Fall that makes me feel so lost? Literally and figuratively, I spent much of the weekend without a clue as to where I was. It started when a mob of Japanese tourists got between me and my beautiful, sunbleached, ice cream-eating children and started snapping pictures with wild abandon. I understood the atttraction and the adorableness of the scene, I really did. But still...

And then trying to find the church in which our dear friends were getting married- at that very moment- we were lost again. I couldn't help feeling we were partly lost on "accidentally on purpose", what with our aversion to the Catholic mass sit-kneel-stand hullabaloo. Once inside, we still weren't safe from the feeling of being in the wrong place. We were like a couple of 10 year olds, giggling and rolling our eyes in the back pew. It didn't help that the priest's speech impediment made him sound ever-so-slightly like the priest in The Princess Bride.

And even this morning, there was the normal Monday Morning pre-schoolbus rush, multiplied by the suitcases in various stages of unpackedness, the papers that never managed to make their way out of the backpack all weekend, and some escaped sheep (guess they got lost, too). I was finally sitting down to my much-anticipated bowl of oatmeal with cinnamon and walnuts, and a cup of hot coffee, I suddenly realized my son had missed the bus. Where did those 10 minutes go? They were just... lost.

Friday, September 12, 2008

All the clouds blew away

Yesterday was one of those perfect late summer days, clear and warm and breezy and delicious. It was a perfect picnic and playground kind of day. A living in the moment kind of day. So (of course) we left all of our farm chores until after dark, when everyone was cranky and hungry and on the verge of falling apart. Like ya do.
So after I've put everyone back together, to the best of my farm wifely ability, I am left here pondering the whole idea of living in the moment. I've often found myself to be too good at staying in the present. Sunshine on bare skin, the juicy crunch of a freshly picked apple, the weight of my friend's brand new baby on my chest- it's as if these sensations conspire to distract me from the activities of responsible adult life. Like keeping my blog updated, par example. And yet, this is the thing I am most often yelling at the kids for. "Stop splashing in the tub." "Quit playing in the sink and just brush your teeth!" "That's a pitchfork, not a light saber!!!" Yes, I know it is my job to keep them safe and nourished and healthy, of course I have to guide them. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about the jumble of dragon-mama emotions that feeds the stream of parenting catch phrases. It's not only lazy and kind of self-indulgent and, well, tacky, but it's also ultimately hypocritical. And if there's one thing I have a hard time justifying, it's hypocrisy.
So tonight, as I watched those little boys sleeping, two tangles of stuffed creatures and legos and impossibly long limbs (how did they get so BIG?), I vowed for millionth time that tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow I will let them collect the eggs in a knight's helmet, and protect themselves from Chickenzilla with a light saber, or whatever else they feel they need. Tomorrow I won't put a time limit on teeth brushing, and if someone misses the bus... well, then I'll have 10 extra minutes to spend with him while I drive him to school. And I know I can't create a perfect utopian life, or even day, but maybe we'll have a few moments, in which we are all fully present, and, you know, together.

Monday, September 8, 2008

Limping Amok

It seems my obsession with Word Challenge on Facebook has come between me and my blog, and for this I apologize. You know, to all three of my fans.

I suppose I am stuck in the goldeny twilight zone between summer and fall. After a summer of parties and death-defying tractor rides and pyrotechnic idiocy, September was bound to be an adjustment. The kids have returned to school, the house guests have all flown back from whence they came, and suddenly I have all this... quiet. Isn't that what an aspiring blogger is supposed to want? And yet... RunAmok seems so empty. Chickenzilla's lonely crow echoes across the farm. The sheep keep breaking out of their pens, searching for someone at whom to baa. The pigs snort and grunt as they remember the endless supply of watermelon rinds, the audience they always had at feeding time. They stare wistfully at the empty pig-viewing chairs. They don't even know who they are anymore.

So maybe I'm projecting a little bit. But I can't stop myself from missing all the friends and family and, well, let's admit it, willing farmhands I had all summer. Especially now, with this lingering ankle injury. Pretty much every time I summon up the energy to hobble down to the chicken coops, I slip in chicken shit, or the grain bin bangs down unexpectedly on my head, or Chickenzilla decides to pick on me. Yeah, it's mostly funny, but less so, when there's no one there to point out said humor. I am grateful for all these boys I live with- my protectors, my fence fixers, my sheep chasers. I am so lucky they pick up where I slack off, and endure my hum-drum and ho-hum. Soon I will settle into bread and soup season and tackle those abandoned knitting projects. But for now, I just miss you all so much. So, I'll sit on the couch with my laptop, propping up and icing down my ankle, and kicking serious Word Challenge ass.