Rhythm is a Dancer, but of course

The moments of nap time (aka MY TIME) are passing by as the sky attempts to whip us up a late September rainstorm, I have done my part to appease the gods of rain by hanging up a substantial load of laundry earlier today. They flap around me now, my laundered cocoon of self reflection.

I am fifteen months out (tending little guy), nearly six years in (being a mother), coming up on seven years (creating and sustaining marriage) and rounding the bend towards thirty-seven years (adapting to self all the way).

One gift hard-earned these six odd years of parenting is my knowledge of self, continually evolving as it is. My sense of my own needs is fairly astute these days. My ability to access the time, energy and support to meet them varies by day, by hour, by week, sometimes moment to moment. Lately, I notice the hourglass reading empty much too soon when I have just gotten into the meat of the writing (or the meat of the meal preparation).

In some ways, I would be a fool to have not learned my own ways by now. I leave signs and notes all over the damn place: Do yoga! Call your friends! Go take a hike! Eat more green things! And on…

I have journals from six years back, they are chock full of words, plans, rhythms, lists, inspirations, realizations that neatly mimic what I have written over the last fifteen months. I am waiting for the opportunity to dig deeper into these boxes, my journals and see what else is awaiting me, reminders of what I once already knew. It is good to be reminded.

My lists of what need to happen unspool and mimic one another. I am grateful for the days when I make minute adjustments and they serve me well. I am searching for efficiency blended well with joyful, easeful attending movements throughout each day. I like to lichen my role in the home as a somewhat drunken (and certainly underpaid) orchestra conductor and it is the same for me, dancing my way through each day, attempting to see, respond and anticipate to all the needs, including my own. After the Ecstasy, the Laundry, indeed.

Today, I cleaned up Caleb’s lunch mess before putting him down for nap. I boiled water for tea while I practiced yoga for my five minutes of baseline due diligence, ate an apple while the tea steeped and I sat to type. These are glorious moments I am living!

The beauty of being at home and seeing all the possibilities, for me, is being able to envision changes that support and nourish. I want to solve the problems before they arise. I want to be a taoist master of simply living and a clown constantly turning upside down. It is overwhelming, and exhilarating, in turns.

On a day like today, this leaves me with piles of whole foods on the counter waiting their turn in my hands, furniture shoved about to be wiped clean and placed anew, there purposes re-imagined. I am learning to wash the dishes when I am washing the dishes and, other times, to ignore the damn dishes and roll around on the floor instead. Leastways, I am trying to learn. I am pretty sure I have some notes about that a few dozen times in my daily jottings. I believe in repetition these days.

This thoroughgoingness is everywhere! I drop out of these routines when I can, eyes up to the Aspens turning, eyes inward to the posture, crouch down to the littles, back up tall to invent a new game. For now, it is back to my practice of zen in the midst of housekeeping, hearth tending, heart expanding. Thanks for coming along for the ride.

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