If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that this is the first time I’ve tried this, and I’m both excited and a little nervous. I’m coming to you experimentally, on a cloudy, sleepy Saturday evening, with a sweet hot cuppa sitting beside me. The house is quiet; my Accomplice (otherwise known as Chef Bluebeard), is at work. My son is in his room, watching videos. My daughter is showering. She turned eleven and a half yesterday, and I’d tell you that she’s growing up so fast – they both are. And yet, there are still these endearing, precious-because-I-know-they-can’t-last moments where they’re both still little enough inside to need Mommy the way they did when they were younger.
If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that my life is paradoxical. As I sit in my study, I can see both cluttered chaos and clean organization – it’s like that throughout the house, but it’s getting gradually tidier, as the kids grow and get better at seeing how leaving things scattered can have an adverse effect on life. Someday, maybe, I’ll have a house as clean as I dream of, where clutter is the momentary sign of a flurry of activity, swiftly swept back up into its proper homes to await its next use…but, then again, that would likely mean that I wouldn’t get to live with three fascinating people I love dearly, and who mean a lot more to me than a clean house ever could…
If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that I stepped away for a bit to make us a cozy fire as the winter dark sets in, and to put lotion on my daughter’s back, and that now my hands smell like fresh berries. I’d tell you that we giggled and listened to music, and that now I’m back, with a faint smile lingering at the corners of my lips, listening to my deep-voiced teen, the muted sounds of a Minecraft Gangnam Style parody from the bathroom, the ticking of the clock, tapping of the keys, and the chiming music of my phone timer, telling me it’s time to get up and move – check the fire, do some dishes, and then come back…
If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that this is a peaceful home – and that there are many gradients on our scale of peace. Sometimes, like right now, it’s a calm and slumberous peace that makes me think of The Napping House. Other times, it’s a loud, boisterous, active peace. Its mood can change in an instant – but the peace remains, running beneath, like a pulsing rhythm. I would tell you that that simple fact amazes me…it’s so foreign to what I knew, growing up, and yet so essential to my happiness. I would tell you that building a relationship with my children is so much easier than attempting to control them ever was, and that it’s infinitely more useful. I would tell you that I’m awed every day at this life, and these children who won’t be children much longer. I’d tell you I’m still gobsmacked to have a son bigger than me, and still growing; a son with a man’s voice when he shares his profound thoughts when we chat alone together in the deep of the night, watching Finding Your Roots and COPS, and discussing…well, anything and everything that comes to mind.
If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that I awoke to the sounds of my Accomplice on the roof, patching for the umpteenth time, and that we hope we can manage to replace that roof, in the next year or so. I’d tell you that he brought me my first cuppa, and that we chatted about this and that, and that I still love kissing him goodbye even after nearly 19 years together, and that I’m eternally grateful that he’s been willing to take so many leaps of faith, trusting in my intuition. I’d rhapsodize about the way he earns a living so that I can concentrate on the children and writing. I’d say that he’s funny, warm, sensitive, and that that blue beard of his turns me on more than a little, because it suits him so well.
If we were having coffee, you’d discover that I like to talk, and listen. You’d maybe see that there’s something at once far off and inwardly focused in my eyes; you might guess that I’m in a new-moon creative mode, and that stories are unfurling in my mind, claiming a good deal of my attention. If we had a second cuppa, you might learn who the stories concern (if you didn’t know me well enough to not even need to guess, that is…).
If we were having coffee, you might’ve just seen me nearly spit mine on my keyboard, because my daughter, who wanted to tell my son something, said, very naturally, “I’ll text him.” His room is only 20 feet or so from where she just set up her Littlest Pet Shop game; she doesn’t want to get up or yell through the house. I’d tell you that the technology that’s so naturally a part of their lives amazes me more than a little.
If we were having coffee, I’d tell you it’s time for me to go, and direct you to Part Time Monster’s Weekend Coffee Share…via the link or the little blue froggy! And I’d wish you all a week full of the very loveliest of chaos!