I sit in the house-dim of a summer evening, waiting the moments out till it is not too early to start our bedtime routine. In theory the littles bedtime is at 8. In practice, this summer, it is usually 9. On evenings like this, when I am tired, I wait a little longer than I think I can, to start the evening routine. I want them to go to bed early but not feel cheated.
Like most of mothering, it is an art, but science enters into it.
My new planner, sits, happy, on the counter, it’s golden polka dots and pretty script beckon. I take a moment to grab my pencil, the one that was sharp yesterday, with it’s yellow eraser of a hat, and record the food I ate this evening. I am doing my best to work on health.
There are contented sounds from the living room. The crinkle and whoosh of lego play along with a soft chattering in Mandarin. The two littles ones, immersed in their creative world. The deep buzz of Quinn’s voice as he talks, via headphone, to a friend across town who is his partner in online warfare. The cats murmur to me, isn’t it almost their dinner time?
I check the dryer one more time for the day and fold the comforter I find inside into perfect right angles and lay it flat in the still-clean linen cabinet. A comforting activity. The house is not clean but it is neat for now, and that neatness lets me feel ready to rest, ready to settle in for an episode of Gray’s Anatomy, a perusal of instagram or a slow deep fall into my latest library novel.
The air conditioner roars it’s quiet roar and I step back into the hallway where the coolness congregates. I wipe my forehead and light a candle in the bathroom. The pure white of the new shower curtain with it’s scatter of golden confetti releases peace. I breath in deeply.
A life is found in it’s particulars. These are mine, this evening.