Tuesday, March 6, 2012

in the meantime

i walk around with songs in my head and every now and then one of them shakes loose and rattles itself around on a continuous loop. it tends to travel like a race car, sometimes screaming by and other times just a hum around the corner. today, my song does not fit me.

i have work to do today. lots of work that require me to type, to write, to nurse, to cook food to puree, to fold and wash and hang to dry. i have tasks at hand and a manicure i want to fix before we take the kids to disneyland tomorrow. i have lists upon lists of health related things to do and yet i can't get this song out of my head and it makes me feel like i'm fifteen and i just want to go to naugles and order up the chicken guacamole burrito they used to make back then because it was so delicious. i never liked this song in the first place and i'm wondering why it is still in my head, almost 25 years later. i also still feel 15 and i'm confused about how in the hell i was 15 almost 25 years ago. i've never trusted math.

there are cat nose marks on the sliding glass door and yet i've always prided myself on being the type of person who doesn't have nose marks on glass. anywhere. and i feel like somehow i'm failing and succeeding at the same time because i honestly spend so much time a day cleaning house and yet there are still things left undone. sometimes i intentionally leave them undone to prove that i have my priorities straight. to prove that my kids come first. perhaps that's why i don't shower. why i wear what most would consider pajamas (although i prefer the term 'loungewear') for much of the day, my hair in what some consider a fashionable "messy ballerina bun" yet, on me, looks like...well, a mess. an intentional mess.

maybe that's it. i'm an intentional mess. i'm feeling all sorts of pressure from somewhere in the back of my mind to fill up on things, to stockpile, to clean out, to give in, to let it go while reigning it in tight. my daughter wanted some time to herself while the baby naps and i am writing this while i watch her move the stainless steel grocery cart inherited from my sister throughout the house, shopping. so far, she has amassed some blocks, dash's tiny piano with four keys, some magnets, flashcards, two whistles, all of dash's chew toys. i spy a couple of dirty socks in there that were waiting to be taken upstairs.

i have been reading about depression related to weaning. since dash started eating food, i nurse much less. and i'm prone to crying at shel silverstein poems because i imagine they are eulogies and i think that if something were to happen to one of these creatures living with me i would surely decay into a rotten mess of seeds and sludge. and eventually i would be carted away to disintegrate. then i think, no, i wouldn't simply rot away. i would abscess. i would fester. i would infect.

these are the thoughts i think about as i look at the smudges of lunch on the kitchen floor that i really should get to cleaning right now while i have the time. i should organize something. i should take a fucking shower. instead i'll wait for bryan to get home from work. because he will walk in, he will hug me and give me a kiss and he will tell me i am beautiful. and he will mean it.

in the meantime...
fresh brewed decaf. a handful of pomegranate seeds. taking seventeen pictures of the green beans in the sink because i'm trying to figure out how to use my fancy camera, how to show running water. audio books from the library where finn can read along with the bells, turning the pages. the way i think nursing feels like playing a guitar, sharp and you develop callouses and you learn to love the resonance. metal cans full of colored pencils and plans for an epic day of princesses and magic after one more night's sleep. in the meantime, i love my loungewear pants.


  1. Hmmm I love that simile about breastfeeding. If only I could play guitar as well as I could breastfeed.


  2. i look forward to your blog posts. i have even bookmarked the beginning of your blog as my relatable "what to expect when you are expecting" while the actual book has a thick coat of dust. if we ever had guests i might wipe the cover so i don't look like a bad parent already.

    more importantly, thank you for sharing yourself because it has helped me tremendously.

    -fellow messy bun girl

    p.s. what's the song???

  3. I wake up with a song, every morning. It seems to make no earthy sense why it is this particular song today, and that particular song tomorrow. But they stay with me, until a new day births a new musical echo. Cleaning house is horse shit. But of course it has to be cleared if it blocks a path.

    I'm reading this and wondering if men think like this. Do they consider what's in the basket and contemplate the calluses of food, and the mourning of giving? Why do I think not? Sometimes I wish I were more of a man, and sometimes I thank my lucky stars I'm not.

    ((Hugs)) Krista!

  4. Beautiful writing, as always.

    I hope you enjoyed Disneyland. And I'll remind you, though you already know - "in the meantime" is the only place where grace exists and thrives.

  5. I am more prone to crying now than I ever was. I wonder why. My kids are growing. They need me less and less each day. It's those moments of closeness slipping away.

  6. Your children are the extension of you - and they are beautiful. My Mom always placed the emphasis on the clean, organized house and life - and you know where that put me in the spectrum of importance. Give me lounge pants, mussed hair and a few things undone in a mother and she's the one I want - every....single.....time. I love the mother and "wife" you are and the very being of Bryan - because he does mean it - every....single....time.

    And I love you ---------THIS---------- much. Always. Mom

  7. What a full and wonderful life you have described. Enjoy Disneyland!

  8. Ok, sorry, but WHAT SONG???????!?!?!??!

    It's driving me crazy not to know. You said a million wonderful things, but that's what I am stuck on - what song?

    SHEESH! I am an odd one, aren't I?


use your kind words.