Most days I awaken at half past dark and spend those quiet minutes willing myself to stay in bed. Quickly aware of the adrenaline coursing through my veins, I eschew the urge to bundle up and pound it all out on the pavement. That habit has taken its toll on my body. These days I try to focus on the breath and being kind to myself.
Think in kindness.
Worry about this day only.
Surrender needing answers and abide in the “what-ifs.”
In the pre dawn light I practice yoga. Practice breathing. Breathe.
Hours later, when I think I’ve come up with a checklist to make me feel in control of this life and these children, my nine year old pads downstairs, standing in my doorway announcing that we have a snow day.
My eleven and thirteen year old daughters yell down, asking if they can make blueberry and chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast.
My eight year old informs me that he will NOT be reading today . . . after all, he’s off for the day, as my fourteen year old soundly sleeps away yet another active morning.
So, we make pancakes. We break out a jigsaw puzzle, the “back of the basement” roller skates, Sudoku puzzles, and the music practice books. I search for the spaces in between to find moments of harmony to which I cling, and practice to let all the rest go . . . and it’s only 11 am.
I breathe, all the while incredulous that I ever home schooled.