i’d rather not be starting this post, but i feel an odd tension i need to untangle. here seemed best.
i’d rather not be writing, because any minute someone i love will wake & come crawl in my lap, & i will stop click-clacking & give snuggles & “good morning”‘s. but i will still have this tension, not yet untangled. i will want to turn back to my computer, i will steal peaks at photos i could upload & plan where i’ll insert them. i will look over & around a tiny shoulder, while giving a tiny backrub.
but i will also want to be wholly present to this darling who has come in to sit by me, to sit in my lap & be loved, the very first thing in the morning, of utmost importance.
so my question is, how do you fit in the art?
a few minutes ago i walked into the kitchen, greeted warmly by a sink of last-night’s plates & cups. oy. & still, the tanglings aren’t untangled. & now i do have company, so my thoughts are shaky & i should just cease & desist. she has come in, with a coloring book & her markers, to sit beside mommy in the early morning, so we can listen to pandora & share the dim light of the lamp in the corner. still.
i realize i’m in such a particular part of life, with three small children & an infant. with diapers to change & bitty bodies to bathe. with cheerios to sweep up off the floor & trains to play. with walks to take & wagons to pull. with schoolish stuff to weave in & meals to make. & dishes & laundry &, &. . . .
and still the art remains, quietly asking for its own voice.
oh Lord, give me the grace to balance today what isn’t mine to weigh & measure. even me out, so that my head isn’t crammed into distraction, so that i can hug my little ones & not keep peaking at the computer screen. & find a place, no matter how small, for the art. i feel that it’s important for it to find home somewhere. & divvy me up so everyone has enough, including me.