she ran through the kitchen where i was frying pancakes on hot cast iron, little girl with blondish-brown ponytail trailing behind her. she was running, that’s what they do, & as she pumped past the fridge she chanted, “inhale, outhale. inhale, outhale. inhale, outhale.”
i stood stunned, stainless steel spatula in hand. hallelujah wisdom from my 7-girl.
isn’t that just it?
when i’m cramming breakfast into schoolwork into reading time into. . .too much.
when the baby wakes up before i’m finished chopping & the 4-boy is crying as the phone rings.
when again the numbers don’t add to a full account.
when the bad news comes, the sick thickens, the laundry mounts, & you are left alone.
in the words of an ancient, julian of norwich, a mantra i’ve circled around since college:
all shall be well & all shall be well & all manner of thing shall be well.