Refreshment

On Tuesday, for the first time in AGES, I felt like I was a great mother. I remembered that I can make the world magical for Silas and Eden. I had a well of patience and creativity and could think clearly enough to draw from it. We played on the beach in the sunrise. Took a pink bubble bath. Had a picnic on the back deck. Walked to the park. Read books. Made Spring pictures with Silas's art supplies (thanks L's!) Played on my bedspread until we were all laughing.

I used to have these days frequently. Constantly when the world was only Silas and me. Often when Eden was a snoozing baby. Seldom to never, in the windy whirl of two active babes. And I hadn't even noticed.

Yesterday, I was with my friend Kelly, who always makes me want to live a little more purposefully. She asked how my weekend had been, and I told her I'd spent the day Saturday driving to and from LA for my writers' group, and Sunday teaching an art journal workshop.
That must have been refreshing. Was it?
I thought for a minute -- Not really... Isn't that strange? I was doing things I love and was alone, but I didn't come back reFREShed. Why is that?

A few minutes later I pictured a map of the week in my head and laughed. Oh. I HAD been recharged. The afternoons away, in my own space, making art and talking about poetry with other writers, blew out the fog and cleared the way for our Tuesday weather.

Refreshment is funny that way; it slips in the back door. When I come home after being away for a bit, the instant I walk inside, life is back full swing, all hands on deck. Nothing feels changed.

But then, I put my hand in my pocket and find that Silas's purple plastic gems are somehow there, and I have a little more to give.

If I can remember, in the midst of children demanding, wanting, waking, coughing, sniffling, thirsting, yelling, pushing, needing, talking, talking, talking, questioning, how important it is to push back my chair and take a walk alone, then I can come back a little new.