Momalom

Jen writes

January 31, 2012

From a cafe

She sat at the cafe, looking out at the falling snow. The mug in her palms was warm, hot almost. She imagined seeing the steam rise in streams, obscuring her vision. She imagined the snow coming down faster than it was. She imagined sitting in the same chair, in the same room, in the same position for the rest of the day.

The scent of the coffee was bitter, the taste sharp. She drank it down as quickly as she could without scalding her lips and throat. The day would begin before she could stop it. The skies would clear, and the sun would begin to show itself in long, angular rays bouncing off the tall buildings of her small, hometown city.

If they saw her, if they knew her thoughts right at this very moment, some of her friends would warn her of a pending depressive episode. She was prone to them, it was true. But today’s slow start and overwhelming feelings of disappointment were not symptoms of depression. If anything, today she was already falling prey to self-indulgence–the “woe is me” kind that comes after an evening of comparing one’s accomplishments to those of one’s friends. Or even to strangers, all of whom so often seemed to her to be much more accomplished, successful, happy.

She wasn’t worried, as she sat in the cafe, all of the empty tables surrounding her as the morning customers ordered their coffees and scones to go. She recognized what was happening. Regret. Shame. Frustration. She would fight the shutdown today. And she would persevere. But for now, as the window before her fogged just the tiniest bit in response to the invisible stream of her coffee’s rising steam, she would indulge. Wish. Think thoughts of “what if,” “if only” and “when.”

6 comments

Jen writes

January 24, 2012

Memories to strive for

Sarah and I were talking yesterday about how lucky we are. There are so many reasons, of course, but our conversation centered around family. Our own childhoods, with engaged, educated, interesting, fun parents who each respected their children and encouraged us all to excel, to take risks, to grow. OK, we didn’t use those words during our chat, but that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? Having good parents means so very much.

Now that we’re both in the thick of it, trying oh so hard to be good parents ourselves, we call upon our own childhood experiences more and more. We wonder how our own parents would have handled situations that we’re going through with our own kids now. We realize how very rare our own experience was——that our house was the house everyone wanted to be at. Sure our friends came by to eat the good food that dad always made sure stocked the kitchen: ice cream, chips, a dozen kinds of cereal, bagels, soda. And they came to swim in our pool or play basketball out back. But our friends also came because our parents welcomed them. And let them be who they were, just as they let us be who we were and who we were becoming.

There is so very much more to this topic. It is never ending, really, as we all try to offer our kids the best of all possible childhoods. After having another talk with Sarah about how our kids are so lucky to have their siblings and their cousins and a large extended family of love and tradition, I received a link to this video. It’s the same message in a slightly different——and slightly more sad——delivery. But there it is, loud and clear: Enjoy. Thank. Appreciate. Share. Do your best. Live together and with great appreciation for all that you have.

Today isn’t a “significant” day in the loss of our dad. It’s not his birthday or the anniversary of the day he died or Valentine’s Day——on which I always remember him and the year we sat at Pizza Hut as a family and he gave me and my siblings each a Valentine-themed pencil. But sometimes it’s the days that aren’t supposed to be significant that are most memorable.

We were lucky to share so many days together.
And we’re lucky to have so many memories to share.

But some days are still difficult.

Even as we children are lucky still, each with our own families of five now.
Even as a doting grandmother, who has so very many reasons to be proud.

Because I wrote this quickly. Because it’s Tuesday. Because I haven’t joined up in a very long time, I’m linking this post to Heather of the EO’s Just Write #19.

8 comments

Jen writes

January 20, 2012

Processing

Too many words
Too little time

Instead of progress
There is procrastination

Waiting for opportunity
Accepting the impossible

Creativity and mothering:
Stop and go

7 comments