A late August entry in my journal includes this little ditty dedicated to parents of teenagers in summertime:
They were laughing, he and she, in their private cafe, before
you stepped out of your room
beyond towers of blocks,
beyond models, stories, construction paper,
beyond anything you built together.
They drained their cups and turned their faded faces,
remembering your eyes when you were born. They
picked at drops of hardened honey on the table,
picked at dog hairs on their sleeves,
picked at whatever you suggested they should give you now.
Their shoulders fell to ruin
and they grieved the loss of you
when there you were
just out of reach
head to trim
in the doorway,
Okay, so I know what you’re thinking: here’s a woman who needs the kids to go back to school. And also: that kid in the doorway needs to get away from her. Thank God it’s September.
Yes! Whoo-hoo! Hip hip hooray! Three cheers for the big yellow bus that takes my children away in the morning. I have seven hours of alone time every day to earn my living and maybe finish a book and learn to appreciate my family in their absence.
Just how insane did constant company drive me these past months?
I made a rug. Like from scratch, with scrap material I tore into strips, braided, and sewed in loops with a needle and thread — the sort of thing only enslaved or imprisoned people do. Not a little bath mat either but a five by four foot rug. It’s in my office now. I look at it and think, sheesh, you’re barely hanging on if you’re braiding a rug that size. Keep it together, girl.
Mind you, it is pretty and much better than braiding a noose.
I have just completed my first week of back-to-school-and-work and I am loving it. I’ve kept to this daily schedule:
8:59: tidy house
9:00-12:00: work on writing project with closest deadline or highest pay rate
12:00: walk dog
1:00: eat, read
2:00-5:00: work on whatever takes my fancy
5:00 onward: chillax with loved ones (blog on Fridays)
Is that an awesome schedule or what? No more rugs in my near future. I will braid me a novel these coming months. (Something for unappreciated teens with joyless parents who let them down. A real crowd pleaser.)