I kiss my girls goodnight as the moon takes its place. My husband and I take the trash out shortly after. Oddly enough, this is our quality time. A few minutes we get to talk before we find ourselves back at our work.
I love Mondays for this reason. Garbage night. Deep conversations. Looking forward to the next time we may bump into one another.
In our short encounter I ask him how his day was. “Busy,” he reports. I grapple with this response, although I am not the least bit innocent. I too am busy and often speedily share this with others. While it is true, it seems to give off an air of importance. I am so busy, I don’t have time for other things, including you. Yikes!
What I dislike most is when I am busy, my children are too or they are at least reaping the feelings of my being busy. Being toted around the grocery store, shuttled from one outing to the next, being fed less than perfect foods, and being left for someone to care for them other than me.
Who would I be if I wasn’t busy? Slow. Thoughtful. Content. Now that sounds more like it. I used to know someone like that; it used to be me.
Children bring on a rush of busyness I never knew existed. Life is so fast paced, there are days I feel I cannot catch my breath except when I lay down at 11:45PM to get in a few minutes of reading and a prayer, which I inevitably fall asleep during.
The mental lists I create and the endless tasks can feel daunting. Did I really sign up for this? I was going to change diapers and make school lunches but I had no idea ALL it would entail.
So what do I do? I try. I try to do what needs to be done. I try to do it all in a meditative way. I am not successful all the time.
I could be just as busy taking the garbage down, but tonight, like many nights, we walk together and look up at the sky. We wrap an arm around one another and slowly, thoughtfully, and contently walk up our lane.
I move as fast or slow as my heart desires.