Sunday, February 25, 2007

The Dark Cloud

I can't quite understand the dark cloud that hangs over me sometimes. I mean, sure, it makes sense that I would be feeling a little hopeless and worried and emotional when my kids have been waking up at 4 am for over a week. And the dark circles under their eyes and horrible behavior don't do much to help me feel like a good mom. And the fact that my normal extrovert tendancies get somehow squashed under the weight of actually getting out the door--this can't be helping my mood.

And, true, it took me 15 minutes--15 full minutes!--to read one page of the spiderman book that Luke selected this morning. What with Henry approaching age two and thus grabbing the book and trying to rip it out of my hand, and Luke (being Luke) trying to hit him, and Henry being placed on the floor, and then crawling back up onto the couch and grabbing the book again and then biting me and being placed in time out, and re-placed in time out, and re-placed in time out--when it was all said and done, it took me 15 minutes to read the first page. And to realize that I am not ever, ever, ever having any more kids. The futility of trying to read the same sentence out loud over and over! The bore of the cheapie spiderman book that I wish we didn't even own!

This dark cloud: I realize that it is a cliche, but it is apt. My vision feels as though it has actually been dimmed. I feel like I'm spinning in circles (another cliche), stuck in some game of Star Wars Monopoly, being moved, over and over, in the same pattern by my kids.

And the fear. For me, the dark cloud is really about the fear. I'm so frightened that none of us will ever get enough sleep again. And I'm scared of what it says about me as a parent, that I can't even get my kids to sleep enough to keep them rested. And, too, there's the fear that I'm never going to pray one decent, heartfelt prayer again, or think one coherent thought again, or raise my kids to be decent human beings.

But then, through what is surely, again, a holy moment of everyday life, the cloud just lifts. The sun starts to rise, the coffee starts to hit me, the icons catch my eye, and I think of my children as adults who might not sleep enough but will still be (I pray every moment of my life) happy and loving adults.

So, really, I guess I often do understand the dark cloud. It is the lifting of this darkness that is mysterious and miraculous to me.


Molly Sabourin said...

I have tried to explain the emotional intensity of being isolated all day long with your own dark thoughts, the chores that never get accomplished, and the children who need, and test, and fight, to my dear sweet husband, but words seems so inadequate to express the turmoil completely. Like you said, however, it is amazing how a cup of coffee, a hot bath, or a weekend can fill you back up with hope. Thank goodness for mornings, and the chance every 24 hours to start over!

Julia said...

This is such a sweet picture!

Jenny said...

This last line is amazing. I keep thinking about it. I think I've felt exactly what you described here.