Running Laps
I never know I need quiet and stillness until it’s too late, till
the lack of stillness scrapes me raw. Henry was sick this
weekend, and then just as soon as he was on the upswing,
Aaron got sick, and then Monday morning, when I so
desperately needed everyone to be better, all three woke up
sick—a boogery little boy, a big boy with a big barking
cough, Aaron chilled and feverish.
And I was furious. Furious at whom, I don’t know,
because you can’t help being sick. But what I felt was
trapped and angry. I didn’t want to wipe another nose, fold
another little set of pajamas, measure out another dose of
Tylenol. I wanted to leave.
Three sick boys, dependent on me, feels a little too much
like the rest of life. I’ve spent a lifetime establishing my role
as responsible party. What that means it that I take care of it.
And by “it” I mean everything. I troubleshoot, multitask,
strategize. Especially in seasons when I travel a lot, when
I’m home, I’m in the zone—new pants for Henry, diapers
for Mac, permission slips and orthodontist appointments.
If I’m honest, I overcompensate for my absences by
trying to make my home time spectacular. Look, I didn’t
miss a beat! Look, you’ve got everything you need and then