So much to say but in rare snatches of alone time I find myself reading a few pages of a book, eating a spoonful of Nutella, weeding, idly surfing the Internet, cleaning up instead of writing about the experiences of the moment. Endlessly cleaning up. I keep putting things in a basket by the door to donate to the thrift shop because I'm tired of looking at it, of cleaning it, of moving it.
I can hear Cedar thumping around overhead as Tim chases him across the bedroom in the Before Bedtime Romp. Little red ringlets curling, a huge gap-toothed toddler smile and that baby smell good enough to put a patisserie to shame.
Today my mom watched him and they napped in the hammock, he handed her a hundred books, the puppy followed him everywhere. Tim and I rented a tandem bike and rode for a couple of hours on the paths by the river. We stopped to pop ripe, black jewelweed pods. The sky was so blue and clear and there were many dogs out. We discovered some mown paths through fields of corn and huge tangles of wildflowers, purple thistle thrusting out above the goldenrod. I looked for milkweed seeds.
Lately when Cedar has been needing a nap I drive him over to the lake and watch it through the windshield while he sleeps. It is so needed. Quiet. Fun. Lightening. When I find things that make me feel like that, I hold onto them.
When he awakes, we go for a little walk.
But this afternoon. Tim and I ate lunch: brie and peach and turkey sandwhiches and after that I ate a shortbread cooky, a lintzer tart, and a lemon sugar cooky. The waitress gave me a bag to take home the uneaten bits but I didn't really need it. Sometimes I just let go around sweets and it feels so good.
When we first headed out today I wasn't sure we needed the break; we both get solitary time on our own enough and are able to do things after Cedar goes to bed. But this was good ~ we found something we cannot do with him. And we missed him. We laughed and felt lighthearted and made silly jokes and noises and talked in our best British accents.
I've been burning the candle at both ends, staying up way too late working or reading or just wasting time, lost in the entropy of the nighttime parent with hours to call their own.
Unable to stop myself from diving deep into my work, into making, into that exciting and energizing flow that is the creative force. I don't want there to be an end to it; I wish I didn't have to sleep. It's so worth it at the time but it's not so worth it the next day when I have to go through the challenges of the day in a sleepy, cranky state. Each morning I rue it and each night I do it again.