Fall Thoughts

It’s 5pm on a Wednesday in the middle of September and I’m sitting on the squeaky swing in our backyard. I am pushing my sleepy 6 month old in her swing, watching Griffin blow drippy bubbles over the pine needles, and listening to Steve as he mows away the last remnants of a very long, very dry summer. I’m thinking Fall might finally be near.
Although I should probably be thinking about what to make for supper, or the pile of unfolded laundry on my bed, or the dishwasher full of clean dishes, I decided to take out an old notebook and a cheap pen to try to remember how to do something that used to come very naturally. Writing.
When I was in college I was constantly grasping for subject matter to fulfill my never-ending writing assignments; now I find that I have a continual supply of subject matter, but no time to write it down. Writing, like any other form of art, requires discipline, and like any other artist, it’s hard for me to discipline without a deadline.
I sometimes wonder if baby baths and new teeth and new words–both good and bad–are as important as some of the other things going on in the “real world” outside of my own 2.5 acres. It’s almost impossible not to get lost in these things when I am consumed by them for 15 hours a day. Almost as impossible as it is to keep your own mouth closed while feeding the baby peas or squash from a tiny spoon.
For better or worse, I’m realizing that at this point in my life, the most important thing I can do is attempt to fill the needs of those who are dependant on me. There are really only a few short– extremely short– years where my kids will want to be held, want to read a book with me, or want to go outside and play in the yard. I’m trying not to set the bar impossibly high for myself, but I don’t want to disappoint them either.
The other day I was driving in the Camry with 2 kids in carseats when the lady in front of me slammed on her breaks and swerved suddenly to avoid hitting a squirrel. I missed her back bumper by a few feet and as we both resumed our course I caught her relieved smile in the rearview mirror. I smiled back, for some reason, both glad that we hadn’t wrecked, but also happy that somewhere a little squirrel had safely made his way back to a tree somewhere in the nearby woods. It was a few miles down the road before I remembered how much I hate squirrels. I don’t know why I had been so glad to have another squirrel running around except that it is one of those instinctive feelings that you can’t control. Nobody wants to be charged with vehicular squirrel slaughter.
The tale of the squirrel (ha ha) is obviously not a perfect illustration. However, I’m hoping some of the motherly instincts God has implanted in me are going to continue kicking in as long as I have cuts to bandage and hard questions to answer. On evenings like this, while smelling the grass and pushing a swing, it’s hard to believe there isn’t some peace and contentment in my life right now.