Linnea has a fever for the sixth day straight. We spent a couple of hours at Urgent Care yesterday to learn that it’s a virus. Of course it is. Last night, I rocked her in the glider for longer than usual, pressing her hot cheek into mine and telling her how much I adore her. The familiar sound of an electronic lullaby streamed from her tot-sized alarm clock, and as we cuddled, I tried not to look at the dust bunnies peeking out from beneath the crib.
This morning, no one slept in as I planned. Does anyone ever sleep in around here? Not really, but I can still fantasize. So the kids and I have set up pajama camp in the living room. Linnea munches “crunchy cereal” while watching a video. Our purple friend Barney makes pizza with several bouncing, Broadway-bound children (“Nothing beats a pizza!”). Baby Linus snoozes in his ocean-themed swing, clutching a crinkly book designed to withstand the jaws of toothless newbies.
I drink from a mug of deepest dark decaf and look out the front window at the bright early-morning sky peeking through the mostly yellow trees. A small airplane drones above the house. The morning feels remarkably peaceful given the countless times I was up with crying children during the night. Barney has moved on to a ranch number, and even the perky “yee-haws” can’t shake the stillness.
Josh sleeps just steps away in our cool, eggplant-colored bedroom. A fan whirs in the corner, providing the white noise that might someday help the baby sleep. Josh doesn’t need any help. My husband is a champion sleeper, and I let him slumber on, blankets pulled up over his head and feet hanging over the end of the bed. I am sad that he’ll probably have to work today. We’d been planning a family fall outing—a corn maze or an apple orchard—but with a 103 degree temperature on the little girl who just crawled into my lap, our plans are iffy at best.
Soon, I will pull on my running shorts and make my way through the tree-lined streets of our neighborhood. If I’m lucky, it will be meditation in motion—a seamless trip past honking geese and kids raking piles of leaves. If I’m lucky, my mind will detach from my body and its stiff legs, tight shoulders, and heavy breasts (stuffed into multiple bra tops not designed for the likes of lactation). If I’m lucky, I will cruise on autopilot, returning home several miles later pleased to confirm that I did, in fact, go for a run.
It’s Saturday morning, and while plenty of things could be more perfect, I am here, planted firmly in the present tense. The sun sits above the neighbor’s roof now, casting shimmering shadows onto the table at which I sit. And I am lucky, for much like physical exercise, writing these words provides a fresh dose of oxygen to my brain. Lord knows it needs all of the fresh air it can get.
*****
I Want to Know
How do you stay engaged in the present tense?
What do you like to do on Saturday mornings?
Visit me at my other blog, Divorced Before 30, where I’m taking guest-post submissions. Find me on twitter @emmasota. And, if you haven’t already, please connect with emmasota on Facebook!
I think I love this post more than any other you have written. Not that Linnie is feverish, just that you are present, really present in your life, acknowledging the here and now and not making lists or worrying that you are not being all you can be. I have often felt that if I could really know this moment, I need never fear dying. Because this moment is all that we ever have and it is eternal.
Enjoy your life, precious dear.
Thanks, Suta. You are so right about this moment. It’s something I’m working on.
Wow, this was so beautifully written, Emma! Meditation in motion…I need to consider my runs this as well. And you so perfectly captured being in the present tense, even though it was a tiring day/night and with a sick child. Beautiful. Reminding me to stick to the moment even more myself. thank you!
Thanks, Jolene! I’m not always good at staying in the present tense, but I recognize the importance of it. As a fidgety, Type A person, it’s hard!
I believe in the professional world they say, “begin with the end in mind.” I believe the opposite is true in the personal world. You really need to take everything a day at a time. When babies are babies, you think, “if only she could talk and tell me what she wanted!” And then you look back and remember her sleeping on your chest, curled in a ball – and yearn for it. Sometimes it’s hard not to wish away time. “I can’t wait for the weekend.” But then you’re wishing away your life. It’s hard to remember to live for the present. These are a lot of thoughts and I do not have a pretty final wrap up sentence. So, um, those are my thoughts.
Saturday mornings – My sleep in day. I watch VH1 Top 20 Video Countdown. Sunday mornings are my special mornings where I take the kids to yo-yo donuts and we have some quality mom/kid time. I love my Sunday mornings.
You’re so right. It’s so easy to wish away your life.
Fun weekend routines! You know I love me some Yo-Yo Donuts!
You are more than welcome to join us any Sunday morning!
[...] to do that, since during the week, time is a blur, far more than I’d like. And reading Emma’s post on this helped me stay firmly planted in the [...]
These are the good old days, no matter what these days are.
[...] I set out, I started thinking about Emma equating meditation to running or ‘meditation in motion’ and was trying to channel that [...]
I love love love this post. I could relate to almost everything I was reading!