Don’t have much time to write. 7:22AM Wednesday morning. Can’t be late for Early Start, first sign language class starting this morning. Babies already awake calling “mama” between cycles of quiet, little screams, then “mama” Toast ate, coffee almost gone, only the super sweet part remains at the bottom of the cup. The sky is striated silver, grey, light pink. It has the look of what it is, a cold late January day. Lunch needs to be made, breakfast for the babies, dressing all of us, changing diapers, get in the car, get Billy in the car so I can walk her after sign class on the hill behind early start because I won’t have time to come home before the babies are done at school. Get babies back in car, hope they make it home without falling asleep so I can put them down for a good nap so I can maybe work in my studio on naptime paintings. Babies wake up, need to clean mess from yesterday, made vegetarian stew, my first loaf of bread in my new breadmaker. Not as easy as I envisioned. Feed babies breakfast, go through the bouts of whining, crying, pooping, hugging, playing, reading, loving. Time for bed, books, bath. Unless they have a big poop now, then They need a bath now, no bath tonight. Sigh. “Mommy”

“Yes, I’m coming” 

These are the cycles of my days, cook and clean, just part of existence, like breathing, like living and dying. 

Goal: find moments within the cycles to breath, to admire the dirt on the trail I’ll be walking on, the vultures on their trees by Early Start with their wings stretched out wider than I am tall. 

To live the cycles of life to the fullest even when it seems there’s no time. When I feel I need an extra hand but don’t have one. I will get through it. There will be time again to write and paint. 

It’s really time for me to go now!   

2 thoughts on “Cycles 

  1. I remember those days with the little ones. My mother always told me “this too shall pass”… now my baby is 18 and graduating from high school!!! Love to read your writings. You inspire me. Jennifer


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About Dirty Laundry Blog

Thoughts on Motherhood Through the Eyes of an Artist