Watching the rain fall
Some days I wake up and I don’t have an ounce of patience in me. As if I ran out of patience and my battery never recharged. Some days I want to pull the covers back over my head and hide away until the day passes. Some days I want a quiet room and a good book and my favorite music and nothing else.
And some days there are too many questions before the coffee is even poured and I find that I don’t have words or answers, and just need some quiet. His energy and joy bounce off me and all I hear are demands for milk, breakfast, television and toys. Some days I can’t rise above the noise and be the person I want to be.
Some days I’m just exhausted from the days that have come before and the thought of those that will come after. The relentless, repetitive days, where I push through till bedtime.
Some days my head wants to go back in time. To before kids when I could lay on the couch on a rainy day and watch movies or to my teen years when I could turn my music up loud and read or write for hours uninterrupted.
Some days the hours pass by and I don’t know what I did with them but I know they drained me. Some times at night I close his bedroom door and feel a wash of relief, that we made it. That the demands and the “mom, mom, mom” and the “I want, I need, Can you’s” are done for the day.
Some days I find that even after the day has been long, I miss the sound of his voice, the feel of his hand reaching for mine, the patter of his feet across the floor.
Some days even in my exhaustion and lack of patience I find I want the day back. That I want one more hug, one more kiss, one more chance to have this day again.
Oh, yes. Some days I look at the clock and wonder why it's not bedtime yet. And then other times, I look at my boys and wonder how they're so big already.