I should learn to knit

Sometimes it feels like Motherhood is a ball of yarn that I coil up tightly each night, tucking the ends in under the bottom. I wake each morning all freshly wrapped up, ready to start the day with a cheerful disposition and happy heart. Occasionally, I will enjoy a cup of coffee in the morning light and reflect upon how awesome I am; how easily I can remain composed and courteous. Somewhere within that first or second cup of coffee, my younger children will awaken. If they wake with a smile and a skip in their step, all is good. All is well. I might even begin a chore or two before someone begins to tug at a loose bit of yarn.

Tug, tug.

Perhaps it's just a little fray, at first. An argument over a lack of cereal or adequate milk to pour over it. A foot that crosses over a "line" on the couch, daring to invade another's "space."

Sometimes those tugs can unravel my tightly wound yarn-ball. Like cats, they snarl and claw over the loosened strands and I can feel myself rolling about; fraying and knotting and snagging on the minutiae that young human beings feel so desperately passionate about.

I am not adept at crocheting a blanket from the yarn that spills about me each night. It is all I can do to simply circle it around my hands, breathing deeply as I unknot and untangle and unwind the snarls of the day.

Ever sit at a stop light and think about putting the car in park? Just parking it in the intersection and stepping away, through the traffic, and into anonymity...

There is much doubt in my mind that my children will ever write sweet platitudes about their patient and selfless mother. Their memories will contain moments of sweetness, for sure. After all, I am a person who WILL go to great lengths to help someone, my children especially. I want to make everyone happy, but not at any cost. I know what I need and I am not afraid to be vocal about it. Down time. Alone time. Writing time. Reflection time. Time to just talk. Time to have adventures in a space outside of our own. Time, time, time...

I have been asked why I blog quite often lately. The answers aren't a simple few to be paraphrased like a mission statement, but one reason is very clear: I need to be quiet and still, as though I were walking alone through the woods. I need to reflect and remember. I need this, especially during the days that unravel my peace while living in the constancy that is motherhood.

The concept of a ball of yarn came to me yesterday. I could feel it unrolling throughout the day, bit by bit, and by nighttime, all I wanted was to curl up within myself. All I wanted was to close the bedroom door and be with my husband and connect... Instead, I woke with a start in the early morning hours, having had no moments of reflection with Patrick. Head pounding behind my eyes and snow piling ever higher about our house, I fear for how quickly I may unravel today.