Many mothers (and, lots of people, for that matter) covet alone time. In the frequent, frazzled search for something, anything, to let up, we relish even the smallest fifteen minute repose. I am overjoyed at a break. But happy that my life is full of messes and exhaustion, disorganization and early mornings.
As much as I complain, really,
I wouldn't have it any other way.
And while I should snatch the opportunity to soak in the bath while enjoying a glass of wine, I'm tempted to reach for Wilder's baby album and be absorbed in beauty. To reminisce and be elated for what I have, and for what is to be.
I am thankful for solitude--its quietness. Its thought-provoking tendencies. Thankful that it is not a mainstay in my journey, nor a doorway to loneliness.
My life is sweet and full, like a gingham-lined basket of cozily nestled pumpkin muffins.
Which I will gladly share.
|LOVE is anterior to life,|
|Posterior to death,|
|Initial of creation, and|
| The exponent of breath.|