Fourty-Seventh Entry

I thought I must write again, since I probably won't get around to writing tomorrow.
Every day is like waking up into a new me. Sometimes I think that I don't have a chance of getting through the day, even with my books..and others, others, I just want to get right up and embrace everything. Sometimes I find the best in my children, sometimes I'm only looking for the worst. On those days, Harry finds me still in bed, staring at our horrendous yellow curtains, and he kisses me. Well, get up then, look out, and he opens the window for me. Or he'll take my hand and pull me up. We're in it together, and so we are and it makes me feel much better. In the end, though, he goes out, and I am left alone with the dirty dishes and my papers all over the floor spread in front of the television.

But the worst days are when I can't write and these are the days my children find me a giant bore. Because on these days, I don't want to read to them or even see another word. I don't want to pick them up or take them out or learn things with them. All I want to do is curl up in bed and pretend that I am surrounded by the pirates I loved as a girl, or my favorite story about a time machine that I read over and over again when I was younger.On these days, when Harry comes home, I'll burst into tears on his lap, and he'll patiently pet me and bring me to bed and make me tea. Sometimes he brings me brandy and we drink together and he knows that I love him for scratching my back or kissing my neck.

But if he doesn't come home on one of these days, I recruit Rev to watch after the napping kids, and find myself on Edward's doorstep. He brings me in and gives me a blanket and reads to me, something that he's reading, and we'll act like there is no other world except the world of our discussion, of our learning. And we take naps together, until I'm forced to go home and cook spaghetti.

The good days, though, are so good. If I'm up early enough, I'll slide over to Harry and find him in bed (if its a very good day), and I'll touch his skin and kiss his head, and take him in, smell, touch, the sight of his auburn hair. I go into the kitchen and make coffee or tea, and I'll check on the children to make sure they're quite asleep. Sometimes I'll read the newspaper or sketch and article, story, poem. Sometimes I'll get up the courage to read a new novel or start writing one of my own. More often than not, though, I sit at the kitchen table and wait until Harry comes wandering in with Virginia clutched to his chest, smiling. On these days, I'll bring Rev and Trinity to the park with the children, and we'll buy hot dogs or pack honey sandwiches and we'll play with footballs and swing on the swings. Sometimes, Harry will go instead of Rev. Or if it's raining, I'll gather the children in a circle and they'll take turns picking out a book to read and we'll all learn a book and listen to the characters. Or we'll watch Spongebob or Sound of Music or Disney on the couch and floor. Or we'll play with playdoh and legos and water colors in the kitchen, while I write snatches of paid articles in the pauses. Sometimes we stay all day in the magic room and play pirates or gypsies or fairies. We like to play on these days. We usually end them by eating ramin noodles and peanut butter sandwiches with milk, or by taking naps in the big bed together: Virginia in her crib, Gabe and Belle curled into me, Oliver next to them, Chris and Tuck pushed to the sides. Once in a while, Harry walks in on these scenes.

To wake up to him coming home while I'm taking one of these naps, is my favorite thing in the world.