Thursday, June 18, 2009

the eye

I hate it when I'm rattled.

My brain has been shaken, not stirred, and all goodly thoughts have fallen out my ears, leaving me humming little dittys like 'Shoo Fly', meaningfully.

I long for a calm inside myself; the ability to let things slide, and to remain steady as kids - mine, the neighbors', random kids at the park - scream and race and hassle and beg and whine and run.

Perhaps it would be better if I didn't join them in the shenanigans and played the adult, the parent, the reasonable one.

So I packed up the kids, plus one, and we went to the park for a impromptu 5th grade party - because 4 days of celebrating at school wasn't enough - and I spread out my cheerful polka dotted blanket and read.

I read while Zack whined about being left out.

I read while Lexi rolled her eyes at me, the only parent that showed up for this supposedly supervised shindig. (I knew there was something fishy about this plan.)

I read while the ice cream truck sent children into convulsions.

I read, and I nodded and I kept my voice clear and low and detached.

I soaked up the sun, and laid my weary head down on a picnic table. The hours passed.

We packed up the car and I breathed a sigh of relief: Goodbye to the school year, and welcome waffles for dinner because it is hard to be crabby when eating gooey syrup and fluff.


flutter said...

it really is hard to be mad with a waffle

Shana said...

>>the ice cream truck sent children into convulsions.

True dat.

All Adither said...

Nicely written. The whining sure does tire one out quickly.

Jennifer H said...

Read, lady, read. (Wishing for some calm for you...waffles do help) ;-)

Tom said...

Our firstborn should be along any day now. Nice to know what we have to look forward to. (Not that different from my job, really, except I get to leave those kids at the end of the day) :)

Grace and peace to you and all the good parents--

Minnesota Matron said...

I've done this. That's why I have a van book, a purse book, a living room book, a kitchen book . . . you get the drill (and the avenues for escape).