The rattle and hum of my children spark a nervous awakening within me. The quiet moment i try to steal is interrupted with jolts of their clattering tones behind the closed door of my room.
30 minutes in time - time, time, time.
What i need from this 30 minutes of time.
The afternoon survival latte sits on the stand beside the bed. the unfolded laundry crowds at my feet and the cupboard doors in the kitchen open and close, open and close.
30 minutes in time.
This time is not in my control. My belly churns as i battle this solitude.
My children agree that mommy needs this time to herself today. my little one comes in and asks me how much longer will i be. I tell her 10 more minutes and i hear her set the timer on the microwave. This moment will now begin with a countdown and the ending beep will dictate a close in passage.
My focus is compromised, my time is almost up and something constructive must come to light.
Tonight, when the dance of the day has come to it's rest and the cat's paws can be heard as it walks, I will be too tired to take in the time. My eyes will be weary, my mood will be solemn and my thoughts will travel to a monotonous land.
For now, this is what I have. This is what I must do. I must breath in this moment, for it will soon begin to fade. That door will open, I will walk across it's threshold and enter once again into the innocent and egocentric lives of my children; who count on me to be present in their moment of time.
And the microwave sounds it's Beeeeeeeeeeeep.
Thanks for listening
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