Nursing a headache, I sit upon the bed. Brownies in the oven; medicinal purposes only. TV is ahead of me and on - but muted. Baby asleep beside me and the father reads aloud to his children in the adjacent room. Sporadic laughter is heard. The washing machine beeps; signaling it's final cycle and dishes sit submerged under soapy-murky waters.
I am nursing a headache, a cough and a lack of motivation. I realize a regularity and dullness to this life. There is no complaint.
Just hours ago, i sat in a school parking lot. Minivan window down, MPR on the radio and Lucy bent in 'ready position' on the field at baseball practice. Nursing my son in the front seat, talking to husband on cell about dinner plans, I sense a mundane and commonplace reality. There is no complaint.
On this Wednesday evening, I am not taking advantage of time. I am peeking out my window as the darkness of the night covers my weedy garden.
At times, there are intense bellows and roars within that beckon accomplishment and excitement. Tonight, I wallow in their absence. There is no complaint.
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