Your father threw his back out this weekend and do you know what I said to him? You idiot…
You did too much!
You carried all those plants!
You don’t take care of yourself!
You, you, you…
Meanwhile, let’s be honest here, that was all about me, me, me. I look so forward to weekends not only to see your dad and spend time all of us together, but to have help. To be able to do things, as after five straight days of being on sole warrior alert, going to the gym or even grocery shopping by myself without meltdowns by the dairy aisle can be bliss. I use that time when your dad is “on duty” to be able to write and do work during daylight hours, not midnight, another treat. I look forward to being able to take you guys out to restaurants with someone, something at this stage I can’t do by myself. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still slightly physical and mental torture–“DON’T THROW THAT!” “A KNIFE!” “Tap, tap, tap: I’m sorry, if you find pieces of chicken roll in your bag when you get home, it’s from us”–but it breaks up the monotony of the twenty meals we’ll have at home Monday through Friday. (Three meals a day plus snack, five days, that’s twenty, right?)
People say to me all the time you must be so tired. I’m not tired. At least I think I’m not, though the purple half moons under my eyes tell a different story. I am batty. A little cranky. In a world where there is no time but rather GO! (when you guys wake up) and STOP! (when I slide into bed and fall asleep when my head hits the pillow instantaneously), there is no concept of time. Without yesterday’s “break” you can call today Monday, but it doesn’t mean anything. Me and Apollonia from The Godfather: “Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Wednesday…”
The monks of Mt. Athos are the only people in the world who still keep Byzantine time. Their day begins at sunset, not midnight.
Parenthood is a little like this. A little time warped. A little divine.
I have this visual of a monk I saw on a 60 Minutes special about Mt. Athos (“hi, I’m Amy, and I’m a senior citizen”). He was robed, high up on a cliff against the serene backdrop of the Mediterranean, no sound for miles and miles except the lingering dong from a clock tower…He looked so peaceful.
At one point tonight after you guys go to bed and the house is quiet I will sit on the couch and sew a hole in your “best friend,” Baby Girl, a stuffed banana with googly eyes and a smiley mouth named just “Banana,” kind of like Madonna. And I, too, in my own way, will be at peace.