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| Tuesday, October 17, 2006 |
| Clean Home |
The dishes are done, dry and put away.
The towels folded neatly in a drawer.
Beds are made, floors vacuumed, dust removed.
Everything has its place. Everything is in its place.
The house feels empty. It smells of cleaning product and vanilla.
I keep telling myself if I bake something, simmer a chowder, create something fantastic and edible....
maybe then it won't be so lonely.
Its cold outside, the leaves are mounting in the grass.
My boy doesn't want to play.
I guess I could do laundry. I guess I could catch some talk shows, soap operas, read a book, do my workout video.
I guess I could be a little more thankful for the bliss of being home.
My sons went to school with the smell of cucumber melon shampoo in their hair, bubblegum toothpaste wafting out on their breath. They ate big bowls of oatmeal with toast, brown sugar to boot. They pulled on their cotton knit gloves, their clean white socks, sneakers, gathered books, papers.. I can smell the lead of their pencils they so neatly stow in the various pockets of their backpacks.
I try not to feel hollow as they kiss my nose, cheeks, hug my shoulders tightly. I try to convince myself that they haven't the strength to shatter me.
I pull on one of my husband's sweaters. Its big, comfortable, the sleeves end at my fingertips, its knit with shades of navy and cream. I marvel that it's a man's sweater. Its so... feminine. Maybe it just seems as such when draped over female attributes.
Its raining again. There's nothing to do. . . yet so much to be done.. and I am ignoring everything. |
posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 10:17 AM  |
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