it's 1:26am, and i really should be asleep. especially considering the sleep i didn't get last night. the dude had some crazy wild hair up his butt & got up at 4am & got himself dressed for school & then came in & asked me some question, to which i'm certain my reply was 'go to bed, it's 4am.' he of course informed me he was dressed & i vaguely remember telling him 'to get into bed dressed then!' then 4:45 rolled around & i felt a tug on my hand & when i opened my eyes i nearly screamed at his face 6 inches from mine. i can't quite remember if i was having a dream, but i know it's not a good idea for anyone to be that close to you when you wake up, especially if you've been having dreams, like me, of killer bees swarming my babes, and of people robbing & burning them in walmart parking lots. (no one can accuse me of a lack of vivid dreams... terrifying, but vivid)
but like i was saying, the second wake up call came at 4:45 when he wanted to know if he could open up one of the collector's hess trucks tucked away at the top of his closet. i'm pretty sure i got my point across the second time about someone needing to be injured, or close to death for him to come back in my room & to get his dang butt back in bed, clothes & all.
and that was when the snoring started.. i tell ya.. the hubs sleep apnea machine has been a blessing. at first it was a little odd as i got used to sleeping next to darth vader (ya know.. shhh...sppppaaaa... hisssss.. that whole thing..) but once i was used to the hiss & whirr of it.. i was MORE than grateful to be rid of the obnoxious snoring. not to mention the fact that it pretty much nipped those nights that i would wake up on his boisterous inhale & hold my breath while listening to see if he would exhale. not fun times, i assure you. sorta like watching your sleeping newborn & getting right down near their sweet little faces to make sure they are actually breathing... except he is typically sporting a beard & that gives off more of a 'i've snuck into a bear den while they're hibernating, dear God don't let them wake up' type of feeling.
so there i am at 5am now, wondering why in the heck he's snoring with his machine going, and contemplating a move to the couch for the remainder of the night. at some point he finally rolled over, and the snoring quieted, and i drifted off to sleep. only to wake this time, 30 minutes later, to the sounds of the babe crying in the monitor. i suspect it was just a nightmare, but his runny nose & constant whacking at his ear may see me in the pediatricians office tomorrow, and prove it something more.
even with all that activity in the wee hours of the morning... i'm still here, waaay past my bedtime tonight, with thoughts just running through my mind like they got nowhere else to go. and i know, i just know it's this quote i stumbled upon on pinterest, coupled with the book i just finished, that has my brain playing as a racetrack with my thoughts as the cars, chasing after one another.
i couldn't tell you how long ago it was. i can only tell you that my brother was single & in college.. and mason was an only child. but i remember this conversation we had. it keeps playing over & over in my head... a conversation where i sort of half defended myself, and sort of speculated at something that has just now begun to burrow into my heart & dig out emotions i seemed to have tucked away long ago & since forgot. and i can't wrap my head around the idea that's lurking just beneath the surface, but i know it's there... and it feels like it's taunting me these days.
he was in college, of that i'm sure, because i can vaguely remember the conversation starting out as one about his schooling & the road he hoped to take... and somehow it turned to a discussion about me & why i never finished school. which is odd, in retrospect, because my brother doesn't ask much about me. it's not that he doesn't care, to be clear.. it's just. well, he's kinda like my dad in that respect i guess... figures if you want him to know something, you'll tell him.. otherwise he's not prying. (whereas i on the other hand often find myself asking more questions that i probably should out of sheer curiosity.) and i remember telling him then, as i can honestly tell you now.. i didn't finish school because i didn't know what i wanted to go to school for. i wasn't one of those kids who grew up knowing they were destined to be a doctor, or a rock star, or anything for that matter. and i remember thinking while i was talking to him, that he was so smart, and somewhere along the line he might make a difference, that he would do great things, that people would respect him, like they respected my dad. and i told him 'ya know rick, i don't know.. i don't think everyone is destined to do miraculous things with their lives... some people just have to be the parents of people who do miraculous things' now.. don't get me wrong.. i love my kids just like any mama does but right now i'm thinking the only miraculous thing the dude is capable of is doing something the first time he's told, and learning to think of others first... and as for the babe.. well i'd just be happy if he'd say something more than 'bubby', 'bahye' or 'dadda', so that little fear that's creeping up in the back of my mind of why he's not talking at 18 months would go away.
i suffer from no delusions that my kids are going to save the planet, run for president, or invent the next iwhatever.... but they might.
what i am saying is that feeling, bubbling up beneath the surface is one of acceptance. one of forgiveness, for myself because i have let society spoon feed me this garbage that a career & accomplishments that come with monetary gain or notoriety are more important than my goal of becoming a truly enlightened human being, and somehow trying to pass that onto the world through my kids.
i know you're probably thinking, geez get on with the crafts already, and i will i promise. but this is where my heart is right now. my thoughts are a jumbled mess, and all of this likely explains the lack of blogging. i sit down to write posts, and somehow all of them seemed forced, because what i really want to be writing about is this stuff here. the stuff in my heart. but somehow when i sit down to type i can't translate my emotions into words that make sentences and paragraphs. so i ended up deleting what i write or walking away feeling frustrated that i can't get it out of my head.
so i just need to sit with my heart & my head a little while longer. i need to take pictures and live and listen to my heart. i need to make things that speak to me, and maybe look a little scary to the outside viewer. but i know it's there.. that something lurking underneath the surface.. and i just got to give it time to get out. all while you are sitting there saying.. what the heck does she mean by enlightened?!