All day long I write things in my mind. Long, beautiful odes to my children or the laundry or the frost on the trees. Short, inspired poems for grating cheese. Witty, funny memoirs that will someday make up for the lack of baby books. Or would make up for that if I actually wrote them down.
Instead, I write and compose, edit and polish until supper and then things begin to unravel. I hear from Jac about his day and share the high (and low) points of mine. It gets loud in here, often VERY loud, as eating children hit max volume. Then, when supper is over we are either en route to evening activities or cleaning up and I feel rather stretched. I make desperate grabs for the brilliant thoughts I had and attempt to gently herd them into solid memories. I plead and bargain with myself, paring down my unwritten words to help consolidate, hoping that they’ll stick around for just a little while longer.
As soon as Gus nurses! Then I’ll just fold these clothes quick-like. It won’t take THAT long to put away supper. Let me try to get Gus back to sleep. What were you saying???
Inevitably it leads me here, staring at a blinking cursor and rifling through the pockets of my brain. Lint, a washed receipt, a bobby pin and two LEGO. Everything else, all the coherent, vibrant thoughts, are long gone and cannot be found.
But as each new day is a new beginning, I’ll try again tomorrow. Try to write AND remember so I can actually record them if for no other reason than proof that I once thought about things and had the words to convey it.
