the things that go unsaid


         It was a long day today. I took a drive after dark for a moment to myself. I am blessed that the kids hold space for me. Home is quiet when I return, with the windows closed, most of the lights already turned out, everyone settled in bed. deep breath, silently 'hello the house'.

                                                        
         I peek in and see the youngest, asleep in his bed mid-story.  tight smile, shake head. I climb the narrow stairs to wish goodnight to the oldest that I am certain is still awake. White noise of the ocean plays while fans try to move the stuffy air. A curtain of fairy lights fade and brighten to the waves of sound. raised eyebrows and bite the lip.  This reminds me of a dancing flower I had when I was young, which would sway and jiggle when we would sing and giggle.  Catalog that memory in the bank of things I may not find time to mention; I know they would love to hear it, probably another day. Drowsy smile and heavy eyes are waiting for me to acknowledge them so they can drift into dreams. Squeeze an arm, kiss politely. It is a graceless exit, carefully padding over toys, discarded school papers and library books. tight grip on railing, cautious steps. 

      I clear the living room of scattered pieces of the day, a water glass on the end table and an apple core on a plate forgotten near the couch. breathe in, surveille the floors.  Quick power down the TV and I can check one more room off and close it down for the night. Just keep moving, managing in tiny increments what I can, catching up on chores during moments on autopilot. spin in place, surveille again.

Starting the dishwasher is rote though the garbage that should have gone out today will now wait for the morning. pinched mouth, short huff. Another reminder, highlighted yellow in the mental tally since I know it was flagged as urgent this morning already. Briefly check the pantry, assess the larder for after school snacks and dinner tomorrow and I can migrate one room closer to my own. stretch neck and squeeze shoulders.

Hall night lights flicker on as I turn off the last of the main floor and navigate down to the basement, minutes closer to my oasis. Detour into the laundry room and I almost start piling dirty linens in the washing machine. grimace and bite tongue. I see the wet floor again and remember that I turned the taps off to fix a leak; will need to investigate further. Circle that item in red. close eyes, don't cry. It can sit in the mental load for tomorrow night... or Friday morning...probably Monday. short, thin laugh. 

                                                     

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