I am in a bit of a funk. I have been in more than a bit of a funk before, so I know this one will end, but while I am in it, I am struggling with myself a bit.
I have been sick this past week, and have spent the greater part of the past five days in bed. I have a little bit of a love/hate relationship this beloved piece of furniture at the moment. One part of me remembers that in the throes of a difficult day with a houseful of kids, I often daydream about the time when I might be able to lounge in bed and rest all day. Not with some awful condition, just something like pink eye or laryngitis or something that would still allow me to enjoy the dreaminess of nothingness. So I could read a book. Or watch a romantic movie. Or stare at the dust on my ceiling.
But when it comes down to it, in a houseful of screaming and needy children, if I am actually in my bed…that means I am rather sick and either sleeping or wishing I was sleeping. And that only lasts for a few days and then at which point my mind starts racing again with the things I want to….or at least should get done. I need to get out of this bed. I know there are bills by the computer that someone needs to pay attention to. The mountain of laundry is soon going to need a Sherpa to come deal with. And I just can’t walk into the living room and be at peace with the clothes and toys and books strewn across the floor. But I also can’t walk into the living room without feeling the room spin and my heart race. So I love my bed. And hate it all at the same time.
For whatever reason, this predicament I am in vaguely reminds me of months I spent feeling awful during my pregnancies. Particularly the “no end in sight” feeling. I do know that pneumonia will go away, but it sure isn’t happening in a hurry. And we are used to 12-48 hour kind of bugs around here. So the thought of hopping out of bed at 6am, scurrying all the kids off to school – lunch bags and completed homework in hand by 8:45, running to the gym to do a class, running errands, coming home to make lunch, clean up the house, put the kids to nap, take care of some chores, read with the preschooler, be ready to tackle homework when the big kids come home, run to gymnastics, eat dinner, do baths and get bed is absolutely….not…happening right now. (Luckily, Dad is home and the kids are off track, so this was truly a good week to get sick.)
But what it reminds me of too, is that somehow, very sadly, I allowed precious parts of my life to be wasted while I allowed myself to wish away days and weeks and months of uncomfortable and difficult pregnancies. I remember during each pregnancy that I had many thoughts about how I might handle something much more permanent and miserable – a debilitating disease of some sort. The answer always was a resounding….I don’t think I could handle that. Which, of course then added to my pathetic spiral downward.
Luckily, I am not in that place today. Luckily, through many trials in my life, I have come to choose to believe that, indeed, I could be strong enough to handle that.
But what makes me sad is that when I look back at pictures of my children and myself and events that took place during these darker times in my life, I am left with a pit in my stomach. It brings back a haunting sense of emptiness. I have come to realize, that through those difficult times of wishing time, and essentially life, away, I am left with empty holes.
This makes me wonder then, when at any point in our lives, no matter if we are struggling, or just anxiously looking forward, if we are still leaving this particular moment empty.
The upside to this terrible thought? My sweet mother-in-law who took time to call me this morning from South Africa to check on me had some very sage words of advice. Let me preface her comments though. Many of you know her, but for those of you who don’t, I must say that she (in my opinion) hasn’t always been dealt with the easy hand in life. But she, more than anyone I know, refuses to do anything but see the good in a situation. She is Mrs. Rose Colored Glasses. I am clearly not and occasionally this does cause me to disagree with her, but hopefully not enough that I haven’t learned from her. So…my point is, when good advice is given by her, it is gold.
This morning she told me (as I whined and moaned about how I really should get up and clean something) that “there is no point in doing something twice. You are just going to do it again when you feel better.” Now why is that such a big deal you ask? (And your next question is….and does that apply to making my bed?)
Because. What in the world is the point of me sitting in my bed worrying about something stupid like what we need to get from Costco when I should just be finding a way to take care of myself? To enjoy reading in my bed with my 5 year old? To let my daughter brush my nasty unwashed hair? Letting my husband have time to play with the kids. Letting my neighbors bring me dinner so they can feel like they are serving me. I’m ok with that. (After having it pointed it to me 17 times.)
And how much of our lives do we spend living something more than once? How many hours and days do you spend getting ready for Christmas? How many hours do you spend fretting over an upcoming lesson you are teaching? How many times have you gone over and over in your mind something that you have regretted? Why do we spend so much time living in our minds times that are Not Right Now.
I am ok to not waste this day wishing for another.
I pick today. In my bed.
