Next week will be better, I promise.
Thu, Dec 4, 2008
He said it as he was leaving, one hand one the door, his face expressionless in the dark. Another late night, back to work after another long day. “Next week will be better. I promise,” and his head sank as he walked away looking defeated. I put my own face down, burrowing in the blanket wrapped around Fin, her little hands pressing hungrily as she nursed, reclaiming me as her own after the nightly bedtime cacophony and sibling clamoring for mom.
We rocked as Sean slipped downstairs. I tried to bite back my anger, seemed no use to save it as there was nowhere to point it. He worked every night leading up to Thanksgiving. He worked Thanksgiving morning. He worked Thanksgiving night. He worked the next day and the next night. We worked together the next day. Work, work, work and still the ends don’t meet. And when I say ends I mean the dollars and the spaces, sleep never reaches its completion, the day never really ends. And the dollars, oh how they refuse to meet the demands of the bills, making me feel furtive as I make purchases of organic foods and non-toxic cleaners.
We are up before dawn, dashing from one thing to the next. Sitter at 8:30, preschool at 9, pump at 10, pick up at 11:15, make lunches, back to sitter, back to work, eat, work, pump. Back to sitter, home, nurse, play, emails, nurse, do a project, work, email, dinner, nurse. Then it’s off to the office to get Sean, home to do dinner, then play, then bed, Sean goes back to work and I stay home, tending to the girls as they pop up like some sort of endless carnival challenge, and then I work. If we’re lucky we meet up for a moment in bed, Sean needing to read to unwind, and me needing to work at falling asleep. Before we are ready and before it seems fair, it begins anew.
Finley stirs, her face moves side to side as if my thoughts are intruding her own. My face burns with guilt for being exhausted, for wanting a break. Closing my eyes I lose myself in the moment, I shush her, my fingers skimming her tousled hair and then pausing at her neck as she takes them in her hand. We rock, the worry of another lonely night followed by a resented dawn start to fade. We sit like this, just rocking and letting go until we both drift off—I start as my head falls off the chair. I gasp and look down—she’s fine.
Her little head, safe in the crook of my arm, reflects bits of moonlight and a life so filled with blessings that again, I swallow back the guilt of wanting more, or less. I suppose the best I can hope for is to end each day feeling more in tune with the good in my life than the things I wish would change.
I met Sean in the kitchen just before midnight as our three beautiful girls slept upstairs. I had arranged four fresh-from-the-oven gingerbread cookies, made with leftover dough from a family baking project that we did with the girls. The cookies spelled I love you and as he smiled at me and took me in his arms I heard the echo of his voice saying, “Next week will be better, I promise,” and I pushed it away with a soft, “When it’s all said and done, today is pretty damn perfect.”
Beautiful. "When it's all said and done, today is pretty damn good." Exactly.
-Cheyenna
Oh my. I got all teary. I know what you mean friend.
Lovely post, Amanda.
Beautiful Amanda and I so know what you are talking about!
So hard, but so perfect.
Look, if you don't stop making me cry all the time, I'm going to stop coming here!
(OK, NOT REALLY!!! You couldn't keep me away!)
you are beautiful, I love you.
Oh Amanda, only you can make the hard weeks sound beautiful.
May your ends meet soon sweet lady.
It's so hard, isn't it? So hard, and so universal.
Beautifully, beautifully done.
Wow ~ your schedule exhausts me!
Hang in there, mama.
And somehow you do it all with beauty, and grace. Hugs to you, I want to say it IS going to get better, but well that seems trite, who am I?
I know exactly what you mean. It's hectic it's crazy, it's nearly torment. and yet, you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
Oh yeah….
That was so beautifully written. You put into words how so many of us feel.
Jenn
This is truly beautiful. Thank you for reminding me to appreciate the blessings – however small they may be.
I don't know a single (honest) mom that doesn't relate to this. So eloquent…
Wonderfully put! Beautiful post.
I was Sean for many, many years. His heart was breaking, believe me. And you put it back together with those words.
Kudos to you for keeping the romance alive with the love cookies!
My husband once spelled out "I love you" in foam bathtub letters that stick on the wall. Then, since he was on a roll, he quickly replaced it with "love sux."
Your cookies are much more endearing
but see, this is our greatness. our finding joy in the struggle is our beauty.
you.
Lovely and painful
Oh, the merry-go-round. It's a nice place to be sometimes, but other times you want to get off. Thank you for the reminder there is joy in counting your blessings.
The merry-go-round is a good analogy. I love how you have the grace to enjoy a moment, even in the midst of a very difficult situation. I really, really have a hard time doing that.
Oh the description of your endless days that bleed into nights and then into the next day is so perfect. I totally relate. You have an amazing gift with words – just perfect indeed.
loving the little moments myself.
I hope that THIS week is nothing but pretty perfect for you all.
Except, you know, the pink eye.
I missed this post when you wrote it, but saw it linked at Slouchy's. I am so glad I came back to check it out, it took my breath away. The contrast between exhaustion and being overwhelmed by how blessed you are is something I deal with almost every day. How perfectly you put it into words.