As I was unceremoniously booted from what I used to describe as a great job, I have been forced to stop dead in my tracks and look around and realize:
Hey, lady. There’s a life here that you ain’t living!
And, so, I find great joy in the prospect of being an amazing mother and wife, as opposed to another pair of hands to bring home the bread. I delight in the majority of my outfits being comprised of sweats and t-shirts (uh, cute ones, thanks). I swoon at the daydream of my house being as clean, as well organized, as comfortable as it has always had the potential to be. I get to have a nest!
That front porch had better be getting some mileage, as the party-funds are shorter, the nights are balmier, the time off is no longer wrought with stress and deadlines. Today, I sat the baby in his chair while I pruned the garden and swept the floor. I played peek-a-boo with him through the window and bumped my chin by accident.
There are a few words that characterize my euphoric state: freedom, relief, perspective, sanity, purpose.
Whenever I am depressed, I know it because I do not notice things, like the way that the bugs light up when they swarm the lightbulbs outside, or the lyrics to a song that I already love, or the little white hairs on Jack’s cheeks.
Some days I would think about what they did in the Nazi camps in WWII, how they would make the group haul a bunch of stuff and pile it on one side, and then make them pick up the same stuff and put it back where they had found it in the first place. Over and over.
Some days I thought about that.