Some days

Some days just are.

Some days invite creativity, cleaning, sorting and spiffing.

Some days invite solving, mastering, mulling and conquering.

Some days invite rest, renewal, naps and movies.

Some days invite constructive criticism, problem solving, checking off list items and errand-ing.

Some days just are.

Some days are neither inspiring nor boring. Some days reflect the mood of the sky, a gray, cold expression. Some days invite washing windows and cleaning out closets and coops and shampooing rugs and dogs. Some days are toilet days, where bathrooms define the smell of the house, instead of the other way around.

Some days are restless, read, get up, write, get up, prepare food, sit down, eat, stand up, clean. Drive here, park, drive there, park. Talk to a child, grunts in return. Listen to the radio, nothing but chatter. Drink a coffee, same old, nothing new.

Some days are leftover days, piles of noodles, old fruit, on-the-edge soup, muffins lovingly made – yet still sitting on the counter not eaten. Some days the list is long, but the energy and ability to accomplish – nil. Some days the children are annoying and needy and teenager-y.

Some days the bed is unmade, uninviting. Some days the jeans are uncomfortable and sweats pulled on far too early. Some days, the bra stifles, the watch catches on everything, the ring denting the finger.

Some days the screens occupy too much space, populate time not providing anything but a heaviness behind the eyes. Nothing new to see, nothing new to hear, talking heads, talking points. Some days my skin has shrunk, my eyes are tired, my nose clogged.

These days, normal, blah moments, sandwiched between high and low events. These days are stock up days, where the energy is low, but the need will be great. These days are about keeping the whining in my own head, not letting it leak out too much, not letting it take on a life of its own. These days, bound by difficult circumstances are the days to feel, the days to be, the days to wander the four walls of house and car, to take in the humanity. To recognize neither mountain nor valley, just the flatland of a soul. No highs nor lows, just a day.

What is one to do? Put on sweats, eat vegetables and drink beer for dinner, drive the children, ask questions but don’t expect great answers, keep the mouth closed more than open, do the dishes, wash towels. Take a shower, but don’t fight for exercise, read out loud to a kid, put the feet up. Remember the good things, the simple things…don’t make the expectations such that it’s all wrong or not enough. Avert the eyes, don’t look at the wood floors in the sunlight, and certainly DO NOT lay in a position where you can see under couches or beds. Shut your children’s bedroom doors. DO NOT check grades or math pages.  Try really hard to wear comfortable shoes and pants. Don’t smell the dog, don’t peruse the vegetable drawer, don’t go beyond picking up. You will want to throw things and donate necessary items, and make kids pay. Do not do anything you will potentially regret. Take a moment, put yourself on time out…be the grown up and cry uncle on today.

Lovingly dish up the ice cream, find a cloth napkin and clean spoon. Make mention to your husband and children, it’s time to be done. Eliminating any guilt, walk into your room, shut the door, climb into your bed, secure an easy read or episode of Parenthood. Set fear aside, no, not every day will be like this forever. Turn the light out at a decent hour, wait for a new day, pray hopeful for hefty sleep. Keep in mind, knowing deep down the truth but certainly not admitting…

You are awaiting the visit from the untimely and always inconvenient, the peak of womanhood, female-ness and femininity. The part of you that gave life to three embryos, sustaining. The part of you that comes as a surprise every freaking month. It will get better tomorrow.

Some days just are.