I scramble. Turn on my computer. See, I hear noises upstairs. Muffled voices. Dresser drawers open and shut. Padded footsteps. Toilet lids crashing. I only need five minutes. Just five. But I don’t think that’s happening.
So now I imagine life without having to rush to accomplish my “me” time writing. Where I have all the time in the world to do what I want without having to race ahead of the wave of kids about to reach my the shore of the day.
I had that for a while. Without noticing it. Somehow I was still stressed and it wasn’t nearly as fun.
I now have an excuse to imagine. Not about the “what if’s,” though those tend to creep in at times.
You have to have imagination to be a mother.
To figure out exactly what to say or sing that will get your five year old to stop crying as you try to get your family pictures done. To present vegetables on a plate that makes them look not only edible, but inviting. To tell a story that gets your kids wondering where truth and fantasy separate.
We passed my favorite park yesterday. A fowler preserve. I heard my son, “Look! It’s Fowler’s Park!”
And my daughter replied, “Yeah, that’s where Querlin lives.”
A day of hiking, of imagination nearly 2 years ago, and the kids still see the birthplace and home of a character in my mind during a “tell me a story” moment. My kids aren’t the only ones born of me- think of all the characters that would never have existed but for children.
And the Ultimate Creator, whose imagination no one can fathom, reveals another blessing hidden in the little moments of a mother’s day.STOP