MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

HOPE YOU HAD A SAFE AND HAPPY ONE.

Sisyphus

In Greek mythology, Sisyphus was condemned to an eternity of rolling a boulder up a mountain, only to have it roll back down again as soon it reached the cusp.  There are times when my life feels positively Sisyphean; when I feel like I have been condemned to an eternity of early risings, endless meal making, mountains of laundry and ceaseless dirty dishes.  As soon as I finish one task, it is time to start on another.  And when that task is done, it is time to get up and do it all again.

The sun rose this morning and -- like an alarm clock -- Brendan was on my side of the bed, chattering away.  As I dragged myself out of bed and saw Big Bren's dirty socks and clothes on his side of the bed, I actually muttered, "Please, God, tell me this is not all there is to life."  Needless to say, I am cranky today.

It is but 12:30 p.m., and I have already:  taken Brendan outside to play in the snow, made pancakes for breakfast, washed a sink full of dishes, sorted the laundry and washed two loads.  But, as I was finishing up with the cleaning after breakfast, Big Bren bounded into the kitchen -- hands full of dirty dishes that he thoughtfully brought downstairs from our family room, where he had been collecting them for a few days -- and asked if we were doing anything "fun" today.  If looks could kill, I'd be dragging his body from my kitchen right now.  "Geez, you complain a lot," he said, as he backed away from my killer look.

Yeah, I complain a lot.  I really have nothing to complain about.  I got up yesterday, took Brendan to karate, went grocery shopping, put the groceries away, cooked a meal that Big Bren requested (fried chicken with rice and peas and cornbread), cleaned up after the cooking (it is too much to ask anyone else in this house to wash a dish), gave Brendan a bath and got him dressed, put away the laundry that I washed and folded several days ago (it is also too much to ask anyone else in this house to put away clean laundry, too), collected dirty clothes from the floor in various rooms in the house, seasoned meat for cooking the next day, read a book with Brendan, purchased a part for my father's generator from the internet, made another meal for Brendan to eat and put him to bed.  All this, while Big Bren lay in the bed in the guest room and watched television or slept.  Then just as I got ready to relax a little, Big Bren threw himself down on the bed next to me and said, "can you scratch my head, then give me a massage?"  If looks could kill, I would've had to drag his body from my bed yesterday.

I look down at my feet and they look like claws -- that's how long it's been since I got a pedicure.  I feel like I get no breathing room, no time to do anything for me.  It is all about everyone else.  I feel like I've done something wrong; set the wrong precedent along the way.  And as I do more and more and get back less and less, I get increasingly more disgruntled.

As I am writing this, Big Bren inquires what time lunch will be ready.  If looks could kill, I'd be scraping his carcass off my computer right now....

Saving Worms

Brendan's school bus has an erratic schedule.  It is supposed to arrive at 8:01 a.m., but it gets to our house anywhere from 8:02 to 8:12, depending on who is driving it.  So, I always let Bren play outside in the morning, while I cower away from the cold by a window inside.

This morning, I saw him bending over in the driveway, standing up and walking over to the grass; bending over, standing up and walking.  He kept doing that over and over again.  Finally, I put on my hat and ventured outside.

"What're you doing?"  I asked in my best "Mommy" voice.  You know, the voice designed not to scare him out of doing whatever it was that he was doing, that he was not supposed to be doing.

He looked up startled, then turned to face me.  My stomach heaved -- in one hand was a dangling, writhing worm.  "I'm saving the worms," he said, surprised that I would even need to ask.

"From what?"

"My brother.  D hates worms and insects.  Every time he sees them, he squishes them.  I don't want these worms to die, so I'm putting them back on the grass so they can go home."

It rained heavily last night and the driveway was littered with wriggling worms of all sizes.  There was no way he was going to save all those worms, but my heart warmed thinking that he was the kind of kid who would try.  When the bus finally came, he looked at the remaining worms and gave a little shrug.  As he was getting on the bus, he said to me, "Mommy, be careful when you drive out.  Please don't run over any worms."  And with a wave of his little hand, he was gone.

I remember when he was about a year old; he was a very calm, happy child.  One of my aunts who had observed him on numerous occasions came over to me and said, "tell me your secret; what do you do that your child seems so happy all the time?"  I was taken aback by the question, so I told her the truth:  "I've done nothing; he came to me that way."

Bren isn't a perfect child, but he is a caring, loving, and genuinely happy, person.  What more can a mother ask for?