Sometimes I feel like I’m caught between the sacred and the mundane. I live in the netherworld of swearing spiritualists, nicey nice mean mommies, workaholic flex timers, and abstinent imbibers. Lolling between worlds provides the usual noncommittal joys (you can observe but never fall straight into the void because you aren’t, well, committed to being there) and occasional respite from the intensity of feelings suffered by the many living inside the chaos.
I sat with V in my lap this morning smelling her head and watching the twins wrestle around the living room as they waited for their Dad to pick them up for an overnight. I was filled with the usual combination of leaping and joyful freedom dancing and sobby bittersweet missing and loss.
I smiled and imagined a wonderful evening away from the chores and the children. He and I dancing around a candle-lit room, me ravishing in heels and a pretty red dress, him adoring and stunned by my beauty gently guiding me around the floor while the violins played and champagne flutes clinked with toasts of love…
"MOMMY!!! You look weird!! Stop doing that!"