Marching independant

Yes - two weeks is survivable, provided one's emotions are gagged and bound. The missing doesn't go, but its heartsong gets lost in the drumbeat of our marching routine. Each day held the promise of ending with another night - and although we didn't conciously countdown til the very end, the time passed rapidly. There were poignant moments caught in the stream of life but following the clock's dicating I kept the rythym going and the girls relaxed in the predicability of the ordinary. Bedtimes were still bedtimes and vegetables still had to be eaten, washing still had to be folded and put away and no excuses were made for grumpiness. March march march. I marched in my sleep. If I woke up to feed the baby, the drums started in earnest and it was literally hours before I was able to fall asleep again. The tiredness has made my arms feel like lead and my brain unable to follow fairly straightforward direction. I reversed the car into another one parked behind me. Fortunately the tow-bar was fixed on and so I just said a firm hello the licence plate, which was easily bent back. Can't explain why I didn't register there was a vehicle parked behind me, but was rushing home to a grizzly baby after getting my hair done. So silly. But today is warm and liquid gold is pouring around me and despite the house having to be spotless and vacated for buyers, we have delighted in drinking it in after so many wet grey days. One more sleep and then into the rush and complexity of sharing life again and the sheer relief of not having to be the only human responsible for these three treasures. Welcome home Big Guy.

Dawn  – (August 30, 2008 at 2:28 PM)  

Glad your hubby is home!! And that there is sunshine. I can relate to those long, exhausting days when daddy is out of town.

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