It is hot. It could distort-a- thought hot. Melting like morning butter on toast. There is no more coaxing our little pine. It is a goodbye. The babies get sad when I try to explain.
The wind has sat down. You’d think it will move again but it won’t. It just sits getting heavier. A loss of free will. You’d think evening would bring relief but by twilight , free will is thickened jam. Store in a jar and refrigerate.
Pour yet another glass of a chilled something for the children, worry what if even watermelons will evaporate. Check again and be positive that the window panes are starting to swell. Go look once more and be positive it is only an illusion.
Be hot-headed. Forget to drink. A rag doll be. Don’t stop that unsavory lament of how no one cares. Don’t feel like eating. Skip that lunch. A permanent temporary solution. Allow hurtful words to play in your head. Fight for why no one stands for you. Why no one understands. Tired you, tire yourself some more.
Bear with me, cheer is nigh.
Sit yourself down. Drink something. Eat something. Replenish before you can give again. Get that jar out. Sweet free will. Wash down that hurt. Butterfly float. There is second wind.
Next time, when someone unkind, says you stay home and do nothing. Don’t you wait for someone else to jump in and save you.
Up you stand and say ,” I am a mother of young children, the center of our home, I am the lover , the nurse, the laughter, the art. The heart. The hearth. I am the sum of our everyday and I am the difference our little ones will make.”
When downward bound again, repeat, ” love myself, despite.”
There is one thing I do truly well – asking for hugs. My kids hug me innumerable times a day, unasked. It is my pursuit of being in a long embrace with Big Bear that I am so especially good at I have made an extreme sport of it. Now before you get me wrong it is not the marital hug I talk about. That one is sparkling and full of magical beans. I get quite chirpy when I think of it but will refrain from any further elaboration.
It is the tender, the mushy , the idyllic kind of hug that I am chasing. Yes, the classic one with loopy arms , beating hearts, I know clichéd, with the magnetic force of which my swirling big toe can crush the ground. And in the process lift me up . From whatever it is that holds me down. It is not just the hug that is critical to my quest, it is the choreographed dance of my limbs , the blissful squeezing of my eyes, the explosive ticking in my chest wanting to be held that has made me such an enthusiast. It is incurable, involuntary, persistent and complicated. Simple , all the same, I need a hug. Right when I need it. Or I can go on asking.
I like a bit of demonstrative love. My childhood mostly bereft of it, I may have asked for one too many hugs from Big bear. I take this crusade very seriously, often think I am good at it, but not quite. I continue to stay vulnerable but refuse to waver.
I hug my children, we have lots of cuddling time everyday. It brings me peace like no other, but the little girl in me wants a hug to hide. That only the tree like Big bear can provide, but needs and moods hardly do coincide.
A giant , magnificent hug , unasked , a surprise, I keep thinking of it. I can feel its tight squeeze . At least my boys wouldn’t grow up to be needy as I am. And I know they will intuit the need for one.
My big bear hug will be. It better be sooner than later though. I can barely function. I am serious.
About going on asking.