Frayed a Little

And today was beautiful. Sunny and 61 degrees and all the leaves emerging, new and unscathed. From a distance, the branches look frayed, fuzzed with green. So we experimented with the frame backpack. Put you in it and took ourselves and Luxy on a walk through the natural lands behind St. Olaf. From the outside, everything looked pretty good--we did, the world did. Inside the house though, Thiz, we are a little frayed, fuzzed with worry and exhaustion. Yesterday at work I opened with window for the first time since last fall. It was windy outside and so seconds later my desk was covered with the bodies of dead bugs, dry and delicate, tiny legs folded in on themselves. On the inside, this is more how I feel. There are so many people to care for: students and friends, you and Daddy--and there are so many things to care for: the plants in my office, the gas tank, the living room rug, the washer full of dirty diapers, the empty refrigerator. There are plane tickets to book and papers to grade and mothers to call (I'm co-leading the next New Mom's group, the group that saved my life last fall). And behind all of this, last of all, seems to come my own writing and then today, when I finally had two blissful hours to write (thank you, Daddy) what emerged was absolute crap. Finally, two whole hours on my own and all I produce is garbage. So there is spring and there is also, inside me, a slow sinking. How much of this you know or understand I don't know. How much of the deterioration of my parents' marriage is knit into my subconscious I do not know. Today, you seemed unperturbed. Probably you are learning the textures of tone and sound, how words can have hard edges or round bottoms, how sentences can blister or twine together. Ironically, whatever hurts emerge within our own home are the ones I will least be able to protect you from, Thiz. So I pray for patience and grace and kindness. And I lay you down in your crib, sinking a little on the inside, but still filled up with such gratitude for you, such joy.