confessions on a cloudy day

There are times when a grey day feels cozy and being tucked in a warm dry house is reassuring and homey. Then there are times when the deluge of a wintry February day in the Pacific Northwest feels like the most dreary, trapping, depressing of days. Feeling low, I lose patience quicker than usual with Jacob and his constant "need" to be near me - no, not near me, touching me. As much as I ask for space, he presses closer, driving me to the edge at times. The yelling is not my proudest moment as a parent. Nor the words telling my child to go away from me. Sometimes, the garage is the only respite from the angry stirrings of energy in my chest, the only place to go (somewhat) by myself and work on breathing. Perspective, perspective, my mantra. Remember that he does need you. That he needs you to be with him. Breathe out some of those angry stirrings. Feel some of the more settled places of your heart that will pull you throw this rough patch. 

I go back in, pick him up, snuggle him on the couch. Apologize. Tell him I love him. Tell him that I have hard times too. Read some books. Apologize and tell him I love him again.

On these hard days, sometimes I have to just try and see some of the details. Details can break apart some of the drudgery, letting in bits of light that awaken me. Details can be reminders of the here and the now. That this here and now is always changing into another here and now. Perspective. The present is forever creating itself and this, too, shall pass.