The old rice filling up the pot was the most beautiful thing. Suspended in water, and hugged by each molecule. It was lovely as I tipped the pot and let it spill over into the sink. Swirling like a sea of stars, the rice was over taken by the gravity of the drain. I flipped the switch to let it be eaten by the sink machine. It sucked it in gladly and away the rice went. That thing eats more than my kids. What a waste of lovely rice, what a terrific sacrifice.
You know what I miss....? I miss driving home from my job. It was such a relief and good feeling. I would turn my music up really loudly and lean way back in my Mini Cooper seat. When I last had a job I was really into Pinback, which isn't particularly a band one plays loudly, but it sounded so good in that car. I listened to the mix CD I made over and over. Driving down the canyon was a blast in that car. I could go so fast so easily, not even afraid of slippery curves. I know Parleys like the bad of me hand. After the season ended in Park City, I worked downtown. That was also a fun drive home, all the people and the cars to look at, wondering where everyone was going and who they went home to. Any drive home was a good one....I felt accomplished and that I had really earned my living. I worked very hard at the spas. I made it a personal mission to "take care," of these strangers and let them know that they deserved to feel good and relax.
Now I am on the other side...needing to feel good and relax. My days are hard and long, but full of love. I get to take care of the people I enjoy most. There is just no drive home. No sense of completion or relief, because this job does not stop. Even when I am away, I am here. It makes no sense this mommy occupation. I love it, it frustrates me, I question myself constantly and get to the breaking point, then I get hugs and kisses and it melts away. The days are schizophrenic and controlled, the deep, the scars, the emotion that rises and falls- all swirling like a sea of stars. I am in it all for keeps.
In my imagination, as I move through my days, some one beautiful brushes my hair, wraps it in a towel to keep it clean as she washes my face, and takes care of this stranger. Some day I will become reacquainted with that relief, that calm closing sense of complete and it will be good for everyone. But as for now I have pots of old rice that are beautiful in their sacrifice, snotty noses to wipe, and applesauce to clean up. I notice everything and keep it close. For when I am away, I want to remember what I have to come home to....you. Crazy, dirty, crying, snuggly, you... and we are all better when Mom comes home.