Sketching: A Sunday in January

 . . . . .in which I give “a brief account or general outline” of some moment in time . . . .

The sun has still never come out on this longest of weekends when the bilingual educational psychologist has flown in all the way from L.A. and nests in our home for many more hours than we wish for, but just as many as we need.

In the pit and pat white background noise of the rain, we assemble lego robots, watch movies on computer screens and pass endless assessments and IQ tests given by said teacher. Two fine and furry cats spend almost the entire time asleep in various poses nestled into the many blankets scattered around the couch. They are cuddled into submission by a string of children coming in rounds to be soothed by the monotone purring and breathing of their calming bodies.

I serve as tree to my smallest.  Room service for my oldest. With my calm peace I anchor my second daughter.  With open ears and arms I listen and listen to my firstborn son.

I am cleaning the kitchen counters for perhaps the 15th time this day when a bright light shines boldly in the corner of my left eye, beckoning me for 15 or more seconds before disappearing.  I take two pills and wait for the headache sure to follow.  Now it is time to breath deeply, find a book, sit, rest, laugh a little and surround myself with love.

The body refuses to be ignored and abused for longer than necessary. She calls me to love myself, no matter the rain, no matter the many loads of washing and the situation of no pants for Leo to wear tomorrow, no matter the psychologist in my bedroom testing, always, testing, no matter who is hungry or who needs help, again.

Breath.  Be still.  Be loved.  Be whole.

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