When I’m not sitting at the computer, I have countless ideas to post. So many topics I want to explore or about which I want to express my feelings. So many feelings.
But my brain is backed up and my mind is scattered. Two years of chronic stress have taken their toll and burnt out my working memory. Sentences seem difficult, words don’t fit together. I’ve gotten so used to being interrupted that my brain short circuits and interrupts itself. And when it doesn’t, something else does.
I forget what flow feels like. I knew it once.
If I had sentences and words I would say how healing it has been to have stretches of time off work, but I would also say what a joke it is that a week, two weeks, three weeks would ever be enough to make up for two years, three years, three and a half years. I am trying to reclaim something with these brief weeks of real summer. A “summer vacation” pieced together with minimal adoption keave, vacation time and maternity leave I can’t afford.
But we can’t afford not to. This is it; not only the time we’ve been waiting for fo years but their only third summer. This is the tiniest bit I can protect, finally free of hurry and meetings and assessments.
This is what they need – lazy summer days and no obligations and play. Like clockwork, I can predict developmental and language leaps almost as if I can cause them to happen: winter break. An extended flu. A long weekend. The thought both reassures and terrifies me because I’m aware of what I’m doing. Two babies are turning into two little children, suntanned and strong and deep in an imaginative world I don’t completely understand. But the time would have passed anyway.
We’re in for a rude awakening whenall of this ends.