She sits in her chair. Her puppy curls up at her feet. A mug of pumpkin spice tea steams to her left. It’s not pumpkin season, but the big canister of tea was on sale and she’s going to be drinking it for months. The warm drink is comforting on a rainy night, especially when it’s been raining for days and there’s no end in sight until the end of the week. The lack of school recess is showing in the kids’ loud, tumble-around behavior and she thinks that tomorrow she will send the kids out in the rain after school because, to borrow a phrase from her childhood, a little rain never hurt anyone.
She has a file open behind this file. She needs to finish it. Only 300-800 words, but the words are not syncing up today. She can write one word after another, but there’s no guarantee of making sense. It might end up bad, she thinks. But she doesn’t even mean bad, mostly she means not great, not amazing, not spectacular. How to defuse the anxiety of completely unnecessary and unattainable perfection? If she could answer that question, pigs might fly and unicorns might pop into existence.
She thinks on unicorns, then horses, then farm animals, then how her newly groomed dog looks exactly like a freshly shorn lamb, all leggy and cream-colored. She searches the web for the couple who sent her a wedding invitation today, but she doesn’t know them. Nope, not at all. The names don’t ring any bells; neither do their faces. They are young and beautiful. So much ahead of them. Where will they be in 14 years?
She fills in the RSVP card with her regrets. She wishes them joy and laughter and don’t worry too much about the wedding. That’s only the beginning after all.
P. S. She did finish that file and here it is at the Loft Writers’ Block and she thinks it turned out pretty good: https://writersblock.loft.org/2014/05/02/3195/motherhood_words