My savant and savvy sister, at nine or so, came up with this theory about days. Somehow Hilary managed to hold on to a copy of a biography she wrote. It's pretty amazing. Anyway. Little Hilary decided that each day is either a good luck day, a bad luck day, or a middle luck day. We re-read this together this summer and, after a few laughs, I realized she was on to something.
Yesterday was a kinda easy-breezy day. My lessons were satisfying at school. I made it to a dance class. I still had enough inertia to throw together a simple, yet veggie-fueled meal that my children enjoyed. I didn't get cranky when I was reading them books at bedtime. And they went to bed without problem.
It was a great day. A good luck day. The only problem was, that meant today would be a bad luck day. Or at least middle luck. Neither of which is ideal.
And it totally was. I didn't feel like I really accomplished anything all day. I got tons of little things done, but nothing in that wholly satisfying way. My computer wouldn't work at school. I didn't feel like I had enough time to complete what I wanted to do with my students. Cooking dinner felt like a tremendous, arduous and heavy task. I didn't even really want to eat my own cooking (this really sucks when you feel like all you do is cook --- at least I usually want to eat it). I craved a giant scallop burrito from Sr. Fish. Craved my version of comfort food. California style. Maybe it was a reaction to the first snow. To the fact that my three-quarter length sleeves just aren't cutting it anymore. That I really need to just bust the down jacket already. But it feels just too soon. Too bad luck.
This weekend was picture perfect fall. Just two days ago! Crisp, blue skies, air cool but clear. The yellowing leaves danced and I had a very hard time staying inside. The kids and I walked to the hill, to the park again and again, the sun a magnet, a force, a pulse.
Today's grey was like an ugly, dark reminder. Like going to the dentist. Something inevitable but highly unliked.
But if this was a bad luck day, or, at least, a middle luck day, I guess I should count myself, perhaps, lucky. I remember the twenty minutes I had alone in the tub before my freakos joined me. My first real re-group, solo time of the day. The way I turned the pages in the Athleta catalogue and thought about how much I like cross-country skiing, how fun it would be to wear one of their little athletic snow skirts. I then balked, knowing that I would never spend money on a snow skirt. Too sporty. Because even though I get more Montana every year, I'm still a total snow dork. I'd feel like a poser. I'll wear my big 'ol bibs anyday.
When the kids joined me, I watched the way that they interact. The way Soli loves to say, "No way, Jose!" to just about everything we say, always with a big smile. The way Elie and I exchange glances about how funny and cute and weird he is. Jeff came in and sat with us. All four of us hanging out in our insanely small bathroom. We're way cozy back in our little house. Way cozy. Like we kinda shimmy around each other everywhere. But that's what we know, that's what gives us comfort, so we roll with it. And without too much upheaval, the dishes have been cleaned and the counters have been wiped. Teeth brushed and books read. Second round of snacks consumed, second round of bedtime songs sung. And even if this was sorta a middle luck day, it's only 9:17 and I'm here in my bed with this computer. I get to write. I can write! I get to process. I can process! I have two amazing children. A husband I love (who gets full credit for dishes and counters today). An awesome job that I care a ton about. Friends that I fight time to be with.
