re-entry

I've been back for less than twelve hours.  Most of that time I've been asleep.  Yet re-entry is a wonder to behold.

For four days, I woke up to silence.  A pot of chai was waiting.  My journal.  A yoga temple swept sacred.  Sage smudged.  I'd lie in banda konasana, tears of gratitude falling down my cheeks.  Eyes closed, I felt the heavy warmth of a yoga blanket placed across my chest.  I'd have hours to do just that.  Listen to my breath.  Watch the rain make ripples on the lake.  Slowly ease into asana. Mind still and quiet. 

The rest of the day unfolds in a similar pattern.  Tea.  Silence.  Breath.  Asana.  Gratitude.  Perhaps a hike through an ancient forest, all moss and magic.  Or my body weightless in the cool water.  Or watching for shooting stars at the edge of a dock, face to the sky.  Every step sacred.  Peace and presence.

This morning, I awoke back in my bed.  Felt blessed by the quiet movement of leaves on the tree outside my window.  Felt whole against the stillness of my husband's body, the rise and fall of his breath, the return.

I heard their bedroom door and Solomon pattered down, huge smile, snuggled into me.  There were ten solid minutes of peace and perfection.  See, I'm integrating.  I'm bringing the gifts of my retreat home.

Then.

Mama, can I watch a movie on the ipad?

And so it begins.

Oh, Soli, you know this morning you have swimming.  We've got to get up and get moving.  Besides, we don't watch movies first thing in the morning.

But, mom!  The water is sooooo cold!  I have to go to swimming every single day!  It's freezing in there, mom!  

And we continue forward.

I notice then how I've poured two bowls of cereal, fried three eggs, made three pieces of toast, before I can even remember to turn on water for my tea.  I've made Jeff a pot of coffee, put away dishes and gathered recycling.  I've noticed that the cabinet door is sticky and have attempted to wipe it down.  It seems some of the blueberries are rotting.  I try to separate them out.  I should freeze the others today.  Note to self.  School's starting soon.  I should really just make muffins with them. They always eat muffins when I pack them.  I'll make really healthy ones.  Maybe with bananas too.  And nuts for protein. 

The clock keeps moving.

I'm still not dressed.  Quick brush teeth, wake Eliana.  She groans, exhausted from waiting up for me last night.  I hear how my voice changes as I'm continuously coaxing them to move faster, finish their food, put on their shoes.

I manage to pull a brush through my hair for the first time in days.  Stare aghast at my closet full of clothes, my tiny dishes that overflow with earrings.  Why do I have so many earrings?  What do I really need right now?  Ah, the toothbrush.  Where is the toothbrush?

Babe, you really should get out the door.

I back the van out of the driveway.  My kids begin to argue in the backseat.  A soft fall of rain.

The pool will be really cold because it's raining!

Yeah!

Mom!  Elie won't stop singing!  Moooommm!

Solomon, I can't hear you!  Let it go!  Let it go!  Can't hold it back anymore!

I can't hear you, Elie!  One, two, three, four, five, six...this is my sword!  You can't defeat me!

I glance at the clock.  Four minutes until swim classes start.  Make a left turn across heavy traffic.  Hope to make the next light. 

They continue to sing/banter/whine/yell from the backseat.  I focus on my breath.  Find a parking spot. 

Okay, beauties!  Let's begin!

And so it goes.