the end of time as we know it

I'm getting deeper into this lack of time thing.  Cassidy is like a comet, all the time.  If I could bottle up and eighth of her energy and take small doses of it for the next month, I'd be good to go.  It's not that I mind the chasing and maintenance of what this does and means to my mind state, the condition of my house, the lack of words, but I am exhausted. I can't even have a phone call for more than ten minutes without peeling her off the edge of the staircase or saving the cat from her grip.


She learned to walk by hiking in the woods, and now she is a pro at manuevering over and around sticks, stumps and rocks.  She is fast.  We've been picking string beans from the garden to munch on, raspberries, blueberries and blackberries from all over our yard, but there are those bright red berries I have to make sure she doesn't get her hands on.  I love the fact that she is fully aware that food comes from the earth.


I was lamenting to chris yesterday after two full days of waitressing the coming home to the bathroom I still haven't gotten cleaned.  Chris HAD to mow the lawn, it was already sprouting new batches of dandelions, and our lawn is like a football field so this is no easy task.  I can't remember the last time I cleaned my car or even dusted my bedroom.  I asked Chris for a few minutes to sit on the front porch and call a girlfriend, and after ten minutes or so I could hear Cassidy from inside: MAMA! MAMA! MAMA!  Having been gone long days working, I hung up the phone.


"I love Cassidy," I told Chris.  "I just miss having 20 minutes to sit around and do NOTHING."  Chris has a 24 year old, a 13 year old, and a 1.5 year old.  "Colleen," he said, "I haven't had time to do nothing in 24 years, and I'm looking at another fifteen, at least.  I see cars go by, guys my age with bikes strapped to their cars..."
Perspective.  I had twenty years of running around the planet.  I remember freedom.

It's another day.  I can't even finish a ramble on blog post without pause. She's napping now, and I quickly stripped my bed, got laundry started, cleaned two bathrooms and unloaded the dishwasher.  I paid a couple bills .  Now I'll write for a few minutes and maybe vacuum the rugs before she wakes up, if I'm lucky.


We went to Old Sturbridge Village this morning, where we have a membership.  It is a restoration village set in the 1840's, a living history museum.  We go there often.  Today we took a ride on a stagecoach pulled by two thick horses, and then we went on a river boat for a short putter around the lake.  I was armed with a bag of diapers and juice boxes, crackers and her favorite blankie.  There are dirt roads she can safely run around, amidst a village of salt box and cape houses, working tin and blacksmith shops, farms and women dying wool in pots over open fires outside.  I get snippets of history and information which I would eat if I could, but I am too busy  maintaining the safety of my daughter.


Cassidy's language development lately is so delightful.  She rested her head on my shoulder the other day and said "My Mommy."  Melt.  She has yes and no down, so I ask her a lot of questions.  "You wanna go hang out on the front porch?"  "YEAAAAHHH!!!!!" she says back.  Or, "Yeahyeahyeahyeahyeah!!!!"  She cracks me up all the time.  She also gets pissed if I won't let her do something she wants to do.  She screams and runs in the other room and hides, sneaking peeks in my direction to glare.  Of if I'm holding her, she'll pull my hair or squeeze my face.  I put her down immediately and tell her she's hurting me and I don't like it.  And I ignore her until her tantrum subsides.


Oh, what fun it is.


That mango smoothie on some mountain road in the tropics of Captain Cook, Hawaii, sitting at a little table outside listening to birds, the scent of plumeria in the air, alone with my journal and my thoughts... The Trident  Cafe in Boulder sipping a vanilla latte from a pint glass in the cold of winter, snug all alone with my journal in the bustle of a busy coffee shop... Under my favorite tree in Yellowstone National Park over looking the lake in a secluded place sitting on the little quilt my college friend made for me, taking a nap in the warm sun... Walking the beach in my back yard looking out at White Island, the active volcano smoldering away 30 miles off shore from where I lived in New Zealand... Riding my bike through the red clay dirt and rocks in Sedona, Arizona,to the little sandwich shop that made the best pineapple malts ever tasted...


Life sure is different these days.  And I wouldn't trade it for the world.  There are moments, however, when I am wistful for days gone by.  And, as if on cue, I can hear that Cassidy is now awake.