Taking the time to pause and document more of spring break in short clipped sentences because I know not what else to do with myself.
Today was another day with kids. I was much calmer today than I usually am while baby-sitting; I could feel myself brimming with some sordid mixture of compassion, patience, authority, the strength and energy go down the slide seventy-two times with a child in my lap, a mixture which does not often make itself apparent on any usual shift. I spend a lot of time putting off that which needs to be attended to, including, unfortunately, my duties as a baby-sitter or whatever it is that I am to them. They seem to love me, and I love them, deeply, but it is easy to fall into the routine of simply watching them play and breaking up their fights when necessary, to forget how to be a kid and have some fun while still maintaining the balance and structure that children need from people who are looking after them. I tend to feel like a huge push-over, because it does not take much more than saucer eyes to persuade me. But I also grow so exhausted constantly interacting at school that my interactions elsewhere become shallow and fragmentary. I think the time on break has allowed me the time alone to refuel and collect my thoughts so that I have so much more of myself to pour into the time I spend with those beautiful little creatures.
I dressed the baby in pink florals and cuffed denim today, and she looked like a dream, her big blue eyes peering up from her porcelain face, her short, wispy curls sitting atop her head. She's the sort of baby who does not beg for attention in any way--quiet, observant, but beginning to grow more energetic--and yet upon seeing her there is some sort of intense magnetism that comes forth and all I can do is pick her up and smile at her and kiss her and do whatever else her heart desires. The second-youngest held the baby's hand as we walked home, two sisters walking along grasping palms and smiling in their tiny jeans and patterned tops, and it was one of the sweetest moments I've witnessed in recent memory. But yes, we went to the park and played. Someone asked if I was a stay-at-home mom, to which I replied, "Oh, no, I'm just the baby-sitter!" She invited me to join her anyway, her and a group of other moms who were gathered at the park for their "mom club" while their toddlers toddled around the playground. I said thank you, but opted to go down the slide with the baby. We did crafts and had pb&j at home afterward. Mundanities, but mundanities I've grown accustomed to, even approached cheerfully today.
The afternoon was spent at the library with my father and brother and sister. Manny had a mustache painted on his face, Nikki a giraffe. The community room was all a flutter with vibrant banners advertising the different stations where kids could go to play horseshoes, make bookmarks and paper flowers and various other paper crafts. I sat at story time and watched the eyes of the little girl sitting next to me light up. Those library volunteers are magical, so wonderfully enthusiastic, and I think that all the kids who were there appreciated the effort, even if that's not necessarily something that kids ever think about or communicate. I appreciated the effort. My dad took us to dinner at In-N-Out (well, I drove) and we four ate our fries and burgers (veggie, for me) and made conversation. When I have days like these, I realize how much of my family I am missing while I am at school, and it makes me sort of sad. I only have such a limited time left with them, and even then, my time is not going to be spent with them. When I go away to school, I will miss even more of their lives, not to mention how much I will miss them.
I finished The Bell Jar today. I am anxious to begin drafting for my papers but already feeling overwhelmed and wondering if it's something that can even be accomplished, 36 pages (12 pages each) over the course of one month, plus normal schoolwork, including short papers. I haven't researched enough, I can tell you that. So, it's beginning to look like a hopeless task, but I suppose if I spent less time talking about it and more time actually doing it, it would be halfway done by now. Oh well. I don't really have much else to say. I'm glad I got this out. I'm glad to be alive today, which is much more than I could have said four months ago. Awash with all sorts of emotions, but a feeling of contentment is definitely at the top of the list. I keep reminding myself, when I am driving, when I am walking, when I am talking to other people, It is a miracle to exist. Because it is. And it's something I want to take to heart and keep remembering to acknowledge. It makes things rosier. It makes challenges seem surmountable. It is sappy, but it's true. When I begin questioning why I am here, doubting myself, wondering whether I am able, whether I'll ever have made anything of myself, I try to remember, It is a miracle to exist. Then everything else is extra. Everything else is acknowledging the miracle and allowing it to emanate, permeate, making it even more miraculous. Surviving the things I've survived, doing the things I've done. I've accomplished a lot more in the past year than I care to give myself credit for, and it's so easy to push it all aside and say, look, I've done nothing and feel completely worthless. But existing is a miracle. Being alive is a big deal. I survived a car accident. I could be dead right now. Why would I want to waste something so precious, that I came so close to losing, my life, on doubt and misery and insecurity?
That's not to say I'll never have depressive phases again, but I think for now, on a day like today, and hopefully moving forward, I can get through more than I think if I focus on the miracle that is simply waking up in the morning, getting out of bed, having a nice cup of coffee, and breathing while the sun shines through the sliding glass window and my family sits around having breakfast. I think that is a miracle in and of itself.
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