comments 8

Overflow

I woke up this morning, off.

My son had to wait for the dryer to finish before he could get dressed for school. The pile of clothing-to-be-folded is just too high of a mountain for him to climb at this point and I didn’t want to risk it spilling out onto the floor (it is currently crammed into a Pack ‘n Play, which serves to only wrinkle everything to the point of needing to be washed again, because this mama don’t iron.)

My daughter went to school with bedhead and sneakers with no socks.

Alex was still scribbling his homework from last night while we drove down to the bus stop. The bus came before he finished, he held back tears and left the half done paper on my front seat.

Asher woke up wet and sobbing into his pillow, embarrassed.

And I, I am just off. It’s a Wednesday. I am approaching mid-way through my busiest month of the year so far, and I have this growing feeling of threads unraveling, things, something important, some parts of myself, something I can’t quite remember, but don’t want to forget, something is off. It’s loosening, falling away.

And so, I just cried.

I can’t remember the last time that I cried. No, honestly, I can’t. Was it really nearly a year ago? That hardly seems possible. Both that the event happened almost a year ago, and that it has been so long since I sat on the gravely ground outside my church and hugged my knees, sobbing. Since I last let anything out.

It’s hard to cry as a mother, when the kids are eating breakfast and Disney Junior is on, but not fully distracting them. It’s hard to cry as a mother, when you are the strength that holds little lives together when someone has just had their hair pulled, or they’ve been served a licking of playground injustice, when their ice cream falls to the parking lot ground or their balloon floats away.

It’s hard to cry as a mother when you can’t even articulate to yourself why you’re crying, only that you’ve finally reached the point of overflow and the tears have to come.

Still, this morning. In the face of the laundry and the to-do list, and the inbox that just won’t stop, with kids just the next room over, I put down my coffee and took off my glasses and just let the tears and snot and sobbing happen.

After a minute or two, a quiet Evaline tiptoed into my bedroom. Her gentle, Mama? only brought a fresh flood.

She doesn’t speak much, my little Evie, but her face. Oh. Her sweet face. She was looking up at me, big blue eyed curiosity and a pouting lower lip. Confused. Sad. Her world somehow not making sense.

I stopped long enough to scoop her up, thinking she would need an explanation, I started to talk and tell her that I’m fine, but she just curled down against my chest and stroked my arm, as if to say, hush. 

In the background, Home played on my Pandora station. Settle down, it’ll all be clear… If you feel lost, you can always be found…Just know you’re not alone. 

I stood with my two year old, crying again, but dancing around the maze of laundry in my bedroom.

Wordless, catharsis-less, but not alone.

So beautifully, wonderfully, not alone.

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8 Comments

  1. Kathy Bailey

    Melanie, this is so true. Unfortunately. I am feeling overwhelmed right now, and I lost it yesterday. I rarely cry, I get angry, which is worse. It is All Too Much sometimes. I am glad Evie was able to cheer you up.

    • I’m sorry that you’re feeling similarly overwhelmed. I can lend you a cuddly, silly two year old for an hour or two. She’s pretty sweet. 🙂

      I was just remembering, I’ve had little tears here and there, but I not a big sobbing, not for a long while. It wasn’t nearly as cathartic as I hoped, but I do feel a bit better. Laundry still isn’t folded though.

  2. Kathy Bailey

    Re laundry: Get Alex to do it, then he’ll get Asher to do it (the old Tom Sawyer trick), and it will be done. If he can trick Asher into playing his video game, he can trick him into laundry.

  3. My kids are 26 and 23….one married. All real world grown up people. We’re done our share of mutually holding each other together over the years. And mom tears were all a part of it. They learned that I’m not as strong as all that…but love them fiercely. And that has always been – still is! – enough. The image of you dancing, to that wonderful song….on and around all the laundry … brought a real smile to my face. With deep breaths, and a little perspective (which it looks like you found!) the day will end on a sweeter note….Thanks for this, it’s lovely.

  4. Karen L

    yes, nearly a year ago. it has been weighing heavy in my heart. ❤

  5. Kathy Bailey

    I finally cried, and I’m not angry any more. That was scary. I haven’t been that angry since I stopped having PMS. But it’s run its course.

  6. journeynotdone

    It seems to be the week for tears. I hope things are a little lighter in your heart, and that you continue to feel better. *HUGS*

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