A Cornucopia

The house is silent now, and I sit in pleasant solitude, listening for the soothing sound of the tea kettle's hum. Yet, only one hour ago, these now peaceful rooms rocked to the airy rhythms of a dozen indefatigable feet. Attached to those feet were my six children--six bodies bursting with energy, six brains brimming with ideas, six simple souls blessing my day.

There was so much to do an hour ago, so many possible ways to pass my time. Patrick pleaded with me to read him his beachcombing book, hoping I might draw countless marine creatures to his exacting specifications. Theresa repeatedly offered to make me a cup of tea, a subtle hint that she wanted some quiet time at the table to talk. Margaret hoped for help writing her story about the princess with the five lively siblings and sat waiting patiently for me with pencil and paper in hand. Marie asked that I accompany her up the stairs to visit the new house she had set up for her dolls, while Agnes longed to discuss the wonders of poetry and alliteration, suggesting I listen to her read "Sea Fever," a poem she only just discovered today. Maureen kept crying out, "coat, coat!" thrusting her little red jacket in my direction and leading me toward the door and the empty swings beyond.

It occurs to me now in the quiet of this room that I did not do half of those simple things. I read Patrick's beachcombing book once, but asked Margaret to draw him the fish. Theresa and I shared some snippets of conversation over the din of the dinner table, but the water bubbling on the stove now will make my first cup of tea. I managed to help Margaret with the spelling of the word "January" for her still unfinished story and finally called upon Marie's dolls while tucking her in to bed tonight. Agnes, I see, left "A Child's Anthology of Poetry" on the computer table for me to find--she was kind enough to put a bookmark in "Sea Fever." Little Maureen never did make it outside to the swings.

The truth is I would have delighted in doing each and every one of these things and doing them well, but the day darted past, as busy days often do, ending with a dash and a kiss and a bedtime prayer.

These years of our lives are so full and so fleeting that I feel as if I am a guest at a Thanksgiving Feast. Plates are passed to me at every moment, each one laden with more than I can even taste. There is turkey with giblet gravy, chestnut stuffing and mashed potatoes, corn on the cob and cranberry relish, green bean casserole and candied yams, buttermilk biscuits and brussels sprouts, pies and puddings, cookies and cakes. "Wait," I say, sorry to see any of these good things go to waste, "I can't eat this all at once. It is all so scrumptious that I want to savor every morsel. Can't I try these courses one bowl at a time, or at least freeze some of it for lunch next week?"

But I already know the answer. The banquet is ready now, and it cannot be delayed. It is fresh and delicious and waiting for me to dig in. I need to make the most of it while it is still hot.

Comments

[Melissa Wiley]

Oh how this goes to my heart! I remember when Jane was tiny and I used to say 'yes' to every request. Here's to filling this busy day with 'sure, let's do it now!' Thanks for the reminder.

[Karen E.]

Oh, Alice, I feel hungry, melancholy, grateful and full of longing all at the same time. Thanks for another beautiful reflection.

[Cay Gibson]

Alice,
This very same thing happened to me last night. I paused for a second in the kitchen, looked around me and thought "How do I do it all?" Yet I shudder when people ask me that same question.

I "want" to do it all and enjoy it all. How do we? How do we "make the most of it while it is still hot?" Perhaps you can address that in another post. : ) While the tidbits are delicious, I often leave the table feeling like I haven't had dessert yet. I've eaten the stuff I had to but the books unread and the projects unfinished (like you mentioned in your entry) sit like the dessert we don't have time to enjoy.

You've offered another beautiful reflection! Thank you for sharing yoursself, your home, and your awesome talent with all of us.

[Happyheartsmom]

What a smorgasbord you are offering to your family just bt being their mother, great post once again, just lovely!

[Ann]

Alice,
I hope you know what a gift it is for your children to have a mom like you-- one who is so grateful for the blessings of this daily feast. I think this awareness and sensitivity is something many women never have until they are grandmothers. I also think there is great benefit in the reality that one cannot possibly "do it all". The children will be more resourceful, self-reliant, imaginative, and helpful to each other having been raised in the balance of nurturing and autonomy that you are providing for them. God Bless You! ~Ann

[AliceG]

You are all much too kind, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart!

[Suzanne]

I just read this, via "Minnesota Mom"....she's right; this one will be hard to forget!