I can do hard things + a poem

I've been examining my schedule to figure out just why it is that I'm letting so many things drop through the cracks. (I also keep wondering how on earth I managed as YW prez last year & realize that I truly was blessed to fulfill my stewardship during my time in that calling, because I'm doing less now and find my time eaten up.)

I usually wake up by 4 a.m. - sometimes earlier, sometimes later - to get my grading and schoolwork done. It's a habit now and I don't need an alarm. I tell myself what time I need to wake up in the night, and usually my brain complies. However, my brain always knows if I really have to get up or not. If the work can wait, usually I sleep until closer to 5 a.m. If it can't, I'll wake up by 2 a.m.

Anyway ... I work for several hours, usually wrapped in a fuzzy bathrobe, til it's time to get the children up. Then we race around, getting dressed, eating breakfast, testing blood sugar, gathering backpacks, until it's time to leave for school. I work from 8 - 2:45 p.m. when it's time to pick up the kids. Being able to pick them up, take them home or to various lessons and activities, is the great privilege of my situation. It is a tender mercy of the Lord, I am convinced, and this schedule allows me to hold on to a piece of the dream of my former life. That afternoon time is wonderful and filling. Often we just relax, do some homework, play around too (and pre-iron tablets, I often took a nap!) and attend dance, piano, math tutoring, cub scouts and baseball ... not in that order.

(Sometimes when I fall asleep, the kids like to take pictures of each other. Wow. The budding talent on display stuns me.)

The only hitch is that when I leave at 2:45 p.m. I am never done with my work. I always have hours of work left to do. That leaves the early morning hours.

When I think about it this way - that I'm working a full-time job and also trying to be the kind of mother I want to be ("trying" being the key word) - I am a bit more forgiving of myself. Still, I have so much stuff that remains undone! House cleaning, laundry, dishes, paperwork, forms, documents, photo albums, church responsibilities, appointment scheduling, creative writing... I can't say that I don't have time to do these things, and often I manage to get at least one thing done each day, but my brain has formed focus compartments that do not leave much room for the rest of the business of life. I think about Blinn and then I think about my kids, and then it's time for bed. I need to build a bigger brain compartment for the rest: billsletterstospecialrelativesphonecallsbloggingexerciseskincarefriendship

I do not feel too stressed, and my afternoons with Graham and Annie are as much about self care as kid care. I relax, I read magazine articles, I mix up snacks, check out spoontheband.com, and head to the park. I have a great life. I just feel like I am failing to stay on top of the details. A financial planner/housekeeper/dry cleaner person would be a lovely addition to our home staff. Currently, I only have two part-time employees and recent performance evaluations indicate that proposed work load increases suggested by the manager have not yet been implemented.

Annie did make her own sandwich for school a few mornings ago though, and both of us were thrilled! I was fumbling with our morning routine and nagginggraham (a phrase best expressed as a single word), and in the midst of my sighing and rushing, Annie snuck into the kitchen, pulled out the canister of peanut butter and jar of nutella. Unfortunately, we only had a single slice of bread remaining in the bag, but she made a lovely foldover.

This is a rather long exposition. The point of this post was supposed to be my triumph over the most difficult task I've yet faced as a single parent.

I've been doing this since summer 2008. Some parts have been more difficult than others (broken heart = difficult; always getting to pick what we have for dinner = easy). I've faced it all with tears, fear and a strong resolve bolstered by family/friends/God. Still, none of it prepared me for the horror of last weekend.

Saturday morning, I left the playroom door open. My bad. My very very bad. We keep (kept) our betta fish named Rainbow in the playroom. We also kept the door shut so that furry paws and sharp teeth could not find Rainbow. But I was flip-flopping the playroom and kids' room. I had the door open because I was moving beds, dressers and shelves.

Saturday afternoon, Annie and I were making her bed, newly placed in the flip-flopped room. I saw a plastic toy on the floor and almost stepped on it. My thought was: They're really making these plastic toys a bit too realistic for my tastes. That plastic fish looks just like ...

Ack!?!?!!

It was our fish. Rainbow was on the floor, dead. Dead and gone and disgusting.

You see, I cannot stand fish. I've never liked them. I'm a Minnesota girl but will only swim in the lake if I can a) stay near a dock, preferably ON the dock or b) float on a plastic raft. My third option is c) swim like the wind out to a floating pontoon where I plant myself on the boards.

Rainbow was our third fish. The first, Oh, died of an accidental overdose. When we realized he was dead (hard to see through the thick layer of scum that coated his bowl), I tossed the entire bowl, dead fish and all, into the outside trash can. Our second fish, Goldie, died after one week in our family. Annie was so excited to have a fish that I knew we'd be getting a replacement. When I found Goldie belly up in the bowl, I took the bowl outside, then begged Kyle to dispose of it. He kindly agreed.

This time, Kyle wasn't able to dispose of Rainbow. I entertained a few other possibilities ... perhaps I could pay a neighbor child to do it? Not a bad thought, but the neighbor I wanted to ask wasn't home. My short term solution was to place a mixing bowl (not clear!) over the fishy carcass. Then I waited.

I made it to Tuesday, and then the smell set in. It was tricky walking around a giant mixing bowl, yes, but it was harder to walk around the odor.

I got a trash bag and a piece of posterboard. I slid the posterboard under the mixing bowl. Rainbow's tail emerged and I screamed, a scream worthy of a horror movie! I pushed the posterboard all the way under the bowl, then wrapped the trash bag around the bowl and posterboard. I tied it up, gagging at the smell, and carried it outside to the trash can. Yes, I threw away my mixing bowl. It was the only way. Had I seen anymore of Rainbow or been forced to look into his weird dead eyes, I might have passed out. (This is only a slight exaggeration!)

I came back into the room armed with Clorox wipes. 300 wipes later, the fishy remains that had been smeared on the wooden floor were gone. I made both Graham and Annie come in to admire my work: "Hey guys, do you see what's gone?" They didn't. "Rainbow and the mixing bowl! I threw it away!" I bragged.

Later, my friend Corinna said she would have cleaned him up for me. I'm filing that away for fish #4.

In honor of my bravery and in recognition of Annie's loss, I thought I'd share my favorite fish poem: "The Fish" by Elizabeth Bishop. This is the way I like my fish - noble and on paper!

This poem is so long that I'm sharing the link. Lucky you, the link has audio too!

Bishop's imagery is gorgeous. Her details are perfect. (For example, she mentions a "rented boat", and perhaps that means that she's a novice, a novice who manages to land the big one on her first try!) Even I, a noted fish hater, can appreciate her lines about the fish's eyes:

I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
of old scratched isinglass.
They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.

I love teaching this poem because so many students love it. We talk about the kinds of fish they like to catch in Texas lakes and rivers. I have a pretty painting of a trout that's part of my poetry lesson(s) slide show. We usually manage to discuss what those five lines of wire and fish represent, and the students get it! They see that she lets him go out of respect. The victory is both the speaker's and the fish's.

I suppose I had a victory too. It wasn't in a boat, but Rainbow's death taught me that I'm hardier than I thought. Just barely, but enough.