What is the bloody sound of silence?

AKA, refinding my ideal state.

Today we were lazy. It's a Saturday but not. Meals were lazy (steamed rice and fried cabbage for lunch, scalloped potatoes for dinner) and the kids and I did a lot of cuddling, hugging, playing pretend, Princess did some painting, Tag played some ball, Pebbles engaged with everyone at one point or another. I got them into bed on time then quickly turned all the lights out in the house, opened up the living room window and enjoyed the rainy air. Cool, calm, and loud. There's a highway close by, wind, rain. Leaves. Cars, people, the neighbors getting ready for bed themselves. I've never been somewhere that was completely silent. Air conditioning, wind, and for lack of all external noise I have the beating of my own heart.

So, when the kids are running amok, smoke alarms are telling me that dinner is past caramelizing and is now smoking, Man comes home grumpy, and I have another hour of housework to do before crashing in bed for the night, what am I really longing for? Silence? I honestly don't know how such a thing can happen. Being alone? That hasn't happened in many months. What am I really seeking?

This afternoon as I was preparing our cabbage, I was disappointed that my kim chee recipe didn't live up to my expectations and so as I fried up some fresh cabbage I did have a moment of relative silence and alone time. Pebbles was sleeping and the other two were quiet for a moment, I was waiting for the cabbage to sear, and all of a sudden I was struck with a grief that I couldn't perfectly identify.

I can't escape the influence of those around me in shaping and discovering who I am. I often struggle with wanting to be better than what I've become but in a lot of ways I'm bound by duty to spend x amount of time and effort in the daily grind. There is deep fulfillment in what I do. How can I not cherish the hugs and stories, dancing together when Princess's favorite song comes up on the computer? How can I hide my laughter when Tag comes into the kitchen to ask me if his hair looks nicer now that it's shorter as he proudly holds up the kitchen shears?

And yet... some how the angst I thought I left behind as a teenager still haunts me, in the mid evening with all the lights out and the chilly rain air making my feet cold. I fight off depression and wonder if my blood sugar or hormones have anything to do with what I'm feeling and I wonder if it's all my fault for not taking care of either properly.

And yet again... What if I'm not perfect? What if I don't perfectly tend my blood glucose levels with perfectly balanced menu planning? What if my hormones are only as regulated as the strongest birth control on the market can make them and I still have dips and shimmies? What if my kids turn out as normal as I did despite my attempts to give them wings? What if I never lose this last 30 pounds that I want to, or go to college, or accomplish something amazing that my grandkids will remember me for?

Do I have to be "[...] Hercules? Or Horatius, or Orpheus... people so lofty they sound as if they shit marble[?]" (forgive the language -- this is from one of my favorite scenes from the movie Amadeus)

You know what got me here. Last week I went to a primary teacher meeting thing at the primary president's house. Her house was apparently perfect. Up on the hills with a view of the ocean, manicured property with indigenous plants, rugs worth many hundreds of dollars underneath their dining room table (they have three or four young children), beautiful Asian works of art, a newly remodeled kitchen with granite counter tops. In short, my dream house but one I carefully never dream of having.

I began to wonder if all of these dreams and expectations I have begun to forsake really are worth forsaking. A lot can be said of accepting who I am and what I do and forgiving the rest when my best is spent. But what about those mountains? So what if it's a mighty struggle to achieve my dreams, as ridiculous and vain (meaning both vanity and hopelessness) as they might appear? I think I'm finally starting to understand the balance between putting forth a mighty effort and in faith accomplishing my dreams, and struggling with everything I have and feeling the struggle every step of the way. The difference is peace. The difference is the silence of my heart, the center of my choice and determination. How far will I let my desire for self acceptance take my will to succeed? How far down will my standards go so that I might forgive myself at the end of the day when I really could have made a superior effort and I didn't even have the excuse of "needing a day?" When I tell myself that the effort of a gourmet meal isn't worth it, am I telling myself that the food isn't worth it, or that my enjoyment of it isn't worth it? Because I'll tell you what, my enjoyment of a thing is most certainly worth the effort of an evening. And what's more, those I love and their enjoyment of a thing is worth my effort as well.

So here I sit with a floor that needs to be swept while I angst my weaselly black guts out to friends and family and wonder if anyone who knows me will even read this incredibly long post.

Well, dear ones, off I go to glory! Off I go to revel in the beautiful feeling of having a swept floor which is the gift I give to myself. And while I'm at it, I think I'll plan a few glycemic index-ly happy menus and maybe look up a few online colleges. It would be a pain in the rear to be basically a single mom with all these stinking goals, but I'd rather have dreams to work for than flat line comfort to ferment in.

Now I just need to think up a few goals that I really want to achieve because by golly and if I may sound even more trite, the sky is the limit. Haha!