Posts Tagged ‘throne room’

I Love It When You Hold Me

January 30, 2016

He whispered and held my arm tight, kissing my hand.

My heart just broke wide open.

Careful kid.

I’m hormonal.

“Carmen, you’re going to put me to bed tonight?” The three year old asked me.

“Yes,” I said, “mommy and daddy are at a school function.”

“I love it when you put me to bed,” he said and hugged me.

I love it too.

Despite it being Friday.

Despite it being the end of the week and the end of the day.

I love it too.

The boys were very sweet today and we had a lot of time together, it rained, so mostly indoors and mostly coloring and building train tracks.

I would have happily gone out for a walk with them, but neither of them were inclined to put on rain boots and rain coats and stomp outside in puddles.

I always loved a good puddle stomp when I was a kid.

Warm summer rainstorms in the Midwest might be one of the best things ever.

Perhaps only second to snuggling down with a sweet boy.

“Sing me a song,” he whispered.

I obliged.

“Hold me,” he tugged my arm, “snuggle down with me.”

Ah kid.

You really are a wonder and I really felt my heart grow fifteen sizes too big for my chest.

Human contact is so important, being held, being touched.

I do it pretty unconsciously with the boys, rubbing their backs, holding their hands, letting them clamber up in my lap, rest their warm bodies against mine, little pack animals.

I feel a little sad with it sometimes.

Sometimes I want to be the one being held.

But there is a comfort to know that I am being taken care of.

I know that pretty intrinsically.

And being maudlin is not a help.

Just the sound of the rain, the sound of the beating child’s heart, feeling it bloom and fade under the palm of my hand, the soft rise and fall of the chest, the warm breath, and the slow fall into sleep.

So close your eyes close as I fall asleep.

There is something so delicious about being held when falling asleep.

I can’t recommend it highly enough.

I haven’t had the experience recently, my memories sustain me.

My own sense of love and purpose lifts me.

Even when I catch myself falling into sadness I know that I am held and that is good enough, the knowing is good enough.

And the ability, the capacity to love and love another, no matter what the reciprocation, is a tremendous gift.

I used to think that there was not enough love, not enough, anyway for me.

Now I know that there is an ever widening, continuously deepening, ocean, with swells of love that I will get to cast my small little seed pod of a boat upon.

I imagine a curled leaf.

A dandelion lion fluff of seeds as my sail.

An acorn cup.

A tiny wisp of love floating like eiderdown over the tides.

Excuse me while I wipe the speck from my eye.

No that is not a tear.

Ha.

Ah.

So it goes.

Another Friday night and I ain’t got nobody/I got some money ‘cuz I just got paid.

There is that.

Pay day.

Pay the rent day.

Little low on funds, but not bad.

Rent and utilities all covered for February and I should be getting a disbursement from my student loans by February 10th.

I also should have my tax return pretty quick.

I got a new pair of shoes in my sights.

Everything else is pretty on point, no need to shell out any money.

I may get some clothes when the tax return hits and the rest of it I think I shall sock away for my trip to New York in May.

And potentially another small trip, again, depending on what the family’s needs are and whether or not I am taking vacation pay for the time they are away or I am doing household stuff for them while they are away.

I’ve juggled a couple of ideas in my head, but nothing so far as stuck.

I will probably end up staying here and doing the infamous “staycation.”

Which means, I’ll probably do homework.

Ha.

Speaking of.

I do have a confirmed lunch date and study session with a friend from school for this Sunday.

Tomorrow I meet with my person and hang out in the Inner Sunset for a bit.

Grocery shopping, laundry, cooking, doing the deal.

Pretty mellow day.

Pretty mellow weekend.

I’m thinking about making gumbo tomorrow night.

Other than that I don’t have anything going on.

This, I am told, is not a bad thing.

I know this.

But sometimes the brain gets going and the judgement machine gets turned on and I wonder what the fuck I am doing working on a Friday night and cooking on a Saturday and doing homework on a Sunday.

What fucking fun am I?

Or.

I think, hmm, look, all this lovely time, an expanse to lavish myself with self-care and love and good food, with rest, and nurturing.

I get to see a friend on Sunday and I get to see my person tomorrow.

I’m getting a manicure.

I’m getting on my scooter, the weather is supposed to lift, and I am excited to ride her around a bit.

I’m keeping up with my homework so I won’t be overwhelmed for my next weekend of classes.

I’m doing just fine.

The house is quiet.

The boys are asleep.

The rain falls in the back yard dropping down on the palmetto leaves and splashing on the flagstones.

The moon rises behind the clouds.

I sit in the throne room in my heart and wait.

 

I do not have to know for what.

Or whom.

I await.

I do not have to know.

I just know.

 

 


%d bloggers like this: