On Slowing Down

As I strolled across my kitchen this morning to answer the whistle of my tea kettle informing me it was time for coffee, my back went out. In an instant, I went from completely capable to incapacitated. My back spasmed for what felt like an eternity until I could get myself into bed, rendered useless for the rest of the day and probably much of the coming days.

I couldn’t help get my daughter ready for school – she was on her own. I had to call hubby home from work to do school drop off and to spend the day entertaining our son in the yard and garden so he wouldn’t climb on me and whine all day while I laid in bed.

I had to lay there as my three year old tried to pour himself a cup of milk and then helplessly watch him spill it all over the kitchen floor. From my bed, I have spent the day staring at the sticky mess on the kitchen floor. I have been reduced to listening to life happening around me. Listening to the giggles, letting go that I can’t just intervene on every whim. Letting go of the control every mother thinks they have until it’s gone, in an instant.

Without wanting to be, I have been slowed down. For all the times I think I am moving slowly, paying attention, moving at a pace that I can soak it all in before it’s gone too fast, I realize today that I still move to fast. I do too much. I don’t let some things just be. It too often seems that until I can’t have or do something, I realize one of two things – how much I need it or how useless it really is. I am laying here in bed, unable to move – which would be really convenient if I were dead – and I have never been more aware of the difference between the things I really need to do each day and the things I simply choose to do each day. I need hugs from my kids before and after school. I don’t need to hover. I need a tidy home. I don’t need perfection. I need fresh air.

Each time someone laughs in the other room, I lay here thinking about how often I don’t even hear the giggles because I am too busy with the mopping, or dishes, or whatever seems it needs doing. When the whining and crying starts, I am more than happy to be invisible in here. I am laying in bed staring at a sticky kitchen floor but I don’t want to mop it. I want to pick up and hug my babies. I want to laugh and play. I want to curl up with them at bedtime and read stories – all things I just couldn’t do today.

Times like these, I can focus on the things I do that I take for granted. Like sneezing and laughing. Have you ever laughed with a bad back and then started swearing? No? Me neither. Have you ever sneezed and then right as someone in the other room is saying “Bless you”, you find yourself uttering words that should never be used in church? No? Me neither. Aside from the sneezing and laughing, I have been grateful. To a friend that stepped up to help. To my husband who has been unflinching in his support today. He may have made grilled cheese on hot dog buns for the kids for dinner, but he made me something he knew I’d love. Any man who will cook his wife couscous with artichokes and top it with greek olives is a man worth keeping. To my parents who provided laughs just small enough not to hurt, and support enough to fill a football stadium. I think they must realize how seriously I take this job I do everyday and how much it sucks right now to not be able to do it. To be truly slowed down to the point of not moving. Only when I am in excruciating pain every time I move, do I realize how much I actually do move – and how quickly I do it. Too quickly. Too thoughtlessly. Too effortlessly, without appreciation for all those little things.

While my family was outside earlier- kids alternating between swinging and climbing trees while hubby worked in the garden – I was missing it. But at least, in an instant, I was provided a little bit of focus. I know what to appreciate and what to let go of. What’s important and what isn’t.