“You need to put on your socks and brush your shoes,” I said. “No, your hair.”
Too late. She’d run off with a grin to grab a shoe and her hairbrush.
Sometimes inertia is really hard to beat. I feel like that at the moment: my writing has fizzled because – as always – I have an interesting setup and characters I like, but I don’t know what happens. And I lack motivation because nobody’s exactly knocking my door down looking to publish me. With the whole world open to me, I can only see the obstacles in the way of doing anything, and so I languish in doing nothing.
We woke up to pretty snow. The best sort, two inches deep on the grass and none to be seen on the roads. There wasn’t even a school delay. I took my camera and booted myself out the door for a walk to the lake, where everything looked like an unseasonal Christmas card, but the coating of snow was already melting and it barely showed up in photos.
I’m obsessed with capturing moments. I want to pin it down before it floats away, with words or in pictures: the mundane, the quotidian, the unexceptional. I want to take arty black-and-white documentary-style photos with my fancy camera, but my children either pose dramatically or run and hide, depending on how they’re feeling. They won’t just keep on keeping on, unless I happen to sneak up and get a lucky shot.
It might be something to do with the upcoming birthday. The tenth birthday. I’m not so overwhelmed by the fact that I’ve been a mother for a decade: sometimes it seems much longer, always, perhaps. But the fact that ten years ago there was nobody and now there is somebody: that’s astounding. And all the moments he’s gone through, we’ve gone through, to arrive at this point, all behind us, already. How can we not just dive back into a minute when he was two, or four and a half, or even eight? Where did it go?
My husband’s 25-year school reunion is tonight. He’s not going, because he’s here, but if he’s 25 years out of school this summer, then so must I be. I was sure it was still only 20, and that was bad enough. I feel as if I should have done more, and yet surely a degree, a move to another continent, and the making of two whole people is quite a lot, whatever about sundry paid employments I’ve had in between times.
I have to go and buy shoes now. Call it therapy.