I just put three kids to bed, cleaned the kitchen, and sat back down. No coherent thoughts are bubbling at the moment, but that’s nothing new. I sat down, and thoughts flood my mind, but nothing pressing to get out. A stack of bills, unpaid, as a result from another miscalculation. I cant seem to focus on one thing long enough to get it completed and my mind only screams for sleep. Sleep that wont come when I give in. I try not to get mad at myself, but sometimes its hard.
A few years ago, many many many years, it seems. I had an issue that came to mind again today. Back when Molly was alive. I wrote about it, on one of my many other sites that have since been banished to the wind. I wish so much that I wouldn’t have deleted every time I started new, but I know I needed to. Our old neighbor – a busy body – had gone a bit too far one afternoon. After fighting all day to keep her in, Molly bust down the doors and ran outside, with nothing but her underwear on, to play in the rain. Or maybe she didn’t have clothes on. I don’t remember to be honest. And maybe it wasn’t raining, although that doesn’t seem very Molly like to me.
She grabbed her doll, who was equally nude, and ran around for a while. I stood there, watching her. Not really paying attention to the world around me. Not really even thinking anything if I remember right. Those days were a blur a big mess of them. I caught a glance of the neighbor, looking more appalled than ever, watching with me as Molly ran in the driveway. Giving no care to the world around her either.
The neighbor – a highly respected woman in the community, or a busy body in her own neighborhood, sticking her nose where it never belonged, giving “Advice” where silence was needed. Looking on…
As a three year old toddler had the time of her life, doing what she thought she wasn’t suppose to, while she thought no one looked – running around outside, with no clothes on for the world to see while she smiled. To herself.
I can only assume that the neighbor was thinking the worse, because later that day, we came home to a bag of clothes on the porch. And anger boiled inside, as I hauled the bag across the street, and yelled a thing or two at her. Finishing with “And we have all we need” I wasn’t about to take handouts. When the little voice behind me echoed “Yea…we haff ahh we ‘eed”
I remember putting emphasis on the fact that at three years old, and perhaps not even understanding what she was saying, she noted the most important thing in life. Being content, with what she had, or didn’t, or didn’t even know really. I remember her slipping her hand in mine, and walking across the drive, trying to tell myself that I did, really, have all I needed. That they had all they needed. But not being able to fully grasp what it meant.
This afternoon when I dropped the boys off at school, Joshs teacher approached me. With a box. Of clothes. For Josh. She also told me there was some food in the other room to take home. She looked at me with sympathy, with a “Sad” face that had clearly been put on for everyone to see.
Josh has worn the same clothes to school this week, because that’s how HE has chosen to dress himself. An accomplishment that I didn’t want to acknowledge because I didn’t want to jinx it somehow. An accomplishment that I didn’t think we would ever see. Hes comfortable, dressing himself in THAT pair of jeans with THAT shirt. And you know what? That’s ok by me. Hes putting clothes on himself, with just a little prompting, and a little advice on the sides. Backwards, kid. Those jeans will feel better on the other way.
I looked at his teacher this afternoon, and smiled, and repeated the same thing I did all those years ago. A little less rough this time, a few other words added and some taken out. But the point was still the same. No thanks, we have all we need.
And this time, I really meant it.
Its hard, for me to admit that. This time of year especially. After these past few weeks. Its been difficult, but its true. And for once, I believe it. I truly do believe it. In my heart. That we have all we need.