oh, the month ahead. and the month now.

If I could draw a picture of me right now, what I feel like somewhere inside, it would probably look a little like some Monet version of me because I feel more like an impression lately than a solid shape. And I’d probably have my hands at my head, maybe pulling my hair in two directions and shouting, “THERE IS NEVER ENOUGH TIME.”

Because. There isn’t.

At Book Club this week Heather said, “It’s about to be Mayhem” and I was like – what, why have I never heard that phrase before. BECAUSE MAY IS INSANE.

Was it always insane? It it only insane to parents because schools try to cram all of everything in during this one month that cannot possibly be responsible for all of our collective procrastination from an entire school year.

Is it particularly insane because this is my third May in a row to graduate another beloved kid from high school? What was I thinking, 20 years ago, when I had three kids in a row? Well, I was NOT thinking about high school graduation, that I am sure of.

Of course, right now, that’s about all I can think of.

Except. That’s not true. What I am actually doing is being so busy that I have pretty much zero time to think about the looming high school graduation that is in our family’s immediate future.

Instead I am thinking about a million other things that demand my constant attention. And I guess I will just have to put aside the time to be sad later – probably August I guess.

Right now I have a school year to wrap up for three students. I have a fridge that leaks water on the left side and often makes an annoyingly loud and unexplainable sound for many many minutes at a time. I have a car tire that went flat in my driveway yesterday so dramatically that it felt like it was channeling my own inner thoughts. I have a kid applying to college across the country and out of the country and a kid working hard at online college and a kid applying to work in the west and a sinking feeling that this fall my heart might have a hard time keeping its pace when I sit at our kitchen table and wonder why on earth it is so long for so few humans? I have a homeschool collective that I’ve served and loved for five years and the seismic shift it is to step away from leadership of that community. I have a water build up situation in my yard that demands a French Drain and I kind of know what one is.

I also have a stack of novels I can’t wait to read beside my bed. I have friends who make me laugh til I cry and kids who sometimes do the same. I have a business that is growing and a community I adore. I have the relief that comes from knowing a wide set of responsibilities will no longer be mine and I have a new pair of glasses that help me see this screen better and a screened in porch where the rain doesn’t stop me from being outside. I have a favorite mug and some tea still in my stash from Paris. Next week I get to explore one of my favorites states with one of my favorite people and see a concert at a place I’ve only dreamed of listening to a band perform.

And all this mundane hard and all this lovely good are all SO MUCH. And even when it’s delightful and even when it’s impossible, the cry of my heart sounds so much the same – slow down. I can never keep up.

I’m listening to the rain fall and I’m really glad to be alive even though I feel like a tire deflating or a train coming off its tracks. I think of all the poems I’ve made my kids read over the years. All the ways I have tried to stuff words into them, as if they have the power to mend the broken places (and of course I think they do) and I’m reminded of my poet friend Emily Dickinson and her written words – “That it will never come again is what makes life sweet.”