Time. That’s the prompt from Kate Motaung at Five Minute Friday where we write for five minutes and post, without editing or over-thinking. Ha! Me? I’m the queen of overthinking. Watch this!
Time. My grandma used to say a watched pot never boils. Watching a clock is even worse.
Time. I roll over yet again and glare at the clock. It’s only a couple of minutes past 11:00. I had tried to get to bed earlier than at times this week because I’m so tired and here I am still awake. I could still be asleep before 11:30 and I have so much to do. My mind replays the parent-teacher meeting (me the teacher, her the parent) which takes my mind to another parent-teacher meeting (him the teacher, me the parent). I replay that for a bit, because that’s what I do. My mind races through what I need to do and what he needs to do.
Time. 11:10. It’s hot in here. I roll back the covers, trying not to disturb my sleeping husband and begin to make a list of what I have to complete in the bathroom overhaul tomorrow. As the list grows so does my restlessness.
Time. 11:20. Bathroom break. I stretch my legs that are doing that twitching thing that happens when I’m so tired. Man, I wish I could think of what to write for FMF. I’m hungry. Nope. Back to bed. My mind replays (without permission) the death of a little boy from cancer and spins out of control to my own little boy who beat cancer but still fights left-over battles that started way back then.
Time. 11:40. Grr! I hate this watching the clock thing. I will my eyes closed and picture a tropical island with a freshwater waterfall and pond where there are no jobs but to pick bananas, swim in the surf and watch the sunset from under a palm tree. Doesn’t work because that reminds me I didn’t water the plants at school and I don’t teach tomorrow which means they’ll go all weekend.
Time. Oh.My.Word. It’s 12:00. Again. It’s the third night in a row that I cannot shut my brain down. I glare at the stupid clock again. My mind jumps across all my children and monitors their lives and wonders what I should be doing as a mom to facilitate in the best direction. From there worries reappear (even though I have amazing children) and the mind skips to money Do you realize that in 3 years I won’t have any children at home? Well, that’s assuming they keep up the directions they’re heading. What if they don’t?
Time. Who in the world though of the word Time as a writing prompt. There is nothing to say about time that hasn’t already been said. Time in a bottle. Tick-tock. Sunrise, sunset. There is a time for everything. Blink and they’re gone. Time. 12:32.
Time: I wish I’d had more time with Dad. I always wanted to travel back with him to his hometown of Boston and have him show me around the tenements where he grew up and I always wanted to take the stories I grew up hearing and write them down and hand a book to him as a gift and have him read it and be amazed that I could remember those details. But I waited. I waited so long that even had I written it, he no longer remembered the stories. No more time with Dad.
Time. 12:54. This is just wrong. I should relax in my savior and I should be able to set my mind at rest and determine to go to sleep. It’s cold in here. Bathroom break, more leg stretches. I need to start exercising. I giggle to myself. Probably not at 1:00 a.m. Maybe tomorrow after I sand the bathroom.
Time. If only I could think of something to write. Something profound. Remember when time didn’t matter and all I had to do was sit up in my beautiful sycamore tree and watch the world go by below or watch a world develop in my book? Remember when I could dig in the dirt and laugh with my friends and my worst job in the whole wide world was picking up after the dog?
Time. 1:40. Lord. I need sleep. I have so much to do. I also need to write but I’m too tired. Time. Lord, isn’t it time for you to just come? Of all the “Time” subjects I can possibly think of or write about, that’s the one. No more sorrow, no more death. Time with those I love. Time with Jesus. Time to relax and time to rest with my Savior.
Time….
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Lord, isn't it time for you to just come? #FMF #time via@caregivermom Click To Tweet
