Stealing Time

The older I get, the faster time seems to go. My children are growing up too fast, I'm planning writing projects and college semesters well into my forties but I'm still in my thirties, and every now and then I look at my parents and wonder when they got so old.

Time is one thing we have absolutely no control over but our perception can sometimes be skewed - the hard times seem to last forever and sometimes we get so busy we barely remember time passing at all. But every now and then... we get those moments that linger. Where everything around us seems to stop and for just a moment, we can bottle up the magic and hold on tight. Every now and then... we get a chance to steal time.

Fire nights....

The day has been long, the kids fighting sleep, the to do list growing ever longer, and the alcohol in my glass never quite strong enough. The flames of the fire pit cast a warm heat on my body and a gentle light on my husband's face and his eyes glisten. Soft music plays in the background and he taps he foot to the slow tempo. He sings the sweet words at a barely audible level and his lips curl up a little at the edges and I know that he sees me. The summer nights will fade but the heat from the fire and his eyes keep me warm throughout the year. On the longest, coldest, hardest days of the year, he is with me, singing a soft sweet melody.

The voice of thunder...

The organ starts, hymnals open, deep breath in. His deep, low voice fills my ears, the space around us and my heart.  It's been more than 10 years since my Grandpa has passed away but I can hear his voice anywhere. In every church hymn, in every Christmas song, yelling at the TV on game day. I have yet to hear a sound that brings me such joy, such sadness, and deep affection as my Grandpa's voice. Each time he opened his mouth, I collected a little of his thunder to carry with me.

Midnight memories....

The baby cries again and I stumble blurry-eyed to his room and scoop him up into my arms. My neck aches from holding my head up and my eyelids hang heavy. But I catch a glimpse of his wispy hair flowing back and forth as we rock. His warm check against me as I nurse him. He crosses his feet and rubs my arm with his tiny little hand. Silence and darkness surrounds us. Not a single need for us except to be in this moment. I am oh so tired but also so eager to hold on to this precious embrace. I squeeze the time from each little second until he pulls away to settle back into his bed with his lovey.

What are the memories you hold in your heart, that you carry with you? The times when, just for a moment, you steal a little extra time and tuck it away?

Problem areas

I have stretch marks, periodic acne, jiggly upper arms, and a little belly lingering from my pregnancies. Social media and the fashion industries would tell you these are my “problem areas”. My social media feeds are filled with ads for anti-aging creams, gym memberships, shapewear, electrolysis, fake eyelashes, fad diets... the list goes on. Collective society and steadfast marketing firms target women with “solutions” to their “problem areas”. Just this cream or that undergarment will make any woman a little more perfect and a little more palatable to society. More desirable for marriage, for jobs, for opportunities, for the collective fawning over progress toward the unattainable image of the perfect woman. 

These are not our problem areas.

We have bigger problem areas that need to be addressed and talked about. 

Women’s bodies as objects. 

A rising teen suicide rate. 

Women being underpaid in the workforce. 

The under-acknowledged miracle of what a woman’s body does to bring life into the world.

Food insecurity. 

Blatant and systemic racism. 

Inadequate and inequitable access to health care. 

Our carbon footprint. 

International conflict and war. 

Climate change. 

Greed. 

Political divide. 

Poverty. 

Rising number of prescriptions for children to cope with anxiety and depression. 

These (and so much more) are our real problem areas. Women should not be the target of what’s not perfect in our world. Women deserve to believe they are good enough as they are. Bodies are strong and wonderfully different. If we put the same energy into solving our real problem areas as we do making women believe they aren’t good enough, the world would be a better place. 

And women could go about their business without believing their imperfect existence needs fixing.