The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round

This has quickly become Buckaroo's favorite tune, and we sing it in the morning, at nap time, at bed time, while driving through the town, and sometimes just because. There's plenty of singing in our house. Buckaroo's favorite line (one R made up) is "The engine on the bus goes vroom vroom vroom." When we get to that line, we are not allowed to continue. I start on the next verse, and Buckaroo says, "Engine! Engine!" and we repeat.

Today was a difficult day, for no good reason other than R's long hours and my predilection for chocolate chip cookies. I think there's something wrong with me, but that's another post.

So when R finally returned and we had eaten, and Sweet Potato was taking her required nightly shower, and R was reading Buckaroo a story or two, I zipped up my old coat, grabbed a flashlight and went out into the dark windy night. I sat on the dock for a while, watched the winking lights of the houses across the lake and listened to the water slap and glurg against the aluminum dock next to ours.

Then I tried to meditate for the first time, which is really funny-- not meditation itself but the idea of my brain being still-- but I was serious about it. Unfortunately, my first attempt was a complete flop. I kept thinking about what I would write on my blog about my first attempt to meditate. Then I wondered how Elizabeth Gilbert was able to meditate when she obviously must have been deciding what to write in her book. Luckily, I wasn't hard on myself. I just gave up and sat there watching a man in a house across the water pace between his living room and kitchen.

I sat and tried to assess what was bothering me, and I realized that my thoughts are like those wheels on the bus: I miss my friends, I miss my mom, I'm lonely, I'm not unhappy, but am I happy? I should be enjoying autumn, but how long will it last? Maybe I should get a job. Another job, one that requires my presence.

R always poo poos the job idea. My job should be writing, he says, "Write."

My mom, on the other hand, says I'm doing too much. I need to slow down or I'm going to break down. Is it possible to slow down with a toddler? Is it possible to write with a toddler? Sometimes I take my notebook outside with me, in hopes that I might jot a line or two of a poem while he's chasing chipmunks, but usually we just end up singing "The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round . . . . "