I’ve never considered myself a morning person, but motherhood has made me one.  I am now useless after 9 pm, but if I get about six hours of solid sleep, I can wake up energized and eager for projects (provided the sun is shining).

Today is supposedly a holiday, a day for schmoozing and sleeping in.  But after a weekend of swimming, hot dogs, and kid time, I was ready to work.  I was up with the sun at 5:15 and snuck downstairs into the blissful quiet of a sleeping house.  I anticipated writing at my desk over a steaming cup of Chai, then going for a short run before everyone woke up.  What a fantasy…

First I had to feed the dog, give her her medication and take her on a short walk so she didn’t turd in the neighbors’ yard. By the time I let out the chickens and made my Chai, it was already close to 6 am.  I checked my email, opened my notebook, and thought about Sylvia Plath, her poem that starts “Love set you going like a fat gold watch.”  What poem was that?  Maybe it was “Morning Song,” the first poem in Ariel?

I could Google it or be old-school and search for my actual copy of the book, a First Edition from England, my mother’s from 1965.  The pages smell old and sweet and slightly musty, like a dusty bookshop.  They make me want to write.  I went into the dim front hall to my big poetry bookcase, which is full of literature from my days at Oxford and my MFA program.  I found everything in shambles, half the books stuffed in upside down and sideways.  C. had obviously been there and cleared the shelves, then someone else had cleaned up after her.

Of course I needed to re-organize things then and there.  I never found Ariel, because the pitter-patter of little feet interrupted my quest.  6 am and C. was awake, even though she’d refused to go to bed before 9 pm.  Bleary-eyed and clutching her Ducky, she was overtired and supremely grumpy.  What happened to my private writing time? What happened to toddlers needing at least 11 hours of sleep per night?  I tried to wrap her in blankets on the couch so I could write for a few minutes.  No luck.

So i loaded her in the stroller, laced up my shoes, grabbed a yogurt container, and jogged up the hill to pick black raspberries and feed carrots to the horses. A fun outing, and some exercise too.  Forget projects.  It’s glorious to live in Vermont in July!

Tags:   motherhood · Productivity · Sylvia PlathNo Comments