Sometimes I wonder...

Sometimes I wonder...
...what my lovers see. Looking in the mirror, my hair perpetually escaping my styling attempts, my sagging breasts, my soft tummy, my odd wardrobe, my glasses with a wire wrap because they've been broken.
...what my children see. Do they know how much I crave their cuddles? Do they know how much I dream for them? Do they know that sometimes I tiptoe into their room to watch them sleep? Do they know my agony over wanting to escape? Do they know that I have waited years to decorate cookies, make costumes, and dig in the dirt simply to find worms?
...what my family sees. So much of my life is bizarre to them; drum circles, open doors, Oddlots. So much of my life is unspeakable to them, even when it is laid out in public. So much would surprise them. So much would horrify them. So much is carefully glossed over by the safety of motherhood and pretense.


Sometimes I wonder...
...where my chutzpah went. There was a time when I wasn't afraid to walk at night. There was a time when I was asked if I was homeless, and I laughed. There was a time when wandering the wilds of dilapidated buildings and unknown waters was thrilling.
...where my determination went. Often I find myself throwing my hands up in frustration. Often I find myself wistful for things that really aren't out of reach. Often I find myself lost in imaginary worlds of games and books instead of living in the real world. Often I find myself overwhelmed with molehill-mountains.
...where my passion went. I believed I could change the world. I believed I could improve my country. I believed I could run for state office. I believed I could lead my community. I believed, at the very least, I could teach my children.

Sometimes I wonder...
...if I'm too busy looking at the trees to see the forest. If the details of my appearance fade in the attentions I pay. If those out-of-reach things are actually important since I don't push for them. If my unspeakable life is really unspeakable. If people compliment our home for the welcome, the comfort, the laughter, what am I scapegoating the crayon-marked walls and Kool-aid-stained carpet for?
...if five years is long enough for a chapter. Childhood was nearly ten years. Teenage-hood was nearly ten years. Young adulthood was nearly ten years. I have been working on this chapter of my life for a measly five years. It doesn't mean it's over...for my childhood, teenage years, and "yuppie" years color today...and motherhood will surely theme the rest of my life...but can I close this chapter so soon and move on?
...if my magic is really real. People are comfortable in our house, even when the company is mixed. People respond, often times overwhelmingly, to cries for help. People compliment our children for politeness, helpfulness, intelligence. People genuinely support...even love...ME.

Sometimes I wonder...
...oh, yes. Sometimes I wonder.