Inertia

The Husband and I had a slight disagreement the other night about the meaning of the word inertia. In trying to think of the right example, what I could have said was Me! Just look at me!

There are days when I feel like I am hardly here at all; like I might suddenly wake up mid-sentence and think, oh, here I am. Where have I been?

I am a creature of habit and routine. Once that routine is disturbed, it is incredibly difficult to get back to it. And until I do, I find myself floundering, wandering around in a mental fog that allows me just enough clarity to get things done. What needs to be done, anyway.

Children are the enemy of predictability, and while they thrive on routine, they rarely accept it willingly. This is when we do homework, then we have supper, then baths, then bed. But there is always a project, or a meltdown, or an event, or a spill or fight or just one more minute, that throws the simplest of evenings off kilter.

Then there are the things that I need to do for my own sanity, that seem to get moved to the bottom of the list. At first it was valid reasons, then apathy, and it has moved into a kind of inertia. Unable to move forward, unwilling to stay still, unsure what to do.

My children, it seems, get it from me.

It seems unlikely that I will wake up one morning, with a renewed resolve and boundless energy. And so I will sit down, pen in hand, and do what I do best: plan. I will plan my day with as much attention as I do the kids', with the hope that I will thrive on my self imposed routine as much as they do. It will require discipline and work and dedication, all things that, if I had them, I wouldn't be in this predicament to begin with.

I have a friend that always says, 'It's not a problem, it's an opportunity to do good.' In this instance it's incredibly true. Every day is a new beginning, a new opportunity. My very best is the best I can do.