Fertility

This post is for my friend Carrie who’s blog post yesterday was entitled “Thoughts on Futility”.  And for all the Moms out there who find their minds rebelling at the repetitiveness of life at any one point.

It’s 1 o’clock in the afternoon.  I just cranked up Yo-Yo Ma on the stereo.   I stand and stretch out the kinks from sitting in front of my computer for the last two hours.   I wander down stairs and pop leftover Lamb Savory in the microwave while I wash the few remaining dishes from last night’s dinner and my breakfast.

I may just throw in a load of laundry, if I have enough.

I’m not saying this to gloat.   Not at all.  Because you do get it.  You are wise enough to see into the future, to the day that you wish for today, when all the sticky fingerprints and endless laundry are gone.  The day when the squabbling and tears are silenced and no one needs anything from you at this exact moment.   That my friends is not futility in life but fertility.

To grow a garden is an exercise in repetitive labor.  The rewards  are the glorious flowers and succulent vegetables.  The memories of the biting bugs, sunburn and dirty nails vanish.

Training a horse is filled with the most mind-numbing repetitive tasks.  You repeat the basics and take baby-steps toward your goal.  Often along the way, you hit a learning wall and have to go back to a step you thought was well ingrained.  Owning a horse, for that matter, defines the futility/fertility duopoly.  You feed them hay then shovel the product into the manure pile only to spread it on the fields to grow more hay.  Yet, when you have that perfect ride, feel the perfect partnership, none of the work matters.

Every mother can relive in her mind those first few weeks after walking through the door to your home with an infant.  The bleary days when sleep was elusive and you frightened yourself in the bathroom mirror.  You thought life like that would never end or at the very least, you wouldn’t live long enough to see through to the next phase.  But who would give up the memory of a midnight feeding when that child really looked you in the eye and smiled?

There will be a day when you clean up your own breakfast dishes at 1 o’clock in the afternoon and you will look back on the futility of this day and think what a good and fertile day it was after all.

Hanni, Nelson and Lexie

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