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AWARENESS: Living in the moment

How guilty I am of this... I have been taught to believe that strong, independent women can do it all. We multi-task. We get things done!

I check emails while holding a conversation on the phone. Matthew starts talking to me and I walk away to check the mailbox (I can still hear him, I tell myself, but I need to see if there is any mail I need to attend to). I keep calculating checkbook balances while Dotter tells me something - some story, she's cute, happy, with such a sweet smile, and I wonder what her story was about. The Jellybean is telling me about the new girl at school who brags about smoking, I know it's a learning moment, but dinner needs to be made so I interupt and ask her to please take out the large, glass casserole dish on the bottom shelf, "Go on," I say. "I'm listening."

But I know that I'm not. I'm not listening at all. I'm juggling. My mind is whirling a thousand miles an hour with checklists: Dotter needs to take a shower. When was the last time she flossed her teeth. Shoot - I gotta make that eye appointment soon. Did I give her lunch money? The Bean needs to clean her room - the cleaning lady comes tomorrow and she won't be able to vacuum. I saw ants in the sunroom; I've got to pick up some ant poison. Maybe I should try those 'stakes' outside too. Did Matthew pay for those plane tickets? He needs to find someone to watch the dog while we're gone. The Bean will be at my mom's when we're gone so maybe she can feed the dog and take it out. That will work out good....

Meanwhile, during the time I'm locked in this dance with the thoughts in my head planning, preparing, organizing - all my loved ones are trying to share with me. Trying to show me who they are, trying to invite me into their worlds.

So, what happens when tragedy strikes? The last thing Dotter said to me? I don't know... I can picture her face, the way she folded her hands under her chin when she laid her head on the table, smiling up at me with laughing eyes. She was so proud - of something....

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