SLIDING INTO HOME

by Meredith Linden

My teen kids are with their dad, which means no more consecutive run-downs for me between them.  As a half-time parent, sending my kids to the bus stop on Monday morning would typically send me sliding into home.  It represents the last of the dust and conflict of the game, this week.  But lately, I’ve struggled to find home base, an enigmatic semblance of getting a pitch in the wheelhouse.  The contact is good, the flow is, well, flowing, and it all comes together to give me the energy to move on.  Sliding into home is the beginning of filling the well for me.  Yes, I love my kids, and no, they are not the only batters hitting me in.  Sometimes it’s a hike, a stint in the studio, a series of enlightening, comical, or otherwise engaging emails with a friend, or dancing a jig in the kitchen to the Fratelli's while my lunch cooks.

I have two rather taxing activities in my life: parenting and self-employment.  My work is somewhat seasonal and right now I am unseasonably busy.  Work busy is always good when there are ups and downs in the income.  I’ve also taken on a new position that has some perks, like using the pool at the university, but requires quite a bit of time, I’m finding out.  And the money really doesn’t match the time.  Yes, I’ve re-entered education, so of course that would be the case.  The money never pans out; it’s a labor of love.  So a week without kid pick-up, homework checks, or worrying about food until 7:00 or 8:00pm would seem to put me into the category of hitting some home runs with my work load.  What I wouldn’t do to have a four-bagger today so I could just get home.

I feel stuck on third base. Home is in view and close, but there’s more dirt, some guy in the way, and another hitter who’s got to push me on.  It would be nice to have a team on which to rely sometimes, as sitting here alone trying to finish my work so I can get home just isn’t cutting it. I’ve always gone for the individual sports and I guess that’s carried me through to where I am now.  I wanted to play softball as a kid, but it was in conflict with music.  I’ve had to figure out ways to trudge on my own.

Amazingly, sometimes being alone does work in my favor, even when I need a little help.  Yes I’m on third, looking at home plate, scanning the field and seeing who’s up to bat.  That’s it.  I’ve got to make it happen for me.  I can’t keep waiting until the work is done or until someone else hits me in.  I’ll never get there.  I’ve got to advocate for myself.  The ball is hit high, right over my head, but the outfielder is too far to the left, at least that’s what I’m hoping.  I don’t wait for the fly catch (if there is one).  I’m off.  It’s been nice knowing you and I’ll be back, but for now I’m stealing home.  It’s the only way to get it.