I have read that you can only fold a piece of paper 12 times before it can’t be folded again. Folded 12 times it becomes so thick and strong that you can’t hammer a nail through it. Sometimes I wish I could fold myself up like that. I wish I could be as tough as nails and small enough to crawl into a match box, slide the top shut and not emerge until winter is truly over and the kids are well and I’ve slept like Snow White post apple. Sometimes nothing feels like everything and enough feels like way too much. This winter has been one of those times. Too many scares and illnesses and sleepless nights in a row. I feel like my paper is completely unfolded, creases exposed and paper thin. One finger could push right through it. The thought of that finger brings its own fear of ‘what will happen if I actually break’. Where will all the pieces fall if I crack? Hopefully we don’t have to find out.
This morning my bucket was filled by the simple act of going to school. Walking along the big kids were reciting a Monty Python skit about a parrot and the little boys were writing a new tale of Ducky MoMo and a fighter jet named Glamorous Grinnus. They all sounded so happy and engaged in the moment. There was nothing to fix or repair or comfort. Then Finn and I kept walking with Momo and searching for spring until it was time to go to his school. This wore Old Romeo Momo out but it made me feel alive and like I might not want to hide in a matchbox after all. Maybe.