The Storm

I'm a highly sensitive introvert.  What that means is that not only do I revel in time by myself, but some days I also find loud noises and visual clutter especially jarring.  Today is one of those days.

Unfortunately, today is also a rainy day in which my cooped-up children want to jump around like kangaroos amidst the seven bins of toys they have dumped out and moved on from.  There is screaming, there is "play with me", there is wrestling, and bickering, and the general cacophony of life.

I can appreciate all this vitality some days.  Today is not one of them.

Today, I long for peace.  A moment of respite to breathe.

I make do.  I invent a race-against-the-clock game in which we pick up everything in 4 minutes and 52 seconds, before the timer chimes in 8 seconds later, alerting us that our time has expired.  It isn't quiet.  It isn't calm.  But it's one less thing to deal with later.

I cope.  I await the calm that will follow this storm.  I know tomorrow will be better.  Tomorrow I will join in the singing and dancing.  Tomorrow I will smile and tell my husband, "They're kids.  They can't be quiet," and we will both gaze fondly at our noisemakers.

Tomorrow.

For today, I write.  I find solace in words.  I find community in sharing something that I can't be alone in.  I find peace amidst the storm.