...notes on the endpapers:storm cycle...

 En route. At long last. The day half gone in...waiting... 

(Because I am the function of them all...this ragtag band family of mine, and I am not functioning...and he cannot come close to replicating me...not even close...not even for an hour.)

En route.

I had thought yesterday, perhaps, the morning would find me in church.

Alone in the pew.

No dragging along of children.  No hectic tornado of cook and feed ~ of shave and shower ~ of press and dress.  No packing up the go-bag with last minute additions.  No checking the AAC battery.

Just me.  Alone.

I had thought I could just go.

Go and sit and be.

I even prepared, last night.  Pulling out a church-dress and pumps to set aside.

But instead...I slept in. A body and a brain taking the rest they needed, despite my maybe plan.

And now, as I scribble these words, we are en route to the other maybe of the day.

"Henri, would you maybe like to go down to the shore, to the place that has the gluten free donuts?"

My attempt to wrest back control from spiraling emotions.  A hopeful grasping at potential fun ~ a promise of a sweet treat to look forward to ~ to set our sights on.

Of course, he answered "Yes!".

And so...a plan.   A structure to the tomorrow that is today.  An escape from our environs and my overwhelm. Destination...for a day...for a donut.

So here we are. Headed south on the highway.  Henri and I in the backseat ~ slowly, painfully working our way through the schoolwork I'd abandoned mid-week...mid-crisis.  Agonizingly bouncing back-and-forth, back-and-forth, back-and-forth between his worksheet and my scrawling.  Neither getting priority treatment.

I didn't intend to write.  Words must.  For reasons I can't begin to explain.

This yellow notepad is wearing thin.

It's wretched, really.  One-sided pages...5 by 8...with no cardboard backing.  A 'budget purchase' repurposed by passing off to me.

I backboard it with my phone...with a book...with my thigh...  Or bend all the way down to scribble on the ground.  Here in the car, I'm using a book as my table.  A book I'd intended to read to Henri if ever he finished his homework.

I've learned, in these last few days, to keep it close at hand...this yellow notepad. Though now I'm down to the last few pages and will need to grab another from the drawer soon.

Close at hand.  I don't leave the house...the room...without it.  Words keep burning and I want them out.

So here we are...the back and forth of schoolwork and scrawling...in the backseat of the car.

Speeding along in the grey of today.

Racing against the storms...the deadlines...the dead lines...the endpapers...

The writing...the thinking...the pushing the words through cramped fingers...is interrupted constantly.

Exclamations...protestations...the never-ever-ever ceasing verbalizations of my little one.

(Even in his sleep, his stream of consciousness never turns off...every single night...every single resting period...punctuated by his sleep-talking.)

There is, in me, a storm of anxiety.  A need for control unmet in the passenger seat...the backseat.  No easy ability to put my faith and our safety in the hands of the driver...the untrustworthy driver whose own forced disclosure earlier this week set back the clock again.

The windows glisten.  The steady buildup of a coastal storm turned nor'easter bearing down upon us. Scattering raindrops that bounce off the glass.  The wipers steadily erasing them.

We're driving, despite the weather.

Or, rather, because of it.

Because I can't stay in our tiny space for this...not today.  I can't barricade us all in the innermost corner of our kitchen and hope for the best.  I can't move all the furniture and bundle everyone onto the mattress and read aloud for hours while the trees threaten to break.

I can't sit there...waiting...for the next thing to fall on us.

I can't.

Not when that's literally how last week began.

Not when there's no real protection here.

Not when I've never been safe.

I can't keep fighting storms.

So, today...I won't.  Today we'll drive down here...yes, we're almost there now...and buy donuts.   We'll sit in the cafe and cling to whatever brings a smile in the moment.  We'll dash between raindrops and soak our shoes and poke about in shops.  We'll stop off for a late lunch ~ some budget-breaking indulgence of food because I didn't give in to anticipation and pack a picnic.

We'll do the damn thing...maybe.  We'll tumble into the car uncomfortably wet and cold...and make unnecessary stops to just look.

And then...

Back we'll go.  Back on the road north.  Back to our small-space ~ our cramped-quarters.  Back to a hopefully intact roof and hopefully still working power.  Back to our hopefully still-functional life.

Back to the kitchen and the moving of furniture and the sleepless sleepover while we wait out the winds and the treefall.

Back to where the storm is expected to linger.  To get worse before it gets better.  To settle in and tear things up.  To leave its mark.

Back to my storm.

But...maybe...

Hopefully...

Please, oh please...just pass us by.