Just what I need
Typically, I’m quiet while I write. When things go well, time recedes, and I find myself in a whole other mental world. I regain my senses hours later. When things go not so well, I must do something different. I don’t detect it, but Lilly does. Maybe my breathing changes. Maybe my body posture shifts. I’m not sure, but she’ll seek me out in these moments and try to crawl in my lap for some kissing and cuddling.
Unfortunately, I’m sometimes grumpy because a distraction feels like exactly what I do not need. I want to be that strict mommy who does not reward demands for attention, as these moments easily could be construed. I look away. I turn my shoulders. And, Lilly circles my chair to try another point of contact.
Often, she starts with the front feet, then tries to catch just one foot, one toe from a rear leg. She’s so strong that she can take the smallest opening in my facade and cantilever her backside into my lap. Other times, she makes one crazy-fast jump, slamming right into my chest.
Crabby, crabby … mommy. Like most days so far this week, when the phone service went from bad to worse to non-existent and stayed out for several days; when the hot tub ran cold despite my meager mechanical fiddling that got it started over and over again; when the news from a family emergency back East was not good; when we learned the news from a family emergency here in town is potentially scary; when hurricane-force winds blew and blew and blew, and the snows came … again.
I’m starting to believe that Lilly knows better. She knows I need her at these times. Then, again, maybe during all those times I pet her mindlessly while I think, she’s learned a thing or two. She can sense when my concentration wanes and takes her chances with her deadline soaked, worry infused mom.