Sometimes, when I’m running, I think about Hawaii. What it was like. How we ran on the shoulder of the highway. The ever changing weather and the never changing seasons. The lizards. The mongooses. The way the ocean would turn red when it rained so hard that the mountains would wash away into them.
Sometimes, when I’m running, I think about the next 16 hours. I’ve got to shower right when I get home, get dressed, make lunches, get the boys dressed, pack up the stuff, catch the train, walk to the library, wait wait wait, pick up the kid, catch the train, naps, snacks, games, writing, reading, dinner, bathtime, stories, songs, prayers, hugs. Breathe.
Sometimes I think about baking. Maybe I should try making crackers again. Is there a reason to bake a pie anytime soon? I need to learn how to make _____. Why don’t we have more cookie dough balls in our freezer right now?
Sometimes I think: relax, relax, relax. Or: light . . . easy . . . relaxed . . . fast. Or: you’ve got him, you’ve got him, just keep it up, you’ve got him. Or: no walking up the hill, you’ve never done it before, you can make it, you can do it, almost there, past the hard part, keep going, no walking. Or: Two and three-quarter miles . . . that means there’s another quarter, plus another quarter, and then the half mile . . . so, just over a mile to to the top of the hill.
Sometimes I think about Hawaii. Taking the boys there. Visiting places we used to go. Showing them Sharks Cove, Chinaman’s Hat, Kaena Point. Seeing the look on their faces when they try poi. Wondering if they’ll want to come back and spend some time there with their own families.
Sometimes I think about school. Where will we send the boys? Will we have to move again? Is there a good school nearby? Does it matter? Maybe they’ll be fine in any school if I’m just really involved. Or maybe I should just teach them myself. What if Manchild hates school? What if he doesn’t make friends? Maybe I don’t need to solve all the problems a year before they could possibly enter our lives (or not!).
Sometimes I think I need some new shoes. Not running shoes. Just shoes. Maybe something a little fancier than what I’ve got, but not too fancy. Something that dresses up my jeans, but dresses down a skirt. Maybe something in a flashy color. Speaking of which, I could really use some more leggings. I think I could do a much better job dressing myself if I had leggings.
Sometimes I think about writing. I’d like to do more of it, in different venues. I’d like to have a quiet place to write. I’d like to teach my kids to do it, too. I’d like to write something I’m really proud of. I’d like to do some writing in the morning, before the kids wake up. I’d like to make some money by writing. I’d like to get something published again.
Sometimes I think about what it would be like to find out I was pregnant with twins. I think I would cry. I think I would have a hard time embracing the idea. I think, eventually, I would take on the challenge. But I would still be scared and overwhelmed and unsure of anything. And every now and then I would be really excited — for them, and for our family.
Sometimes I think of nothing at all. Six miles have passed. I’m home. And I don’t remember anything.
Sometimes I think about 40 years from now, when we’re retired and our kids are grown and we can do whatever we want. Will we do whatever we want? Will we travel? Will we have lived abroad? Will we have achieved our life goals? Will our kids be happy and stable and self-sufficient? Will we be a close-knit family, even when we’ve gone our separate ways? Will we move back to Hawaii?