Helpless

I became the PTA's whore this weekend. Did all kinds of stuff for the carnival - frankly, I've giving myself a bad name, that name is HELPER. It's been good, of course, the carnival was fun, I mean I think it was fun, I didn't get to have any of the fun (unless you count stuffing down three tacos in eight minutes), I was too busy helping. Yes, helping. I've been a helper before, I've helped myself right into a corner saying "no, I don't need any help, no I got it," and then I wonder why all the laundry is stacked in the crib and not folded or the pool is green or the dog has gotten out and eaten the neighbor's dog, why just looking at my husband exhausts me - here's what my mother never told me: helping too much is bad for you.

Somewhere along the line I decided that responsibility was better than fun. I decided that having alot of important things to do, or people relying on me meant I was important. Now that I can't see out from under the laundry or the grass that has grown too long, or the unmade beds, I am raising a tiny hand. "Oops," I think I am saying. But nobody can hear me because I talk too softly. "Oops," I whisper again.

I'm going to try an experiment. Not with the kids, the kids are definitely my responsibility, and I'm loving that portion of my life because they tend to be hilarious more than obnoxious. But in the other parts of my life. Summer is coming. I am going to take off my serious face for summer. I am not going to help. Much. I am going to observe, encourage and wave from a distance. I will feel empathy, but not the desire to make sure everything comes out allright, for everyone else. I will pick whom I help, and only use my powers of Help when the situation befits me. I will be a tiny bit selfish. And in that empty space where I would have helped someone, I will turn to my husband and say "Hey, I love you. I haven't forgotten you." I will lay on the grass and look up at the trees and say "I'm here. Look at how long you stood there, your arms out holding all those leaves, waiting for me to see you." I will enjoy instead of give. I will refresh my batteries.

Maybe this is a national crisis. People are trying so hard, holding on to everything, hoping things will turn around in so many areas of life. Maybe I'm just one of those people, also intensely feeling the stress. Maybe I can learn to integrate an ability to step away, so that I can feel balance. So I can survive without leaving claw marks from trying so hard. Helper won't be my only instinct. Stink is in instinct for a reason. Some of those instincts are false gods.

I will worship in the joy of each day this summer, and maybe helping will become a tiny passenger on my forearm, like freckles. Helping can again become only a tiny part, with joy being the body of life.

And the carnival was fun. After everyone left, we were cleaning up. The young Mexican mom and dad that I see at school, Michelle's parents - the mom has lost so much weight and looks ten years younger (now she looks 20), and her husband who always looked like her young dad, but has a cane and a smile - they stayed late on the empty schoolyard at the facepainting and manicure booth, just painting their daughter's faces. While there was no one else there but me and my kids, and their kids, three other stragglers and some people in the office, I sat outside on the bench surrounding the manicure booth and painted Emma's toenails. Another girl wandered over, so I painted her fingernails, and my own toenails. I got to see my boy rolling another kid lazily around on a dolly out on the empty cement. Their laughs echoed as they rolled across the leftover dried bubbles and chalk drawings all kids had scrawled frantically during the peak carnival hours. The after silence -the six or seven of us, no music, no crowds, nobody needing anything - the deflating of the carnival, the aftermath of any party -I guess this is where I finally enjoy myself. Things are too big for me to enjoy in the moment. I need the breath and the space to see that I truly love my life.