Focus. I don't have a singular focus, hardly ever. One thing is very rarely all that's on my mind, in my hands, in front of me on the counter top. Thus is the dance of women, especially of mothers. We are the multi-taskers, the magicians, the juggling act. Yoga and all kinds of my favourite mind-quieting activities (hiking, walking, meditating, baking, writing) help to slow down the pace. Very rarely, though, do I look around my mind's corridors to find them bare, uncluttered. Perhaps with practice, true focus all come. I'm not in any rush, but I'm always practicing.
I live with someone who seems to have been born with the ability to focus on one thing at a time. Sometimes, this drives me nuts. Why can't he relate to my ability to make breakfast, answer the phone, wipe the nose and feed the dog simultaneously? But then, when I am at my most frazzled, his presence and gentle reminders calm me.
I took this picture of him this weekend, focusing on Summer's eyes with his own gaze. In processing the picture, I had time to notice and study this locked focus. It is beautiful, and I hope to hold onto this picture for a while. It also makes me smile, because he is wearing her in the baby carrier. She didn't want to be put down, and I was upstairs putting Hailey, Robin and Abby down for afternoon naps. He was still cleaning the floors after lunch. So, he multitasked. He wore her, and did the floors. A small victory in the spousal influence column.