The word “close” can be pronounced two ways, with correspondingly
different meanings. Said with a soft, hissing “s” at the end, it is an
adjective meaning “near” or “intimate” or “secretive.” But pronounced with a
hard “s,” a buzzing “z” sound at the end, it is a verb meaning “shut” or “obstructed”
or “inaccessible.” There are many moments during an average day when I could
illustrate the former meaning: snuggling in bed with my kids when they come in
to greet me in the morning, hugging my husband when he gets home after a long
day of work, wrestling on the couch with the kids before bedtime. But one of
the most wonderful parts of my day refers to the latter meaning: it happens
when I put the kids to bed and close the
door to their bedroom.
That simple word “close” represents such freedom. Close the
door to having to be on alert at all times. Close the door to concentrating on
someone else instead of myself. Close the door to wearing the “mom” hat. Close
the door to making sure that everyone has eaten and used the bathroom and read
the proper books and found the right toys.
Don’t get me wrong; I love being a mom. I love being on
alert, on concentrating on others, and wearing the “mom” hat. I even love
making sure that everyone has eaten and used the bathroom and read a book and
enjoyed a toy. But I also love that moment when I can close off that part of me
and just be me. The me which has a part that’s a mom, but also a part that’s a
wife, and a part that’s a singer, and a part that’s a writer, and a part that’s
a seamstress, and a part that’s a bookworm. There are many parts of me on the
other side of that door, and all I have to do to find them is to close it.
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