inklingfair Eleven years ago, I was working with a children’s foundation in Coron, and one thing I learned there stuck with me: routine calms anxiety. I had read a YA book about institutionalized children (The Bumblebee Flies Anyway by Robert Cormier) which taught the protagonist to manage distress by chanting to himself “rhythm… tempo…” so it made sense.
Even our directress got stressed out when the routine was disrupted: drinking water not delivered when expected, birthday parties not starting on time, meal plans not followed. Everything was clocked, everything had its proper place, everyone knew how fast to walk, when to begin and stop anything. To an outsider it may sound stifling, rigid, even robotic, but to the children who came from broken, chaotic households – where nothing was fixed, not even their caretakers, not even their care – it was freedom and comfort.
When I gave birth to Amy, all the parenting gurus also emphasized routine and rhythm, from the swaying motion you used to soothe a fussy baby, to predictable schedules you kept so the baby would feel secure: an orderly sequence of activities that communicated: all is well… today is an ordinary day… you know what’s coming next.
Chaos is the enemy. Or rather, the beast to tame, as the mages in The Witcher would have you believe.
Taal wasn’t the first wildcard thrown at us. Before it did, we found out I was expecting. The week after it erupted, I (possibly in a fit of pre-nesting) insisted on going back a couple of days later to check on the house and pick up other homey comforts (read: underwear, actual shampoo, a stuffed unicorn for Amy) and empty the refrigerator of meats and veggies in the early stages of decomposition – electricity had been out for more than 48 hours. I spent the whole trip there green and silent until I finally threw up in a (thankfully clean) gas station toilet. Josh mercifully had me pack the clothes and toys while he threw out the rotting food.
All the days that followed threw routine out the window. I felt lost, anchorless. Amy’s school was closed; I alternated between looking for apartments to lease and researching ob-gynes all the while wondering if this was a futile exercise – why choose when we couldn’t tell when Alert Level 4 would go down?
But we will have to make a decision, soon, if we are to establish some semblance of normalcy: Amy needs to go to school. Josh needs to be able to get to work. I need to make a home for them where things are, more or less, in their expected places at the expected times.
I’ve started listing tasks and events again in my bullet journal (I’ve missed a week since the eruption, and it feels like two months). I cleaned our room, I organized our expenses, I sent out some messages. I sat down to write this while listening to music. I’m setting down time to read, pray, write, move, plan, play. I’m working chaos out of my system.
Heigh-ho, here we go.
Photo by My Life Journal on Unsplash
