Poetry in Octanes

When I am surrounded by these four beautiful, wonderful, inquisitive children, it can become hard to find a moment to complete a thought. The mental sentence always ends mid-thought. I have to: wipe a nose, zip a coat, find a shoe, clean a shoe, find a sock, tie a shoe, brush some hair, straighten glasses, help someone go potty, look at a cool rock, put a dandelion behind an ear, give a hug, give a kiss, give a stern look....I recently read that during a typical day, a three year old child will have a need once every three minutes...times that by twins, add an almost-five-year-old and a six-year-old who loves to play monopoly. I realize this paragraph has been interrupted sixteen times, thus far. Henceforth, I usually "think" in those groggy, exhausted moments between nine and ten, when the children are asleep and the husband has important things to remind me about. By 10:30, I am asleep and all thinking is relegated to dreamland. However, I have said all this to say, that the body has accomodated, or acclimated, or adapted by thinking deep thoughts at very strange alone times.
For instance, while pumping gas, I discovered a deep thought. Yes, the prices are outrageous, but for a few precious moments, I am alone. Seperated from the chldren by the frame of the car, watching the numbers roll, glancing around at the weather, smiling at strangers, feeling the wind, wondering why the octane numbers seem so familiar. Yes, the octane numbers. Those yellow squares with the black numbers. 87 89 93. Did you know I can measure my life in octanes?
I mentioned this to a friend. Puzzled, she asked, "Is that poetry?" I realized I had spoken out of context again. I come by this naturally. My mother does it all the time, leaving you to wonder what she's talking about. We recently watched a World War 2 documentary with her and she suddenly says, "I don't have rain sensing wipers and I thought I would!" We all just stared at her. We had no idea.
Ah, the octanes. 87... That's1987 for me. The year my life began. No, I wasn't born then. I was fifteen. I took driver's training. I had my first real haircut. I got my braces off. I traded in the coke-bottom bottle glasses for contact lenses. It was a Cinderella year. I met my best friend ever, I met the man I would marry. All in one life changing octane..I mean, year.
89...I spent most of 1989 grounded. It was my senior year of high school. I crashed and totalled my car. Ryan and I broke up and got back together at least four times in 1989. His younger brother died of leukemia in January of that year and it wa my cancer-ridden grandparents last journey to Michigan for my graduation. (they died in 90 and 91). In 1989, I turned 18 and I started college in a different state. At last I was an adult, I had arrived.
And 1993. The year of the weddings. While Ryan and I dated on again off again for six years, he proposed in 92 (I did say yes), our friends got engaged and married before us Finally, on OCt. 2, 1993, we stated our vows before God, pledged our lives to one another and to God's glory and on we moved into wedded bliss. I mean, we committed to the hard work, diligent communication, mutual frustrations and joys we were certain the journey of marriage would entail. We'll be married 15 years this October. Wow that was fast.
So there's my life in octanes. Perhaps an eight line form of poetry containing reference to one's life journey would be better. I'll have to work on that one.