Promises Made, Promises Kept

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“It’s so slow. It’s always so slow.”

I recognize this person, even though I’ve never seen her before. She’s harried. She’s got too much to do and this particular task probably took longer than she’d anticipated. Now she’s stuck in a pokey checkout line here at a local craft store.

I can feel this poor woman’s rage and helplessness and her to-do list beating out of her chest. I get it. We all do.

It’s the first week of September, and whether you’re a parent celebrating some extra time, or you’re a parent saddened by the end of summer, or you don’t even have kids, this week marks the return of Hurry Up and Get It Done. No more Flex Fridays. No more lazing. Work and school have been waiting impatiently for the day after Labor Day to unload all the things we need to do immediately. 

There is a sense that if we do not get organized, we will be chasing after our own lives until winter break.

Not-so-much-a-spoiler-alert: we will never get things completely under control.

Wednesday was the second day of school. We’re all unmoored, exhausted from new routines, and expending excessive amounts of emotional and physical energy figuring out and living the New Regular.

My daughter started kindergarten and has been understandably needing extra nurturing at home. Her kindergarten eases the kids into a long day by starting the year having the students attend for a few hours, then after a few weeks, they add another hour, then another. Right now, there are almost four hours a day it is just me and her, before her brothers come home. She needs and wants my attention, and I force myself to put away my list of All the Things I Wanted to Do Once School Started.

For a week, I’ve been promising to take her to the craft store to find some after-school before-brothers-come-home activities. It was about the last thing I wanted to do between meetings, deadlines, and the ever-growing piles of laundry that similarly begged for my attention.

Then there’s that exhaustion thing that never seems to fully disappear, the sum of running around, absorbing all the nervous energy of the house, plus too many nights of poor sleep.

Unsurprisingly, we spent a happy hour there wandering the shelves, picking out stickers and barrette-making kits. Still, it took effort to stay focused on being with my daughter, being there, holding space as she  processed all the new in her world. I just wanted to zone out and stare at Washi tape for awhile.

Later. Always later.

We wound our way to checkout line after  45 minutes of giggling and smelling scented candles and avoiding the scary Halloween aisles. There’d been some yesses (stickers!) and some nos (happy cloud rainbow pillow), and a lot of marveling.

We were both ready to go, and we waited out the customers ahead of us. Checking out is never a fast process at this particular store, and there were some customers who had coupons, some who had questions, and others who were genetically part-sloth.

My daughter kept asking for candy (no), then tried to convince me the that Cheez-Its in the candy display are not candy (true) and could she have some (no). We looked at the wreaths hanging on the wall. We told terrible jokes to each other. She booped my nose a few times and each time I made a sound just to get her to laugh and distract her from her own exhaustion.

So, yes, it was slow. While my heart beat in rhythm with the woman huffing and puffing behind me, I could not take in her stress, because mine is at peak right now. I didn’t want to commiserate. I didn’t want to bond. I just wanted to practice patience. I smiled as sympathetically at her as I could and turned back to my daughter, who brought my attention to the erasers shaped like lollipops.

“Have you ever seen anything like that?” she marveled, and I loved her so at that moment.

Spent — utterly, totally, bone-achingly spent — we finally got called over to Register 5. It was only after I put our little items on the counter that I realized I’d left my wallet at home.

I rarely remove my wallet from my purse and had only done so earlier in order to order some groceries online, a desperate effort to gain some control in my life, to steal a few precious moments, to perhaps sit a little bit.

Backfire.

“I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten my wallet.”

The cashier, also overwhelmed, looked over all the items on the counter. “Ok.” She started moving the items to a different cart.

“I’m so sorry. We can put them back.” I glanced at my daughter, whose little brows knit, and I squeezed her little hand to let her know I would explain in a moment.

“That’s ok. Next customer to Register 5. Next customer to Register 5.” And with that, we were dismissed.

“What’s going on?” my daughter asked. “Are we getting our stuff?”

I steered the cart out the door. “No, baby. I forgot my wallet, which means I don’t have any way to pay.”

My tears stung hot, not because of the wallet, not because my daughter didn’t get a $5 crafting kit, but because I knew I was on overload. Too many meetings, too many worries, too many obligations, too many calendar spaces filling up too quickly, too many tears wiped, too many “this will just take a second” items.

“You ok, Mama?”

Was I? No. I was split open, flattened, put to the fire.

“Yeah, baby. I’m just…spatchcocked.”

She started laughing, having never heard that fabulous word with all of its hard consonants.

I laughed.

“We had fun, didn’t we?” I asked her as we sped home to make sure we were home in time to greet her brothers after school.

 

Epilogue: I went back to the craft store alone that evening but to undertake my weekly Artist Date — an essential part of living a creative life that is all-too-often the first thing I cancel when life gets busy. I stared endlessly at Washi Tape. I did not zip through the aisles as fast as possible. I recreated our morning, putting the items we had delighted in into the cart, plus a few small things for myself. It was a peaceful rewind.
30 minutes I left the store refreshed and re-energized. I looked up to see this:

It was a symbol of a promise of a different sort — one from myself to myself.

Month in Review — August, End She Must

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It’s been a long month. Not in the “Oh, dear Lord, why can’t school be year-round?!!” way, but more in the “There is so much to be done and it feels like once school starts, we lose a lot of the control of our time and hand it over to school and to activities and to work” way.  All these other parts of our lives are lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce and reintroduce a constant state of immediacy and urgency that we have sloughed off over the summer.

I wanted more tender moments and long days at the pool. We had some small moments, which matter just as much, and the weather just didn’t seem to get hot enough for the pool to seem a relief. We vacationed and played, we said yes to the kids’ requests as much as we could (certainly much more than we do during the school year), we took trips, we treated each day with the dog as something special, we celebrated birthdays, we tended to the sick, I had a few procedures, we floated through our days.

I want it to last forever (with a tad less Minecraft.)

The kids have a late start to school this year, so we still have a few more days, but the tone has started to change gradually, as the sunlight is now angled just a bit lower in the afternoon. The worries return, the expectations, the need to please, the frustrations and successes, the external forces.

The loss of ease.

Not that it was all easy, of course. I have three children, after all. But generally easy enough that I didn’t feel like a World Eater most evenings.

Somehow, I’ve managed to write every day an average of over 1000 words (I count one hour of editing as 1000 words, hard-earned.) I’ve submitted and planned, organized and deleted, set up structures that might hold up. I’m in a state of preparation because for the first time in 9 years, I will now have six hours a day to myself five days a week. It’s the writing time I’ve fantasized about for decades, first set aside for career, then for children.

And I’ve tried to take in as much of the world as I can while taking in as much of my children as we can all stand.

Some highlights from this month:

I’m always fascinated by our culture of body shaming and body punishing to achieve something “perfect”. We’ve now changed the vocabulary somewhat – from “diet/thin” to “healthy,” but the shame and the punishing (internal and external) don’t seem to be much different. This article touches on the difficulties of not fitting into a very narrow (pun intended) mold while the culture around us now claims that being a certain size is an indicator of health, while still rebuking anyone not a size 2 or smaller.

Because in so many ways, for too many (yes, yes, #notallpeoplewhoworkout) this counters that whole thing:

 

 

As my feet sink into the muck of middle-age, I worry about being 20 years too late to become a writer. Then there’s this.  Phew.

Toni Morrison never fails to deliver.

And now for something completely different.

An important read for those of us who have been “cold” (or bitchy, or stand-offish, etc., etc.) but a more important read for those who have described others that way.

And before you call me to complain about this post, read this.

This book. This book. This book. One of the few I’ve read that made me wilt because I will never write anything this brilliant and that I’ve also tucked into my purse to always have on my person.

With exceptions, “funny” is almost always subjective (otherwise how could we explain a world where Carrot Top and George Carlin both had the same job description?) but some words are pretty funny to almost everyone.

We are nearing September, and I breathe a quiet hallelujah – not because it’s over, but because it happened exactly as it did, bad days and all.

 

 

Multiples Illuminated — A Warm Hug from Parents to Parents

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Less than three weeks ago, the second Multiples Illuminated book came out. Like its older sibling, this book is a collection of stories, poems, and reflective journal prompts to help parents (and grandparents and friends) of multiples know they are part of a larger community, to help them find calm and humor in the chaos that is twins/trips/quads, and to cast a lifeline during those perplexing moments that only other parents of multiples can fathom.

This particular book focuses on the toddler to tween years and is probably one of the only publications of its kind. While there are a few books about being pregnant with multiples and dealing with the first year or two, there are few resources that address what happens once the children enter preschool and beyond, and the issues specific to that. Identity. Individualization. School. Friendship issues. What happens when there is an event — big or small — that affects only one multiple directly (such as illness). Milestones. Craziness. Joy.

It’s a book I’m proud to have a piece in (one that hopefully brings smiles and nods of silly recognition), and it’s a book that is already resonating with readers and reviewers.Check out what some readers have to say.

Click here to learn more about and/or purchase Multiples Illuminated: Life with Twins and Triplets, the Toddler to Tween Years.

The original Multiples Illuminated, which shares stories about pregnancy, delivery, and the first year with multiples, is also available.

They make a great gift separately or twinned up!