long weekends + puke buckets

27 May 2022 Friday

It’s Memorial Day weekend. I have about 23 minutes before I have to leave to pick up the girls from school. It’s a half day, which means car line starts at 11:30am, a handful of hours after I just kissed them goodbye. I finally, sort of, maybe know how to prepare for these 4 day vacations that (frequently) arise throughout the year. It’s a mini-marathon. A lotta days Full On Kids. I worked out this morning. I sat for 20 minutes of bliss in the sauna. And meditated for the full sesh -no music, no podcasts, no audible book. Silence. I showered. I’m stocked with groceries. I did several of those annoying little errands that have been hanging around on my “to get to” list. I feel clear and calm. You have to go into it knowing that there is no “alone time” on the horizon (unless preemptively scheduled).  I surrender to the long weekend knowing it is dedicated to kids, family. Their schedule, not mine. 

And just like that, times up.  Here. I. Go.

I have a pre-game ritual song I play (in my head) and at full tilt when I’m in the car by myself when I am gearing up for something and need to get Fired Up. It’s a steady rotation between Alicia’s “Girl on Fire” and Beyonce’s “Run the World.”  If you don’t have a theme song, you need one. They work. I sing, gulp some legit caffeine, put on the Mom Hat and give it all I’ve got.  

1 June 2022

The girls are in bed. I just made a salad for dinner (arugula, roasted sweet potatoes, hard boiled egg, walnuts, half an avocado, nutritional yeast, lots of olive oil & Maldon sea salt). And a big handful of potato chips (salt & vinegar, my favorite). I didn’t really want to write but I couldn’t ignore the voice that said - get it out, put it down in words. Just brain dump onto the page. Let it catch all your stuff.

Palate cleanse, Sara - You Will Feel Better.

And so, here I am. Why is it easier to share with strangers than pick up the phone and call my mom, sister or a friend? I do all of these things, but right now, in this moment, I just need a vacuum. An empty space. A slice of the ether that will not offer any advice, will not sigh, get bored, or distracted. A place that will just suck up whatever I throw at it. It seems counterintuitive. But right now, its a therapists couch, a soft place to land at the end of some long days of blacks, whites and grays.

The past week has been a rotation of Rapids Waterpark extravaganza (amazing), our pop-the-cherry visit to Chuck-e-Cheese (best arcade prizes ever said my 6 year old who proudly brought home a huge neon rainbow slinky), Memorial Day parades, swimming, rained-out plans, sleepovers, fevers, up-most-of-the-night running for the puke bucket moments (I know its gross, but it’s what we call it. And if you’re a parent, you have one, too.), squeezing in some kettle bell swings at 5:30am just to move my body for a few minutes, chugging caffeine (seriously, chugging) and collapsing into a deep sleep each night only to be awakened a few hours later by the innate fight or flight response that courses through you when you have a babe that is unwell. And the fact that they are either screaming your name or standing over your bed starting at you all creepy-like.  

When your kid is not feeling their best (I don’t use the word “sick,” bad mojo) your world gets really small. Like being back in Newbornland, it’s as if there is no world outside of your 4 walls. Your personal calendar gets wiped clean and their is one singular task you dedicate yourself to 24/7 and that is caring for your child. Not that you don’t already do that, but this is Next Level. It involves pillows & sheets on the couch, 3 different water bottles filled with various liquids on the nightstand, ALL the Disney movies, thermometers, calls to the doctor, making 18 different things like butter toast/noodles/applesauce/sliced bananas and rice only to have 18 untouched items sitting on your counter. There are endless baths and Pinna stories and ice packs on the forehead. Sitting for hours with her head in your lap watching her face, listening to her breath.  Multiple clothing changes (hello, laundry pile). Tears (hers and yours). She’s frustrated. You’re frustrated (understatement). You try (unsucessfully) to keep the little one away from the big one so whatever virus is floating around doesn’t grab her, too. This thought almost puts you over the edge.

It’s alllllll been happening over here. The days are super long. And they ask everything of me. And then hubby is like, “you need to get out of the house. let’s go out to dinner.”  And you know he’s right. And you miss him. But you also want to punch him in the face and scream for even suggesting it. And you feel like a shell of yourself, your hair feels like the messy bun is permanent, you wonder if you’ve even showered or put on actual clothes? Makeup and shaved legs cause great laughter to erupt from you. Just like Newbornland except there is no “baby” and your boobs aren’t leaking. 

3 June 2022

We are finally on the other side. These last few days were not pretty, but true to form, the darkest hours come just before the light.  Ours were built on fatigue, lack of any real nutrition (hers or mine), disrupted sleep. Sienna was totally over being unwell. She couldn’t take another nap, watch another movie, or look at me, for that matter. She was sick of everything. Amen, sista.

But TODAY!  No fever!  Her face isn’t that scary so-red-it-looks-purple shade of call the doctor. Her hands and feet don’t feel like hot biscuits. She’s (slightly) hungry. She’s a little demanding (a sure sign she’s feeling better). Popsicles for breakfast are a welcome shift towards health.

We’ve made it through the vortex. Into the weekend that is to be filled with rain thanks to an arriving tropical storm. So the thought of being indoors after a week in home hibernation is not exactly appealing, but I’ve got an awesome tribe of moms and friends out there who’ve already sent a group text chain gathering the troups so we can ride the weekend together. And it reminds me how important support is. Connection. Reaching out. You never know what someone is going through. And receiving a text this morning with 10 names attached made me feel wrapped in a big hug - like, “we’ve got you. we are here for you. we are in this together”.

Imagine if all of us remembered the simple (but not easy) medicine of connection. Of reaching out a real or virtual hand to a friend, a stranger, anyone who crosses our path. It’s huge. In this moment I am a testament to the power of small acts that carry big meaning. It’s always, always, always the small things, done consistently, that create the biggest changes. We can ALL do One Small Thing. Get out there and do it. The crazy thing is that it feels just as good (I say, better) to be the giver. Receiving is awesome, but Giving - that’s next level stuff.