Lately, I just keep running. My brain is so full. I am a bottle of champagne just waiting to be corked and running allows me to pop the cork, no one else. I need an appointment with my own thoughts, but they were so busy they couldn’t fit me in. So it got clogged. I made mistakes, first little ones then much larger ones. Or was it a lot of little ones that made me look like one big failure? Either way, I didn’t have time to organize my (many) thoughts. And the cork blew on me. With running, I am alone in my head, letting it all go. All those analysis, those worries, the funny musings and the downright cliché; it all piled on top of each other, like the laundry I don’t have time to sort. This isn’t something that happened last year or recently; this is a lifetime of bubbling anxiety. I need to get healthy. I promised myself.
Love and Marriage
Continuing the theme for the month of love, I reflected on something I normally don’t write about (at least publish), my husband and my marriage.
I look at the clock again, it’s a quarter past stuck in time with two toddlers. There is a melodic echo of a knife smacking down on the cutting board; I am preparing dinner. The drawer next to me squeaks and I close it again, careful not to pinch the small fingers that keep desperately prying it open to pull out one more measuring cup. It topples out, plastic, disposable, already knowing the fate of soon becoming buried in mystery corners of the house. 1/3 cup. Who needs that one? I fill it with sweet cereal hoping that will allow me to finish chopping carrots. The clock reminds me of how much longer until he comes home and I crave him walking in the front door with fresh relief and companionship.
For the Love of Toddlers
Maybe it is midnight. Maybe it is four am. I am emotionally and physically exhausted; as I have been for the last few years. Am I still watching TV? Mountains dissolve into the screen answering my question: screen saver is on. A tiny voice yells out. First it cries, then begins saying my name “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy” with increasing desperation. Jackson. I open the bedroom door. “Blue stars. Need blue stars.” He says knowing I will be sleeping next to him tonight. I turn on the stars, (part of a toy that shuts off after twenty minutes) reminding my self to continue looking for his missing nightlight. He rolls over, as if the crying never existed, and burrows his head into the space between my chin and shoulders. I kiss him on the forehead and whisper, “love you”. “I luff you Mommy” he whispers back.
I am beyond humbled by the support for my last post highlighting my beautiful relationship with my teenage daughters.
As a giant thank you to my amazing readers, Layla has allowed me to share her last digital art project. She spent long hours laboring over these drawings in attempt to animate the song 1000 Times by Hamilton Leithauser + Rostam. (Whom I had the pleasure of seeing in concert last year)
Check the song in its entirety on my Spotify Playlist
My Not-so-typical Teenagers
To be a parent to teenagers and toddlers often puts me into a weird parenting tug-of-war. Then I take a step back and realize the advantages I have. This week I focused on a little ode to my beautiful teenage (well Liv, 12, is technically not a teenager yet..) daughters.
I am in my car, with two toddlers. Only a two and half hours until home. I reassure myself. A quick check to the rear view mirror reminds me that I am alone with them. The older two are at home. Help Mommy! Ipad stuck! Jackson shrieks as I pull onto the freeway. He locked it. I curse. Mamamamamamamamamamama!!! Cece chimes in. Her arms reaching out trying to hand me the bag of cereal she was eating. I watch as she sprinkles half the bag onto the car floor I had just cleaned. I see a Mickey Mouse book beyond my reach. Refocusing my attention on the road, I turn up the music. “I had that dream; that you were mine. I had that dream a thousand times; The car seems lonely, I realize how much I miss my girls. I don’t hear their chatter: silly, sarcastic, intelligent, confusing, and comforting. I want to see their faces when I surprise them with hot chocolate from Starbucks; a gesture of appreciation for them fixing the Ipad for Jackson or replacing the cereal in Cece’s outstretched little arm for the book in front of her feet. My thought haze dissolves as Cece coughs up green Lucky Charm tinted blob of vomit.