I Am Needed

Song to Match: "Passing Afternoon" by Iron & Wine 

I am needed today.

I am needed so much that my thoughts disappeared. There wasn’t any room for them. I focused on what each of my dependents needed from me and nothing more. They needed a lot.

I am needed in a variety of ways.

The baby is teething and always hungry. I think she is also constipated. She needs me physically and emotionally.

The toddler is convinced she is more independent than she truly is. She needs me to do as she says, not the other way around. She also needs me to feed her and help her use the bathroom.

The cat has puncture wounds from the teeth of another animal at the base of her tail. She needs comfort, antibiotics and pain medicine. I am her caretaker more so than usual. It exhausts me.

The house is a flurry of remnants from past days. It needs to be pruned and cleaned and reminded that it is still cared about. I hope it knows that we need it as much as it needs us.

I am needed all at once.

The diaper needs changing. The litter box needs scooping. The toddler bottom needs wiping before I help her off of the toilet. All at once.

The cat bowl needs food. The baby needs to nurse. The toddler doesn’t like what I’ve served her for lunch. All at once.

The phone is dying. The iPad is dead. The laptop is charging. All at once.

The floors need vacuuming. The counters need sanitzing. The fridge is unspeakable. All at once (and most of the time).

The laundry needs folding. The closet needs organizing. The dresser drawers keep getting stuck. All at once (and most of the time).

My stomach is growling. My upper back is aching so much that it burns. I’m wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday because I slept in them the night before and decided upon waking that I wasn’t going to waste time changing them today. I stand by that decision.

All of this, and yet.

The baby was laughing. The toddler was snuggled into my stomach saying, “I love you, mama.” The cat was able to fall asleep on her designated towel in her quiet sanctuary (the upstairs bathroom).

The dinner was cooked (and eaten).

The bedtime routine resulted in sleeping children.

A beautiful song that makes me cry began to play on my favorite Pandora station. I let the tears fall with no need to hide them, for I was alone and had a quiet moment of reflection.

I wrote a complete piece for the first time in months.

I feel capable of doing all that I’ve been called to do (and I am able to hear quite clearly that little voice located toward the bottom of my right ear that’s saying, “You don’t FEEL capable. You ARE capable.”).

I welcome tomorrow.

I am able. I am loved. I am supported.

I am needed. But I need them, and all of this, just the same.

Slow

There was a summer storm three days ago. It was unexpected, but much enjoyed. The weather was warm and humid and the skies were gray, then blue, then gray again. The rain poured, then drizzled, then stopped, then poured and drizzled again. And it was beautiful.

The girls decided to sleep in until 9 a.m. that morning, but my phone, unfortunately, decided to NOT push the reminder for a breastfeeding class I was supposed to attend at 9:30 a.m. My joy at the extra two hours of sleep was quickly transformed into panic when I realized I was going to have to bust my slightly curvier mama butt to pump some milk and get both kids fed, dressed, packed up, out the door and delivered to my parents in a totally unreasonable amount of time. Moments before I decided to just skip pumping, take Isla with me to the class and walk out the door with my babies in their PJs, I messaged the instructor that I was running late. She replied with the most glorious words right as I buckled Lorelei into her car seat:

“Oh, I was actually going to cancel the class today!”

Thank you, thank you, thank you! I hate being late, like, really hate it, so it was a total blessing that the universe aligned in such a way. Though I need this class to fulfill a certification requirement, I’d much rather attend it on time and without my squishy, giggly baby serving as a major distraction (no offense, Isla, you just make it really hard to focus).

The next thing I knew, we were enjoying breakfast with my parents and discussing the weather in a very “not cliché” kind of way, because the weather was actually very weird and discussable. Another hot topic was the chrysalis my mom had transferred into a tiny greenhouse in her living room to protect it from the wind and birds outside. We had seen it first as a caterpillar in a “J” hang a day or two before. We examined it from a distance with Lorelei and watched The Very Hungry Caterpillar on Netflix in honor of the fact that it was beginning its butterfly transformation on my parents’ front porch. As we headed out to go home that night, Lorelei yelled, “Hey! Where’d the hungry caterpillar go??”

My mom and I took a look and were surprised to see that the caterpillar had transformed into a chrysalis when we weren’t looking. It was incredible to see, and we were all very excited. Lorelei was so excited, in fact, that she dragged her little red Adirondack chair over to the pot the chrysalis was attached to so she could sit and stare at it. Sadly, I had to tell her to get up out of the chair so that we could go home and hop in bed, but I reassured her that we would be able to watch the chrysalis for many days in the future.

“Goodbye chrysalis, goodbye ant, goodbye little yellow bugs, goodbye plant,” she said, before following me to the car. Goodbyes are never easy.

But, oh, how I wish we could have sat there as the sun set, and simply watched a transformation in progress without actually seeing the work going on behind the little green cylindrical wall of sorts. Nothing would have made me happier than to talk about caterpillars and butterflies with Lorelei while Isla listened and observed all the goings on. But a successful bedtime routine is all too valuable to me (Lorelei and Isla’s future moods depend on it), and it really was time to go.

On that weird-weather day a few days forward, Lorelei spent a lot of time watching caterpillars shed their skins and form their chrysalides on YouTube. But when it began to rain, we hurried outside to admire the huge raindrops that were glittering the sidewalk. Lorelei isn’t able to see rain all that often, seeing as how California has been in a serious drought for her entire life thus far, so being able to really experience a storm was very exciting for her. It was warm as we stood on the porch with my parents and watched the rain splatter. We guided Lorelei out onto the sidewalk so she could feel the heavy drops fall onto her skin, and we told her to stick her tongue out so she could drink some of the rain. After a little while, we went back inside and watched the rain stop and start again repeatedly out the window while kneeling on the couch. We eagerly listened to the thunder and told Lorelei that it was the sound that was made when the clouds bumped into each other. She liked the idea of that very much.

Eventually the rain slowed down enough that we could go out and play without getting soaked. As I looked around the front yard, I could literally feel the pace steadying. My mind was working more slowly, I didn’t feel as anxious as I usually do, I was able to play with Lorelei without feeling like I was forgetting to do something time sensitive, I didn’t feel like I was starving (a common side effect of nursing every few hours), Baby Isla was sleeping and the vibe in the air was a very, very peaceful one. Water drops on flower petals caught my eye, and I felt extremely inspired to photograph all of the beauty that I was surrounded by in a yard that I walk through hurriedly almost every day. The next half hour or so was very reflective and enjoyable for me. The air was still, Lorelei was beyond happy to be experiencing a different side of nature and I felt like my old, artistic self at the same time that I felt like a good mama. The combination of the two has never happened before, and this moment deserved to be remembered.

After Isla woke up and it was time to go back inside, I continued to see beauty in the most ordinary of places, like the contrast of the stormy skies against the curtains in my parents’ bedroom, Lorelei's attempt at wearing lipstick, or the colors shared by Isla’s blanket and onesie. I snapped away like crazy without ever leaving the moment. It was unreal and amazing and gratifying to know that I had nowhere else to be and was allowed to simply be myself, and actually enjoy it fully.

As the day came to an end and it was nearing the time to go home and help my girls go to sleep for the night, my mom and I both commented that the day in its entirety was actually really good. It never felt stressful, and everything that had happened that morning worked out for the best. We both love the rain, and I’m sure the change in weather was a much-needed change for our souls. I know that, for me, I was able to see my surroundings in a new light, and this ability allowed me to simply slow down and enjoy all of the mundane and ordinary parts of life that I never actually appreciate.

I’m thankful for the many wonderful and beautiful moments of that day.

And, I really miss the rain.

Mother's Day, One Year Past

I came across this unpublished letter to Lorelei just before I began writing about yesterday's Mother's Day experience. I've decided to publish this letter instead, as it brings back wonderful memories of a time that Lorelei is no longer in, but a time that Isla will be in soon enough. 

Dear Lorelei,

Tomorrow will be my third Mother's Day (second with you actually having been born), and I am so excited. That may first make you think that I’m excited to get presents and have a day where I’m “honored” as a mom by anyone who sees me with you, but none of that is actually the reason why I’m excited.

I’m simply excited to see you in the morning.

I’m excited to see you get excited to see me when I come to get you out of your crib.

I’m excited to kiss your cheeks ten times in a row and admire your bedhead hair and ask you why you took your pants off in the middle of the night.

I’m excited to hand you a piece of toast and then subsequently tell you that, “we don’t throw our food on the floor in this house.”

I’m excited to put on Sesame Street for you so that I can drink my coffee while it’s lukewarm.

I’m excited to hear you announce that you’re pooping and watch your face turn red and hear your funny little grunting noises, serving as proof that you are actually pooping and not just telling me that to get my attention (which is something you do now).

I’m excited to change your diaper. Actually, I’m not really excited to change your diaper, but I’m excited to hear you talk to the little fake bird in the birdhouse on the shelf in your room, saying “Tweet tweet!” with a big smile on your face while I breathe through my mouth and try to finish cleaning your bottom as fast as possible.

I’m excited to choose an outfit for you to wear, and then chase you around your room trying to convince you to stand in one spot so I can dress you.

I’m excited for you to bring me your favorite pair of shoes, and I’m excited to watch you attempt to put your socks on by yourself before I put them on your tiny, adorable feet.

I’m excited to take you out onto the balcony and watch you dump cups full of sand outside of the sandbox.

I’m excited for you to pull leaves off of my potted succulents and present them to me as a gift.

I’m excited for you to lose interest in your many outdoor toys after a mere five minutes, choosing to stand and hug my leg instead.

I’m excited to feed you lunch (cottage cheese with salsa), or rather watch you feed yourself your lunch. You may really enjoy throwing your food on the ground, but you never waste a bite of cottage cheese, and that makes lunchtime really, really easy.

I’m excited to watch you poop again, because that means you won’t wake up during your upcoming nap due to sleep-pooping.

I’m excited to read you a story while bouncing you in your bouncer. We’re currently reading Ella Enchanted, and you love it. You smile at me while I read animatedly and hug whichever stuffed animal you’ve chosen to nap with as tightly as possible, and when your eyes start to close I scoop you up and give you lots of kisses as I lay you down in your crib. You say “night night” as I leave the room, and my heart melts.

I’m excited to rejuvenate during your naptime. I eat lunch and watch the TV shows your dad doesn’t like. I check my e-mail and read random articles recommended by friends, and I also try to tidy up the mess we’ve made, because mornings are seriously messy.

I’m excited for you to wake up from your nap. Like, really excited. Even if I’m exhausted and think I might not be excited, I’m excited. Whether you wake up happy or sad, I’m able to get the afternoon off to a good start by dancing idiotically in your doorway.

I’m usually excited to take you to whatever class or meet-up we have planned for the afternoon. You say “hi” to everybody and dance at random moments out of pure happiness. The afternoons are usually very fun for us.  But since today is Mother's Day, I’m sure we’ll spend the day with family (your great-grandmother from New Zealand is visiting right now so everything about today is extra special), and I’m sure you’ll have a hell of a time entertaining everybody with all of the words you’ve learned and the skills you’ve mastered.

I’m excited for dinnertime to be over with so we can move on to bath time. You LOVE your baths. You like to pour the water on yourself and dance to the music I play for you on my phone. You like to throw your toys out of the tub and ask for them back. You like it when the cats come over to see what’s going on. You like to make me blow soap bubbles off of your hand. And I like to see you like everything so much. When bath time is over, I’m excited to snuggle your tiny little towel-wrapped body. I’m excited to show you yourself in the mirror and watch you wave to yourself. I’m excited to hear you giggle when I let you touch all of my hanging necklaces with your toes. I’m excited to hear you say “Bye Clemmy!” to Clementine, who is always waiting outside of your bedroom door, ready to sneak in.

I’m excited for pajama time to begin because your “calming lotion” smells so damn good and you are just super happy to be getting cozy. You talk to that fake bird again and you give me a big hug when I carry you to your bouncer.

I’m excited to continue reading Ella Enchanted because I’m usually dying to find out what happens next. Sometimes you fall asleep really fast, but I keep reading because I like to finish whichever chapter I’m on before calling it quits.

I’m excited to kiss your cheeks as I lay you in your crib once more, and I’m excited to hear you say “night night” again. I long for the day where you say, “I love you,” back to me. That day will certainly be treasured forever.

I’m excited to be your mom, and do mom things, and think mom thoughts, and feel mom feelings. I’m excited to drink margaritas in honor of my mom-ness and go to sleep going over my mom to-do list for tomorrow.

Thank you for being the reason I am now known as “mama.” You are the sweetest, best, coolest thing that’s ever happened to me.

Love,
Mama

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Mother's Day 2014, the day this was originally written.