Herding Cats While Tossing Cookies

At the beginning of last week I had this warm-and-fuzzy blog post written about how amazing it feels to be turning 35 and now I’m sitting here on day 5 of a viral stomach flu and I want to slap all of my healthy optimism off my pale, ashen face.

I just got home from the doctor, and while I was there, I ran into a friend who blew her knee out during a workout. She hobbled out of the office with her two-year-old and five-year-old in tow. My own mom thankfully took my older two, which left me wearing the baby to Kaiser in an attempt to not let her lick the exam room table. This lead to some challenging maneuvers when I needed to lay down during a blood pressure test with a nurse, so the doctor walked my baby around the office. She brought her back and Josephine nursed while we discussed how dehydrated I was. If both of these scenarios sound ridiculous that’s because they are. Call us extreme jugglers. Mothers are capable of simultaneously herding cats while tossing their cookies, during which your kids will still ask you for a snack.

At no time during my appointment did my doctor tell me to get more rest, or slow down because she also happens to be the mother of 3 young children and she gets it. It would be like telling Trump supporters to think logically, even if they wanted to, they simply cannot.

I told my doctor that I have a fancy dinner with friends tomorrow night and the California International Marathon relay on Sunday and I will do both even if I have to drag an IV bag of fluids along with me. And while she didn’t provide me with a banana bag on wheels, she didn’t try and stop me either.

I could have said out loud that I needed these events this weekend because I am exited about wearing a dress and I’ve been training for months. Or told her the story about this morning how when I told my 5-year-old it was my birthday tomorrow she cried during the entire walk to school because it wasn’t her birthday. But I didn’t need to say any of those things out loud because this language is unspoken. She’s a mother—so she knows: it is never about us. It is always about our littles, which is why I had hope that this one day could perhaps be a small glimmer of me in the spotlight. But instead of the spotlight it’s bad florescent bathroom lighting and instead of the stage it’s me on the floor. Don’t mind me down here though, kids. I’m just throwing my own little pity party of 1. Well, 35 actually.

We are the Tree

Tell me if this sounds familiar:

My husband: “I’m taking the girls to Target on their bikes, do you need anything?”

Me: “Yes, we need lots of stuff, but I’ll just have to go later.”

My husband: “What do we need, I’ll get it.”

Me: Hands him a list.

“Ok, so we need infant Advil also called Ibuprofen. Now they sell it in children’s for for 2-11 year-olds--you see here how this one says ‘CHILDREN’ (I’m actually using props for clarity). It needs to say ‘INFANT’.”

I am aiming for a perfect combination of clarity and gratitude because he’s taking the big girls out of my hair.

My husband: “Got it.”

Exactly 75 minutes later he has returned home safely with all our kids and 3 out of the 9 items on the list. I reach into the bag to get the medicine for the baby’s fever as this was truly the only important item. In my hand is a bottle of children’s medicine. And it’s Tylenol.

What happened next was a brief argument, where he was frustrated and I was irritated, emotions that sounds the same, but seasoned couples know are different. It ended easily with laughter and apologies on both ends and once again we were swept right back into the sea of tiny humans and their infinite neediness. See, we learned quickly that as partners in parenthood, it is better to be happy than to be right.

I like to imagine us back on our wedding day, our previous experience of selflessness reflecting in our ability to split a large pizza with his half pepperoni and mine sausage and mushroom. The kind of naive bliss you’d bet your whole life’s happiness on. Your life before kids prepares you for your life after kids, in the way a cold prepares someone for Ebola virus or the hospital tour prepares moms for contractions. Your wedding vows are just words until we are actually out there, living them.

And here we are living them.

Our partners have a way of seeing who we are and what we are capable of becoming. He fell for me because I am a nurturer. I for him because of his patience. Where the limbs of our individual branches were weak, the others wrap around for strength and support. Two separate trees that have merged to grow stronger through time. I picked out my husband specifically because I knew he was the father of my kids. When I looked at him, I saw them even before they came to be. And I knew he wouldn’t just be a dad; he would be the best dad. I’m grateful for a partner that wants to spend Saturday morning riding bikes with our daughters. Our family tree is capable of withstanding whatever may come, as well as multiple trips to the store.

My Other Life

I submitted some articles for publication and received a rejection in the form of a one-size-fits-all, thanks but no thanks. After some painful junior high flashbacks, I got to thinking about why this blow felt personal. If you are a mother, then you give 100% towards motherhood and whatever scraps are leftover get scavenged away towards finding yourself. This, I’ve discovered, is the only way to achieve any semblance of well-roundedness. I need something that is completely my own and while it’s just a piece—it helps me feel whole.

You think the character of ElastiGIRL, stretched in all directions, everything for everyone, while still being super was a coincidence. I don’t.

After my rejection, I reached out to some friends and said,

“This is my other life outside of my all-consuming-role as a mom and to be told it’s not enough hurts because I need this to survive the motherhood part—do you know what I mean?”

To which they responded, “I completely relate to that feeling.”

And there was my answer: I want these words on the page to be relatable. While specifics may be unique or the circumstances—I believe all of us speak the same language. And I need to feel our woven threads of commonality as mothers, like I need to feel my daughter’s head resting on my chest.

My husband’s company celebrated three generations of the family business with a retreat to Meadowood in Napa and during that time we played croquet with private lessons from their pro. I came up to an impossible shot where I had to jump someone’s ball in order to make it through the wicket. The pro came over to assist and said I could choose to move on, but he could guide me if I went for it. We were only away for less than 28-hours—it was the first time the baby took a bottle—ever. I had written six pages of single-spaced babysitting directions for my dad and stepmom and we were lucky enough to be standing where we were. When in Rome, my friends—of course I took the shot! I missed, just like with my submissions, but you better believe I will always take the shot. And I’d like to believe, I’m not alone.