Lately it feels like I have been overbooked, overtired, and completely overwhelmed. I’ve been deliberate about carving out time where there is no phone, no computer, no timelines, just a daughter and me. I don’t say this to make anyone feel a certain way about me—I am not looking to participate in arguments about how we parent or how we do or don’t climb the corporate ladder. I am saying aloud for the benefit of myself that this one thing I wanted to accomplish, these snippets of alone time with each daughter, have happened. I did close out everything but the cadence in Ave’s reading, the lilt in Fin’s voice as she sang a new song, the quirky sound that Briar makes before she starts a new sentence. Either side of these interludes have been filled to capacity with stress, but oh these moments. We melt into each other.
This morning I cuddled with Finley as I worshipped my first cup of coffe. I talked nose-to-nose with Briar about how proud I was of her hard work these last weeks. After driving Briar to school early for math club, I sat waiting with Ave for twenty minutes before the doors to school opened. She read me a story and I was once again awed by the drama she uses for dialogue. When I kissed her goodbye I said, “I’ll kiss you when you’re sleeping.”
Tonight was my third late night working late. We drove 30 minutes for one meeting and when we were finished we drove another hour to a different meeting. I genuinely enjoy these kinds of meetings, but they take a surprisingly deep toll on me. I feel myself staggering, like the time Tara managed to get me to run a 10k, to the finish line. Tomorrow is Friday, which means piano lessons followed by family movie night. I am clinging to the idea of scrubbing my face, donning my pjs and just being mom. I thought about it the whole snowy drive home tonight. I need to recharge.
For a moment, before our second meeting, we rolled slowly through Santanoni. We stopped to watch the snowfall over the grounds and I held the camera for nearly a minute. The silence of nature has an almost melodic quality. I imagined visiting months from now, the girls in tow, and hearing the water rushing, their voices exclaiming over this or that. Then my mind quieted itself and I felt myself allow a bit of my worry to slip off and land softly in the snow.
Tagged: working mom
Oh, I love this … I know that ache for PJs and quiet and just-being-Mom time. I feel it now. And also the quieting, blanketing feeling of snow. xox
Where do you live in the Adirondacks? I’m so curious! I grew up in Thurman, New York (outside of Warrensburg). Did you grow up there??
Cuddling with a child while holding the sacred cup of coffee. It doesn’t get much better than that, does it? Good on you for having the awareness to notice it and breathe it in, despite (and amidst) the moments of stress. I often forget to savor those little moments when I’m running-hard.