This will be the first year that all three of my kids will be in school full-time.
Melina's anchors are different than mine but every time we connect I understand they are really the same, just in different decades. She is me, sometime ago. And I am her sometime ahead. Or vice versa. Or both.
I want to describe it to him, to give it form—the smelly, ridiculous, beautiful moment when I knew: I will never be the same.
I have momentarily lost sight of my identity. For nine years I have been a stay at home mother, stealing time during naps and concentrated play to write, to work.
One day my daughter will not need me to fall asleep. She will be old enough to feel embarrassed about watching me pee. But not today.
The Look generally lasts only a few seconds at the most, but it carries with it decades, perhaps even generations, of memories and parental experiences.
I could feel it building over over the past week. The not listening. The blatant disrespect and bad decision making. And it was driving me crazy.
Being a good mother doesn’t mean you have to be perfect. It’s about having the willingness to try again when things get messy.
I’m starting to realize this: the less blame I pile on myself for things I can’t change, the more energy I can invest in my kids right now.
The problem with my “me time” coming in a bottle is that it eventually took much more than it gave.