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At the Montessori preschool my kids attend, they use “proper words” for things. They say urinate instead of pee and bowel movement instead of poop, which is highly hilarious coming out of a two-year-old’s mouth. They—and so we—don’t say we have a snotty nose but instead…mucus. Julius has a lot of mucus and, well, so do I.
I was so patient at 2 AM when Julius had a whole tantrum about apple juice. I ended up relenting with a sippy cup full of water with a splash of apple cider, and of course Simone wanted some, too. And then she wanted a refill at 2:30. And a back rub at 3.
Miraculously, they both woke up in great spirits and with minimal mucus. (Me, maybe not so much. I had a mountain of dirty tissues on the floor by my bed. And the dread of facing the day that comes from bone deep exhaustion.) They even ate their breakfast and cuddled with me and let me brush their hair.
But on our way at the door, Julius had a full-body meltdown because he wanted to zip up his coat “all by myself,” which he has not yet mastered, and no form of teamwork or distraction seemed to work. He was deeply dysregulated and frustrated, and bit Simone who got in his path. Then Simone became a screaming puddle on the floor, and demanded a Frozen bandaid, which we actually had, but it was not the right one after all, and everything was wrong in the world.
Two screaming, crying, sobbing kids.
By the time we got to school, the mucus had returned.
It was one of the mornings where I held it together until I got back in the car, and then I cried. Or as Simone would say, “I cried and cried and cried and cried.”
I am grateful for my 12-step program and recovery for teaching me about “smart feet.” Sometimes the best thing I can do is go through the motions: walk Ace, call my sponsor and cry some more, make myself some toast, sit down at my desk. The sun is shining. Here I am.
I’m finishing up our family holiday cards today, and teacher cards. Every year I think I may be the kind of mom who sends out cute cards with photos of our cute family, but I am not yet that mom. Maybe one day.
I have so much work on my plate. How will I get it all done?
One foot in front of another.
I have lots of big intentions for the year ahead. A draft of my novel! An amazing group program of writers supporting each other! Time for the things that bring me joy: dinner parties and braising the good short ribs and curling up with books. Bookstore time, coffee shop time, playground time.
But some days are for surviving, not thriving, and I’m trying to extend some acceptance around that.
Can I not blow my nose an excessive amount on my Zoom meetings?
Can I finish edits on a few pieces?
Can I send this newsletter?
Can I make a very simple chili for dinner?
Can we light the Hanukkah candles for this last night?
Can I make it to bedtime?
Here we are on the playground last week, our happy place. I am grateful to live by such an incredible park.
Me and my mucus are here, making it, doing it. I’ll count that as a win.
xo,
Hannah
that photo is perfect, and your reality is perfectly relatable, perfectly human. I'm very much looking forward to spending time together this weekend! I hope it's not one more stressor, or if it is, that it ALSO brings the connection, warmth, and light.