Cadence

Topic : Daily Glimpses

Morning is “my time”.

A new day.
A Fresh start.

Yoga.
Meditation.
Writing.

My son plays next to me.
I toss the toys over to him in between yoga poses.
Many mornings he crawls into my lap as I sit in the silence.

I think it’s going to be alright.
I’ve had my time, gotten centered.

But if my daughter wakes, it’s all over.

She flings open the door and bursts in yelling, “what are you doing, bud?
At 6:00 a.m.
It begins.

It doesn’t matter how much yoga I got in that morning
I’m already irritated
It’s in my voice

I run defense.
Ask her not to head-butt him.

“Mama, can I have my vitamins?”

“Go get them, you know where they are.”

This will buy me some time to finish whatever yoga pose I was on.

Getting ready for school begins.
Mismatched socks.
She wears shorts no matter how cold.
Breakfast made and not eaten.

As I load both kids into the car, she asks for gum or a snack.

I think of the food on the plate in the sink.
And hand her a granola bar.

Hugs goodbye.
A promise to get her at 1:00.

I sit in the car and think over the morning.

Times I was short.
My rush to get to school even though we are always one of the first families there.

I vow to be more calm.

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The day with my son is easy.

He naps on me.
I run errands with him.
We play in the sink.

I go get my daughter.
Then we all do an “adventure”.

Zoo.
Park.
Botanical Gardens.

Half because I love to have fun with them.
Half because, for those hours, she’s less likely to sit on him.

We ride the carousel.
“I want to ride the deer one, mama.
Everything is going up and down.”

We go the the park.
I watch her go down slides.
Climb up ropes.

Hearing about how she can “do it by myself”
And then seeing that she can.

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We head home and the dinner dance begins

What to make and can I sit the baby down for any of it.

“Don’t pull on his legs, Junie.”

She helps me peel carrots.
Picks out her fork and cup.

I put him down to get things set out, take items out of the oven.

At 5:00, I tell myself: I just have to make it till bedtime

At 5:30, both kids melt down.

He won’t stop crying unless picked up.
She yells at me about dinner.

“Can I have some marshmallows?”
“What? You haven’t eaten anything but cheese.”
“I JUST WANT ONE MARSHMALLOW”.
“You’ll need to eat more than cheese.”
Takes one bite of apple.

“Now can I have a marshmallow?”

She’s giddy.

I want coffee.

We clear the table.

She put dishes into the sink and laughs when water splashes onto her.

Then, at 6, something happens.

He gets a second wind.
She wants to play teacher and reads us books.

We all curl up on the couch together and giggle.
I goof with both, pretending to nibble their cheeks.

Most days we’ll go outside and wait for their dad to come home.
Looking through the mail and waving at the cars going by.

Both kids get ready for bed

My son nurses to sleep.
I look down at him.

He feels heavy in my arms.
His hair long enough to tuck behind his ears.

Did I play with him enough?
Look into his eyes?
Laugh with him?
Every night I wish I would’ve watched him sleep for longer..

I always could have done more.

Held him instead of sat him down.
Time I won’t get back.

I put my daughter to bed.

We read stories.
Do hugs.
She asks me to lay down with her for “just one more minute.”

We relax back and down into the pillows.

Knowing another day is done.
A day that I got irritated.
Yelled.
Or huffed around in frustration.

I also loved.
Hugged.
Listened.
Laughed.

I kiss and tuck her in her one final time.

“I love you, mama.”
“I love you too, babe.”

The door shuts.

I wonder why I rush her to get to bed.
Now I’ll eat dinner and watch some t.v..

I could have listened to her read another book.
Held her hand.

Rushing off to my moments which are never as fulfilling as my time with  her.

I think this every night.
And yet, I end up at the same place.

Regretting.

Choosing to not put the phone down.
Treating my child like she is older than her four years.
Getting mad at a baby who doesn’t feel like napping.

And knowing I don’t get a “do-over”.

I try but I know I can never get it quite right.

I’ve learned how to be kinder to them.
To myself.

Being present with them is a lifetime of work.
My children know what an apology is because I say, “I’m sorry” constantly.
I am humbled daily but I go back for more.

To show up and be kind.
So simple, yet every day I stumble.

With all my meditation.
Parenting classes.
Prayers for serenity.

There’s me.
Doing my broken best.

Emma
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