Sometimes, getting through a day is too much. All stones have been turned, and there is no
energy left to move forward. I choose to
work full time. I choose to have
children. I choose to spend time
doodling or writing when sleep would be a smarter choice. Beauty and joy is found in all these moments,
and it's exhausting. And this is when the
machine of motherhood and workdom is functioning at top-performance.
One wrong move or an unexpected open orifice for germ entry, and all goes to hell.
It happens every winter. Jeremy and I feel like we are home more than our places of employment. Since last Thursday, all members of our family, including Dad, have come to blows and lost our mêlée with the stomach flu. We have busted out our light sabers of Lysol and antibacterial-soap-numb-chucks to combat. Futile and pitifully weak methods.
One wrong move or an unexpected open orifice for germ entry, and all goes to hell.
It happens every winter. Jeremy and I feel like we are home more than our places of employment. Since last Thursday, all members of our family, including Dad, have come to blows and lost our mêlée with the stomach flu. We have busted out our light sabers of Lysol and antibacterial-soap-numb-chucks to combat. Futile and pitifully weak methods.
The last one to duel with flu-and-fever was Jeremy. By Sunday, I was able to navigate the day
well enough. Clutch, I was. The children, at least on this day, would
have someone to keep them from knives, opening up all the tampons and typical preschool-age rebellion. Jeremy was out for the count
and in bed wearing a scarf, covered with a blanket and doubled-up with my down
robe. As I walked by the bedroom, I
could hear him on the phone. I didn’t ask,
but I assumed he was talking to his mom.
These simple, quiet moments cut deeply.
I was in his place just the day prior, and I wished so badly for Mom. My phone, right by my head and
likely covered in influenza, used to be a direct line to her voice – 442.3839. But, it just sat there holding Facebook posts
of erratic weather patterns, Instagram shots of perfectly lit abandoned
buildings and pictures of her grandbabies.
Sometimes, Mom, I wake
up extra early just to drive to work. The quiet is grand in the car, and it is where I find
your voice. With drives to Manor and
Georgetown, I am grateful for the extra mileage. I hear my inner-voice for you in ballads. I imagine you dancing when a beat is dropped. I see you when the orange and purple of the
sun starts to fade to the day’s bright yellow.
I feel your arms when the chill is to the bone. Your arms and hands were always strong from working so hard. You know, they still hold me up.
Then, there are other kinds of moments. Before stepping into the shower tonight, I stood there and looked in the mirror. My eye color is hers, and I see familiar crevasses around my eyes . There was no self-judgment of what I saw. Rather, I just have questions--many of them.
Is this what happened to your body, Mom, after bearing and nursing children? What are the words to the My-Lan lullaby? I have searched and searched for it on the Internet, and I can’t find it. I've come to think that you just made it up for us, and my head and heart aches when I think about how I have forgotten the lyrics. Silly brain. Will you sing it to the girls? They will sing along. It will be so flat, and you will love it.
Sometimes, there are questions that only she can answer. You know, I don’t know how to be a good daughter to Dad. I always knew where you stood. He speaks in the language of Passivity, and I do not have access to break his code. How did you do it? Jeremy and I are doing our best, and we need your help.
Mom, I miss you. That’s a given. On these kinds of days, I need you. These are the times when I don't want to be strong. I don't want to play nice. I don't want to think. I just want to go to a place that existed long ago--the core of me that you first loved that mid-October day 35 years ago. I can't go there anymore, and I don't let myself. The path is obstructed by responsibility and ego. No one else knows about that place. Only you. Oh, how I miss this place.
Then, there are other kinds of moments. Before stepping into the shower tonight, I stood there and looked in the mirror. My eye color is hers, and I see familiar crevasses around my eyes . There was no self-judgment of what I saw. Rather, I just have questions--many of them.
Is this what happened to your body, Mom, after bearing and nursing children? What are the words to the My-Lan lullaby? I have searched and searched for it on the Internet, and I can’t find it. I've come to think that you just made it up for us, and my head and heart aches when I think about how I have forgotten the lyrics. Silly brain. Will you sing it to the girls? They will sing along. It will be so flat, and you will love it.
Sometimes, there are questions that only she can answer. You know, I don’t know how to be a good daughter to Dad. I always knew where you stood. He speaks in the language of Passivity, and I do not have access to break his code. How did you do it? Jeremy and I are doing our best, and we need your help.
In the words of Mrs. Carter, heaven could not wait for
you. I understand that. I see you there, wearing your
flip-flops, and making your eggrolls. I
am sure there is a long line of hungry people.
In one hand is a pair of wooden, worn chopsticks used to slowly turn the rolls in the
heated grease. They were always so
evenly fried. Your other hand is on your
hip. Music would be playing. Blondie. You loved her so. You laugh, take a few bites here and there
and sass with friends.
I take that back, Mom. Heaven was too eager. You know what, I will take a single day back. I will take 24 hours with you, please. It will be great. I promise. Here’s our agenda:
1. Read to Bennet and Ruby.
2. Tell me about the day I was born. I want every single detail.
3. Sit with me at the kitchen table. We will share chips and salsa from Taco Delite.
4. Here’s our wedding video. The dragon dance would have been your favorite part.
5. Can you me make me the cucumber salad and gỏi cuốn (your sauce is the best!)? I will write down the recipe.
6. Take a picture with me and the girls. Bennet will want to be the photographer, too. Be ready and be patient. You always are.
7. Let's take a walk arm-in-arm. We don't need to talk. I will just walk beside you.
8. Watch the girls sleep. I swear Ruby looks just like you when you sleep. This brings me comfort.
I take that back, Mom. Heaven was too eager. You know what, I will take a single day back. I will take 24 hours with you, please. It will be great. I promise. Here’s our agenda:
1. Read to Bennet and Ruby.
2. Tell me about the day I was born. I want every single detail.
3. Sit with me at the kitchen table. We will share chips and salsa from Taco Delite.
4. Here’s our wedding video. The dragon dance would have been your favorite part.
5. Can you me make me the cucumber salad and gỏi cuốn (your sauce is the best!)? I will write down the recipe.
6. Take a picture with me and the girls. Bennet will want to be the photographer, too. Be ready and be patient. You always are.
7. Let's take a walk arm-in-arm. We don't need to talk. I will just walk beside you.
8. Watch the girls sleep. I swear Ruby looks just like you when you sleep. This brings me comfort.
9. Let’s shoot hoops with the girls. I have a feeling Bennet’s tenacious spirit will remind you a bit of yourself. I bet she would not scream either if she received an envelope full of worms from male classmates.
10. Lay next to me while I go to sleep. And, Mom, sing me the lullaby?
