Invest in Patience

short stories

Some mornings are made for hitting the snooze button one too many times or well, not hearing all four alarms go off at all and jump-scaring yourself out of bed to start the day.

Some mornings are made of waffles popping out of the toaster and into your six year old’s hand while on the way out the door dressed in cowlick.

A two year old in need of a fresh pullup and a five year old saint holding the door open for you while you forget your keys only- the five year old has let the dog out and now we have to chase the dog down the driveway with a juice cup, human and coffee in hand.

Life Management Tip: In hectic situations where multiple things go wrong all at once, prioritize on urgency and pace your quality control until nobody has died and all is right with the world.

That’s motherhood. Resolve all issues in the most efficient way possible without anyone running into traffic or choking on a lego.

Life Management Tip: If You’re a Leader, Don’t Lose Your Shit

If the kids sense me panic, they panic. I have to keep calm and reassure everyone that nobody is dying and no beloved dog of the family’s will run lost.

I’m the only faith they know. Mom’s got it. And, the dog is fine. He’s more than fine actually, he’s a jackass.

Invest in patience.

Life is chaotic, and it’s hard to sort through which chaos is worth pursuing and which isn’t worth your energy. Life is gonna cause you to hit the snooze button from time to time. Life is going to make you tired. But, you choose what you invest your mental focus into. The house may look a little muddy today but, everyone is fine. I’m writing.

Invest in patience.

Last night, my six year old was having a day on the way to Delaware Park. He was outside of himself, frustrated with the world and he wasn’t in the mood for the playground. THE PLAYGROUND! He was irrationally upset and we could’ve easily gone home, wasted the night on unnecessary tears and crossed arms, tired…

Invest in patience.

So Oliver took Pax to the playground while Janek and I took a stroll. We talked. We played, “I Spy” on the way to sit down somewhere nice. Things calmed down.

I sat with my five year old son and our dog on the steps of Albright Knox Art Gallery and we played, “Which Color Car Will Drive By Next?”

We took in the view of Delaware Park, Do Ho Suh’s Karma behind us – sooo many people in the park on this beautiful summer evening… Some tourists drove by in a cab to snap a photo of The AKG. I thought, “This is Buffalo.” – and we played our silly game.

Sitting there, it may not have looked like I was actually doing anything to comfort my irrational six year old but, in hindsight… I was educating him on E.B. Green’s architecture, Frederick Olmsted and the works created by internationally recognized creators.

We continued scouting for purple punch bugs.

I spiked his interest to actually see the museum. I promised him we’d go to the next, “First Friday” and we made a date of it. The dog was becoming tolerant of park activity (he’s very anxious) and, I was hungry and had to pee something fierce.

And then my son took a deep breath and said he was ready to go back to the playground. Like, he’d gotten everything he needed to feel better and continue on with his day.

I was his, “feel better.” Me. He just needed me to invest my patience into him… that’s all any kid really asks.

He ran back into action and when it was time to leave he negotiated an easy exit for one last time down the big slide… and obliged.

You’re Five.

letters

You’re excited for Earth day and want to go- “to one of those places you put the gloves on and pick up the litter.” You think about things larger than yourself already. You tell the other kids at school that they’re, “doing a really good job” on their crafts. You already think about another’s progress. You’re the kind of kid that pats my head when I’m sick and says, “You don’t do anything today, Mama. I’m gonna do it for you” and cleans your playroom.  You’re thoughtful. You’re smart. You’re strong willed and some days it’s hard. But I’m so proud of you.

saturday mornIng.

poetry

I passed out at ten O’Clock last night. I woke up well rested in a gloomy living room so quiet I heard the furnace tick. 

I didn’t snooze an alarm. I didn’t run for a shower. I didn’t pack a diaper bag or a lunch.  I didnt rush to find someone’s homework (we still have to do). I didn’t change a landslide diaper that sometimes requires a bath while I’m putting on my eyelids. 

I didn’t forget the check for school pictures, the signed permission slip for field trip,the payment for daycare, the carseat for grandma, or a blanket for child…

I didn’t move.

I waited until I was able and not a second sooner, then made a pot of coffee (ten beautiful cups of it). I openned the curtains, loaded the dishwasher, poured a cup of Brita-Joe and added 5lbs of mocha creamer just because it made me happy. 

I sat down at the table, read some articles and listened for the thuds above me (first a jolt, then a leg out of bed, and then two feet pounding across the ceiling). I hear my three year old slam porcelain against porcelain and I laugh at the next 18 years of my life. I hear a baby cry and a dad get out of bed. 

I just sit here waiting like Santa’s bringing me presents on Christmas. I have a Saturday morning.

Stay At Home, Mom

poetry

Mandarin Oranges break into beads that thread through the carpet I walk on. An old grape tomato, the cat’s new toy splatters – on the hall wall I wander down for more milk – that will spit itself onto the suede couch I plop my peanut butter jelly ass on. Water in the sink, on the floor, hugs the rug and runs into the side of the tub, the toilet I’m in need of. A toy car beneath the sheets of my bed – I yearn for an active dream – drives me to a days blacked out end. Awakened by whine for more games, more play – is the radio station that cries for my dancing. A coffee cup already cold, spoiled creamer – gets the dishes done, the garbage outdoors, and the breakfast made from a toaster. No arpon with flowers or heels that click, just my hair in a knot, some old stained socks decorated in crumbs and butter. Can’t wait to have kids, be a stay at home mom, and go mad walking through a circular door of unclean paths in need of maiding.