Telling Time

I’m standing at the end of our street with Cate in the stroller. Her little feet are poking out of her pink blanket that goes everywhere with her but is actually keeping her warm on this unusually cool summer evening. My flip flops are stretched out making walking hard but I just wanted to get walking so I didn’t take the time to get socks and put my running shoes on.   The sun is starting to go down and I’m watching cars whizzing by coming and going on the busy road.  This is our nightly ritual.  We walk, we talk, she tells me which way to go and we say hello to anyone or thing along the way.

My phone dings as we cross the street with a reminder that I’m supposed to be at Girls Night with some moms from our daycare.   I quickly dismiss it.  There is a moment of wanting to be there- drinking wine with no evening responsibilities but it leaves as fast as it comes.


I’m 35.  And I’m realizing that my life is different now and probably has been for a while and I just haven’t noticed.  I don’t have a huge circle of friends anymore.  Shoot, I don’t think I even have a double digit number of people I consider good friends.  I am now conscious of the choices I am making the people that are included.  I have my circle- this close knit, tight group of friends that are “my people” so to speak.  Some of “my people” I met through our daycare.  Yet, the nights our in mass don’t define our friendships so I don’t feel guilty not going.  They know me in my age, my life and my family.  My friends with history know me, have grown with me and unconditionally support me.

I love a night out with girlfriends as much as the next person.  But, I’ve come to appreciate the lack of frequency with which it occurs. I think it makes it even more special.  I am trying to do it all. To balance my roles as a mother, wife, daughter and friend.  As a teacher, a leader and a fitness fan.  Balance seems to be so elusive- close enough for me to judge my attempts at it but far enough away that I feel like it’s impossible.  I watch others who seem to do it so much better than me and wonder why I can’t.  And I remember that I am not them. So I dismiss my iPhone telling me it’s time to be somewhere other than where I am.   I push and I walk. Reminding myself that time is what you make of it.  A night out or a walk with a little girl.  And I know that tonight I am right where I am supposed to be with this little girl whose big eyes explore the world with her mom right behind her.



I Needed Last Night…

Being a working mama is tough. I wear my working mama cape proudly. I wear it daily because there really isn’t a day,even Saturday and Sunday, as a teacher that I don’t work. People always tell me that being a teacher, I have the best of both worlds. Maybe. But it sure does not feel like it this week. I work my tail off. Work isn’t from 8-3. Work is grading papers at night, coaching softball on Saturday, facilitating fundraisers on Friday night, and having department meetings after school. It’s committees, teachers, administrators, organization and plain hard work. I am on. All day. From the minute I get in my car my brain goes in work mode. Helping kids with make up work, planning for next week lessons, writing observation reports…you name it I do it in a day. I am not asking for sympathy purely trying to show you what my days are like.

In order to be a working mama, I have to rely A LOT on my husband. Do I take it for granted? Not one day. Do I try to do anything I can to make sure the ship sails smoothly when I am working late or have to work on the weekends? Yes. Do I thank him enough? Probably not. But trust me when I say this he is a heck of a dad and I know that much so this takes a big burden off of me.

So, that gets me to this guy.

You see this summer he was OBSESSED with me since I was home with him all day. Now, not so much. And it kills me.
He doesn’t want to be held by me.
He doesn’t think I am funny.
He does not want me to sit on the couch and watch Sesame Street with him.
He really doesn’t want much to do with me.

And although I laugh when talking about it or when it happens, a little piece of my heart breaks each time. This week, probably the worse. I have not been home at night. And so, his daddy, is his #1. (I don’t blame him… I think he is pretty great too!)

So, last night I was home. We both were. And because of the MESS of a kitchen that we don’t have right now, we spend a good amount of time trying to get Brady’s bottle ready. We have no microwave currently. Glenn was downstairs “working” on the bottle which left me with Brady and the bath. The bath, no problems. Frankly, it doesn’t matter who gives it, the kid is a “fisch” so he willing hops in.
After the bath and brushing our teeth we went in to his room to play, put on lotion and get him dressed BUT something else happened. We started playing with a baseball hat. It was silly. He would put it on my head and I would tilt my head just enough that it would fall to the floor. And then he would laugh. Not just chuckle. He would laugh a deep belly laugh that was infectious and brought an honest smile to my own face and tears to my eyes. Why? Because in those two minutes we got to laugh together. I was the only thing that mattered. I was the only thing he cared about. And last night, that was enough for me to put on my working mama’s cape and go to work today.