I have been trying to reason with her since we stepped out of the cool air conditioned restaurant and onto this narrow sidewalk. Yet, every remark I make is answered with incomprehensible words choked out between her sobs. Five minutes has easily felt like two hours. We are both drenched in sweat, her from the heat and emotion, me mostly out of embarrassment. I can no longer remember how it went from our family of four giggling at the table to my daughter and I outside against the hot brick wall. People walk by, trying not to stare. All my frazzled attempts to reason with my daughter fall flat. We want the same thing, to join my husband and son back inside, but in our exhaustion of emotions, we’ve lost the ability to connect. I push the sweat soaked hair off her face and look directly into her crystal blue eyes, seeing so much of myself mirrored in them.
//
I didn’t sleep well last night. We lost power during a thunderstorm and the sound of the box fan I usually sleep with was replaced with my husband's snoring and it does not lull me to sleep the same way. I wake up annoyed. Still no power. Great, here comes an awful day I think to myself. The kids have been up for an hour. It is not even 8 am and they’ve already asked about 3 times when we will have power again. “I DON'T KNOW FOR THE 100th TIME” I bellow out. I can’t make the pancake breakfast I normally make. Frozen waffles are even out of the question. Of course I have those unicorn children that don’t eat much cereal. I can’t even make coffee. I am unreasonably angry at my husband for going to work today. How dare he get to leave this house and go somewhere that has electricity. The kids ask what we are going to do for breakfast, and it feels like they asked me to plan the next year of their lives. Making any sort of adult decision feels next to impossible.
Exhausted, I grab my cell phone to call my husband to unload some frustration. I can feel the tears pooling in my eyes as I listen to the ringing, waiting for him to pick up. As soon as he says hello all of my composure melts away and my words are squeaked out between whimpers. Pacing the living room, I blurt out “THIS SUCKS”, and immediately begin unleashing every grievance I have about the lack of electricity in our home to him. I know it sounds like I think our entire week is ruined but I can’t seem to gather myself into any resemblance of a calm, rational, person. “We will have electricity again babe,” he says, like it is just that simple. But to me, in this moment, it appears anything but simple.
I’m lucky he knows me almost better than I know myself and he offers the perfect solution. “Head to Target and grab a coffee from starbucks and some of the kids favorite snacks. Next, hit the Mickey D’s drive thru for breakfast and go to the park to eat it.” Coffee, food, park and almost no real effort from me. Perfect. I have already begun telling the kids to get dressed and get shoes on before my husband finished his sentence. As we are all loading into the car I think about how easily this idea came to my husband and feel frustrated that I didn’t think of it myself. It’s as if my ability to be a functional person went out with the electricity in our home.
As I’m sipping my toffee nut mocha from Starbucks, waiting in the McDonald's drive thru line, my phone beeps with the notification that DTE has restored our power. I smile, hopeful my ability to parent has been restored with our power, and we go to the park anyway.
//
I want to be the Fun Mom, so at 7 pm on a school night, I yell out into the front yard where the kids are engrossed in play. “Ice cream time! Car leaves in 2 minutes, so get some shoes on, and let's go!” My three kids come tumbling to the mud room to throw on the closest pair of shoes and pile in the car. The local ice cream shop is only about 3 blocks away. We could walk there as we do many other times during the summer, but I choose to drive to preserve the sanctuary that is bedtime in my home.
The boys choose their favorite flavors immediately and then it is Zoey’s turn. I should have asked her what she wanted on the way here. The line is growing quickly behind us and my daughter is extremely indecisive. It takes her 15 minutes to pick a color bubble wand at Target because she is constantly worried about making the wrong choice. “Hurry up please and decide.” I say as calmly as possible even though I can feel both of our anxieties rising the longer it takes. The air is heavy and sticky because of the rain earlier in the day and I feel my hair and impatience growing larger by the minute. I can see the boys out of the corner of my eye playing with the finger skateboard my son Brady carries in his pocket.
My daughter begins to cry and I look at the poor teenage boy standing behind the counter and select for her. “And one kid's dirt sundae please.” I see her grit her teeth and clench her fists to prepare for the sobs that come next. I think she is telling me I made the wrong choice, but we are both so exasperated I can’t really say for sure.
The thought flickers quickly, although it is not the first nor will it be the last, is this normal for a six year old? I push it to the back of my mind, sitting with the guilt of even the flicker. I scoop her up, tell my oldest to wait for the ice cream at the window, and carry her sweaty, flailing body back to the car.
At the car, my mind is right back to that narrow sidewalk outside of the restaurant a few months ago. We are both tense, sweaty, and weary from the overwhelm of emotions. Contempt is radiating from her as she looks directly at me and heaves out “I am tired!” I can’t stop myself from smiling, tears already filling my eyes as the humility of raising a daughter just like me strikes me. So much of what my sweet girl struggles with, I have a hard time with too. Decisions become overwhelming, my ability to make sense of the world, and my tolerance for change shrinks whenever I am out of my element. I’m realizing how being sensitive to this in my daughter can lead me to the growth I hope for. I wipe the sweat soaked hair from her face and look directly into her beautiful blue eyes and simply utter “Me too sis, let’s go home.” Both of our bodies settle as I embrace her in my arms, and we see her brother coming with the ice cream to enjoy at home.
Here are some recent images of me and my mini bestie taken by the Insanely Talented Chelsea Mazur Photography
So fun to see the evolution of your essay from last summer!
I relate so much to your story! I have a daughter (almost 8) who is my carbon copy in every way. We can struggle so deeply in some of the exact same ways, which is incredibly frustrating but becoming more and more beautiful over time.