Carry On, Mother of Little Ones

You tuck your hair back in a ponytail. Your hands have memorized the familiar flip, flip, flipping of the hands as you tie your locks back.

You feel the familiar weight of the laundry basket on your hip and your back pulls slightly the other direction to compensate for its heft. Just like it does when you pick up your 23 pound baby girl.

When you pick up the phone, your grandfather or father or father in law grumbles that medical costs have risen. He refuses to go to the doctor even though there is a questionable spot on his arm. He wonders if he can take a photo of it and send it in the mail to you. Maybe one of your nurse friends could tell him what it is.

You put the baby down (she cries) for just an instant so you can use the bathroom. Someone has filled the sink with water and put all the towels in the water. You smile tiredly at your resident preschooler who uses the entire world as her classroom. The toilet paper is gone. The toilet is plugged with what appears to be 172 facial tissues; another science experiment by aforementioned preschooler. And someone is beating on the door, asking you for juice during your 30 second bathroom break.

The dishwasher is full.
The washing machine is full, as is the dryer. And the hampers bulge with complaint.
All the trash cans in the house are full.

You're not sure why you were placed on planet earth, but dusty photos of a beaming bride and groom remind you that at one time you felt energetic and hopeful and alive.

So you go into autopilot because its your safety mechanism. Your reasoning is: If I don't feel anything at all, then I won't feel the tiredness as much. Or the sadness. Or the defeat. I'll just keep step, step, stepping.

But that reasoning doesn't work for long because you are a creative, intelligent human being. You just forget what it feels like.

It's time to regroup. This is what you are going to do.

For starters, turn off your media. Just for now. Quiet your mind because you're going to brush away some cobwebs to remember who you are or who you were. Start there.

Each day you are going to do something good for yourself. Not because you're selfish. But because an empty watering can cannot give drink to flowers.

You're going to ask yourself what makes you happy. What makes you tick with joy?

Have you read the latest New York Times Bestseller Novels? (Hello, library!)
What's for breakfast? A sausage and mushroom omelet, of course.
A 15 minute walk each morning? Yes, please.
A favorite magazine? Joy upon joy.
An online course? I've always wanted a masters degree.
Learning an instrument? Strum, strum, strumming my guitar.
Do it.

Next, you are going to set boundaries for yourself and your children. And, if necessary, your spouse. You are going to set aside time for this activity. And you are not going to be interrupted. This might require some planning. Or babysit swapping. Or bribing another human being. But do it. It might involve turning on a TV show for your littles for an hour. Do it.

And if it's a daily activity, it's best to do it at the same time every day. A little routine helps the mind.

Then, you are going to redefine success.
Success is not how much laundry you do or how much you liked your children today.
Success is how brave you are. And you are brave, I know you are.
How you listened to your body when it needed to nap.
How you unplugged your phone.
How you stopped to pray when your mind wanted to sort things out on its own.
How you chose to eat an apple instead of fourteen Oreo cookies. That's bravery.

You are going to learn to help yourself.
Don't listen to those thoughts in your head about not having enough help. Prune things from your life that don't matter so that the things that do matter will be respected.
Your mother doesn't live next door? That's okay.
You just moved into a new town and you don't know a soul? One step at a time.
It will take time. To make friends. To make margin. To create space. To create rest. But don't give up. It will come.

Today you will walk. That is all.
You will take one step. You will speak only respectfully about yourself.
You will plod on through the rain.

Because one day the chaos will subdue. And you will want to look in the mirror and see that your muscles haven't totally atrophied. That your mind is nimble-ish. That you can wear a hair style BESIDES just a ponytail. And that because you took those little steps each day, you accidentally ran a marathon without even knowing it.

Carry on, beautiful mother. Carry on.