In the Haze

 

Well, OK.

Here is my brain dump.

Clearing away the fog.

In the midst of the haze.

Smoke, really.

The haze of the summer

It was thick, hot, nausea

It was frenetic activity

It was family and travel

It was impermanence everywhere

It was a herculean epic

It was not restful.

But we did it, we did summer. 

It was another first.

The haze of September

I thought it would be the month of ease

But ease after maelstrom 

Alas is not how things work

It was a month of recovery

Then sickness and more recovery

And the smoke started then.

The haze of October, it is only 20 days in

Is more and more and more smoke

So while our bodies have healed

The sickness has dulled

And my stage of pregnancy is now an

"energetic" one

The days are lingering on

As we wait for the smoke to clear

Tomorrow the rain arrives.

Oh my goodness the rain arrives.

It is much too simple to write those words

Without recognizing their monumental meaning

The rain arrives,

And I will leave

On Tammy's coattails up into the mountains

The witch coven is convening

And searching for larchglow

And I will try my best to be a singular person

Not solely the mother who is tension-tethered to the needs of two child-humans and one fetus.

Of course I will not stop being that to them

Even while away

Especially to the one inside me

But for someone who needs solitude to recharge, renew, rise

Motherhood is an act of hard fought survival

Of confusion and intangible lostness

Planted right down in the dirt of beautiful, astounding growth, 

The awareness that now I know how to touch what life is itself

And even be one of those who whisper it to fullness and light

Those conflicting realities are both so true

They tear one's heart to shreds

Even while the heart insists that it holds

the power to rebuild itself, over and over again

Here in this haze, we hunker indoors

We avoid the choking pollutants 

That hover for days in our atmosphere

The fires to our east are being allowed to burn out

To wash the land in renewal

While also welcoming in climate change

Our new reality of heat, drought, fire, flood

 

Indoors, I am a soul who stagnates

I let my legs cramp and atrophy

I tend toward distraction rather than experience

But the kids go on living, as long as I go on feeding them

As I always do, every two hours

And as they persist, their brightness evolves, unattended, spontaneous

Their colored beach landscapes and wax-stick cats

Their excitement for holidays and pumpkins and ghosts

Their constant bathroom accidents

The neverstopping laundry machine

The evergrowing mountain of clothes-to-fold

The eversmelling pee couch 

And the undending exasperations of pottytraining

I get two steps forward, then fall five steps back

As I finally figure out, after a more than a year of starts and stops, how to drop my toddler off at school

She still screams

But I have finally built that layer of skin 

That allows me to just turn and walk away

And that is what helps her to move on

Who knew?

But then here we are, this week,

And the smoke makes outdoor school

The most terrible idea

I, who finally had it all figured out

Am now avoiding my toddler at all costs

Hurriedly handing her whatever screen she asks for

And pretending I didn't just hear her shout

Uh oh, I accidentally peepee'd! 

On the couch we were reserving for non-pee sitting

It's hard to rustle up the urge to care

When another puddle of pee will show up elsewhere in 24 hours.

I finally open my computer

And tell myself, at least typing makes me feel legitimate

After the attempt at sitting with a planner, notebook, and memoir to read while blasting a Danish netflix show as "background noise", while helping a sidled-up toddler with her Wild Kratts game, failed so curiously to allow me to tap into any creative flow.

Yes, at least open the computer and let your fingers fly

When you type you don't have the opportunity to judge your handwriting and hand fatigue while still trying to have a full and satisfying deep thought.

When you type you can save that bunch of text in a place that has a greater chance of being kept track of

And you can stick pictures next to the text to make it look pretty

And actually, there are nonironic reasons why this helps as well:

I stitch together these images from my haphazard week and finally see 

The jewels of meaning hidden within and between them

The rhythm of a life in the time that I'm in

The small-child time, the middle of my parenting-life identity confusion time, the climate change/pandemic-induced panic times that fade to everyday humdrum because that is the only was to keep living in such times.

While I've been paying so much attention to the non-ness of everything--

I'm not organizing the playroom right now

I'm not an engaged crafty active going-for-walks and hanging out at playground and organizing playdate parent right now

I'm not working the routine that I've finally set up so that I can find myself again (coffee shop, library, book club, oracle card, journal and blog, create and breathe and stretch and emanate peace, creativity, activism)

I'm not finally setting up that budget, or purging my PTSD-infused cases and cases of pre-pregnancy + various stages of expanding body parenting clothes

--The yes-ness of things go unnoticed:

I am texting with friends who help my soul recenter

I did buy a witch hat on Amazon to wear on our coven larch hiking adventure

I am going to a brunch to celebrate a beautiful friend's birthday

I did set a boundary with another friend who only wants to meet on her terms

I am giving myself grace yet still showing up semi-regularly to my Mommastrong workouts and virtual gives-me-life community

I did sign up for a Zumba for Moms+Kids class and attended my first one

And felt those deep joyful chills I get when I feel the revolutionary vibes of moms existing in spaces with their children but FOR themselves

I am not cooking plant-based meals (though I really miss this)

I am finding healthy food when I can, and allowing those cravings to drive me

And ordering takeout when needed

I am getting by

I eat Costco-made chili, but buy green onions to chop and sprinkle on top

I make a vatful of quinoa, and put in the barest of ingredients: cucumber, tomato, spinach, red wine vinegar, olive oil, salt, pepper

I eat cereal again shamelessly

It is all working out

Those things that make me anxious 

Which Sara Bareilles says points to things your heart desires

They will return again

I will go to coffee shops again

I will cook again

I will walk hard and far and feel the sweat on my back

I know where to go now

I know how to find the hills that allow me to ascend.

We are rapidly arriving at where we began last year in this house

Our one-year anniversary of settled living

-of the start of settled living

-the potential of settled living

-of being slightly more settled from here on out.

And my hills will be waiting for me.