I’m monitoring a mini icon of Dave’s face on Google Maps. My me time is dwindling because in sixteen minutes, Evelyn, red-faced from playing in 90-degree heat with a feels-like temperature of 101, will walk in the door needing me.
I’ve particularly savored the past three hours. Self-care bathtub time, tossing myself a Caesar salad, and much-needed household chores, like shuffling cat poop out of the litter box and freshening up the bed sheets in the wash.
Heavy on my mind are three upcoming events. Less heavy is having Dave’s brother and family over for a salmon and halibut dinner tomorrow night. More heavy is the three-day camping trip we leave for in three days. Will I forget to pack something? Will I become Rushy Rusherton around the house at the last minute? Chickens, bunny, Archie, cats—the zoo that is my life—will be handed over to Aunt Cathy.
Speaking of her, fresh sheets need to be put on the guest bedroom’s bed too.
In moments like these, I meditate. Or try. I will the gears to stop. I peer deep into my psyche, tiptoeing up to and sitting down beside the worrying little person inside. And I say, “Don’t you worry, little princess. It may look like a chaotic mess of a shit show”—although I wouldn’t swear, not in front of her—”but Mama Jaclynn’s got you. She’s a master expert extraordinaire. Just you watch.”
Proof?
How about last night’s soccer practice and Coach Jaclynn’s leveling up at organization.
No more picking teams repeatedly throughout practice to create favorites. The first five minutes, that was done. My team stayed the same four throughout, and Coach Katie’s did too. All of the kids’ balls went to their parents, eliminating the soccer-ball pinball of previous practices, and water bottles went in one spot.
Also beneficial was the county’s white lining of the play area, setting it up
When I took a knee to catch my breath, one girl toddled over and boosted herself up on my flat-footed, bent knee. Just a sweet moment breather together.
Each one of their growths, their smiles, their silly icebreaker sentences of “Doo doo poo poo head” as they simultaneously kick the ball, and one boy calling everyone “Bro” no matter how many times you tell him your name, is priceless.
Their faces. Their mini moments. Like the one girl who, five minutes into practice, asks about snacks. Two practices ago she walked up to me at the end, and I got down to her two-foot level. She calmly and directly, with the eye contact of an enlightened Jedi, and a speech pace of a judge handing down an extreme sentence, pronouncing every word said, “You tricked me. You said you brought snacks, and they are nowhere to be seen.”
I pointed to the parent passing out snacks and, with equal conviction, got in an equally convicted, “I would never trick you,” as I turned her body, adjusting her to her new target.
These little buggers were once going to be the death of me.
And now I want them for my forever brood.
Love, Jaclynn
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