Forever and Never

I can't even tell you how long it has been since I have been to one of my favorite places in Nebraska, and no it is not a favorite because of the geography or the specific people there. It's a favorite for the atmosphere, the sheer number of hours I spent working, thinking, and writing here in my early 20's (because uttering a phrase like that doesn't instantly age a person or anything), and yes - for the coffee.

This morning, I got to spend a carefree morning, as much time as I wanted, at my beloved, The Coffee House in Lincoln.

I was so pleased! And also so surprised by how much has changed in the undeterminable amount of time since I was here last. The CoHo has seen numerable shifts in decor, seating, and paint colors (and even front doors) since I first started coming here as a sophomore in college (yes, friends and I would drive in from Crete just to spend evenings here working and studying; then, in grad school, I was also a frequent face but that makes more sense for a UNL student), but something about this morning feels quite different. Gone are the plethora of mismatched chairs and wild displays of local art (although based on hanging wires and hooks, that might still happen on occasion, just not currently), and the back of the coffee bar is exposed in new ways, to me, at least. Yet the same glass mugs (and super delicious mochas), eclectic music in the background, and unique cast of characters filling the tables and line at the counter as well as those behind it, are enough to tell me I am here. I am in one of my sacred spaces.

I get it. It's a coffee house (So not true. It is THE Coffee House, but I digress). Maybe it shouldn't be such a big deal; but being here, by myself, on a quiet and drizzle-filled Saturday morning, with nothing but time to think, write, and enjoy my coffee, is an extremely rare gift.

Although I've had time away from the home front in the last year, none of that has been terribly chill. In fact, the only time I've been away has been for weeks/weekends filled to the brim with trainings. One might think going to a yoga training would be a relaxed, Zen-ed out sort of vacation but those weeks/weekends are always super intense, physically and emotionally, so no. No down time away in a very long time.

But this weekend I am away, for the first time since Mr. Lincoln's arrival, with Ben, and since he is currently finishing up a morning of meetings at a conference he's attending before we get to ride off into the sunset of actual, honest-to-goodness adult time sans Littles for the rest of the afternoon and tonight, I have time and space and anywhere in downtown Lincoln I want to walk to spend my morning. Naturally I would come here.

How perfect that one of my favorite places, a place I consider to be part of myself even if I haven't been here since a child or two ago came into my life, can feel totally different and completely the same. I can't think of a better analogy for adulthood and parenthood and the growth we are sometimes blessed enough to experience in this life. Like my dear CoHo, I have changed since my last visit. I look different on the outside and some internal changes have been made, too. But at my center, like this place, I'm still me. Same heart, same core. Forever seeking, forever expanding but always striving to be my best, most authentic self. Embracing what is Now. Both forever and never still.

Life in flux. There really is no other way. And with good coffee, quiet spaces, and a little time every now and then to think, all is indeed well.

What about you? What places have become spaces where you can return, sometimes after years, and still find yourself in just the right spot?

No Such Thing as "Alone"

Many times, in many ways, I have found myself saying, of motherhood in particular, that isolation is the worst. To fall into a line of thinking that includes separation or apartness, to begin to believe that nobody else out there has ever been in your shoes, could possibly ever understand what you're going through, is a scary place to be - but it has nothing do with just parenthood. This is life; and for some, it is a struggle that they will carry more heavily and for more time than others.

The idea of isolation has been rattling around in my head for some time now. In the last year it has prompted me to write posts that have broken silences, shared my truths, and declared mottos. But here I am again, still ruminating, still itching in my brain and in my hands to write about this particular topic.

Why?

Because I continue to see instances of people who feel isolated and do not speak up and I want to encourage them to think differently. Because I also see others who share their pain or their shame and I want to commend them for their bravery. Because I have been at both ends of that spectrum. Because isolation is something that can creep in slowly or pop up suddenly, even when you think you have been down this road, fought this battle, buried this hatchet and any other possible cliche you can think of to express the act of moving on from the past and putting old hurts to rest. Because isolation is hurt. At least in my world. Nothing prompts me to feel more desolate or desperate than to feel like I have nowhere to turn and no one to listen. Or that I do not have the freedom to share certain parts of myself or my experiences. In other words, feeling cut off from others, introvert that I may be, cuts quickly to my core. Even when my rational, logical brain tells me, of course you have places to turn, isolation can still swoop in and take over. And it is still, always the worst.

Learning to see beyond these moments of "I'm the only one." and "Who can I talk to?" may in fact be a life-long process, but it is one I know, also down to my core, that is worth continuing. Again, finding those trusted advisors and the people who are YOUR people can take time as well as trial and error. Just because moments of doubt or hurt or aloneness suddenly appear (or reappear) does not mean all past work is wasted. There are people out there who will get it, who will listen, who will in fact give care to your heart just as you would do for theirs. There are people who have been before or currently are going through what you now face. Always. We just need to remember that speaking up and connecting with others are worthy causes, even when doing so is scary as hell.

If your heart is something you guard closely (I do not blame you one bit for this; I do the same), keep searching. Keep reaching out. Keep being brave as you dare to find those who will not isolate you because in no one thing are you ever truly alone.

And on that serious note, I leave you with this - giraffe friends. Because they make my heart happy and even in that, I'm guessing I'm not the only one.

My Sunshine

All week long, the whole house has been excited about HD's Kindergarten Orientation, scheduled for this evening. HD was pumped, ready to go see his new (to him - the building itself is quite established) school, and RL (and by association, LT) was excited to get to stay up past bedtime to hang with one of the kids' fave babysitters while B & I took HD to the hour-long program at the school.

On the calendar, totally cool, ready to go for it. So no problem, right?

In the car, driving the handful-plus of blocks to get there, HD told us that he was "excited" and walking the whole way in to the building and through the long halls, everything was still totally fine. He held my hand the whole way but nothing seemed out of sorts.

We entered the classroom where all the kids were gathering and parents were saying goodbye-for-now to head into the gym for our own informational meetings, got HD's name tag on, and then that was it. He crumbled.

In an instant, my smiling super-excited sweet boy started crying, and when I bent down to give him a hug and an "It's OK" he latched on to my neck and would not let go.

Have I mentioned my crazy pregnant lady hormones lately? Yea, I thought so, so you can about guess the two things I started doing instantly when this all went down: tearing up and sweating. The leakiness of motherhood, my friends, is real and it lives on...even when the babe you are dealing with is five-going-on-six and soon to start school.

Now, no one else was having quite the same meltdown trouble that we were, and thankfully Ben was there to help me because had I been solo, I would have been a sobbing mess just like my dear child. I felt terrible that my kiddo suddenly felt scared or nervous or whatever it was that was getting at him exactly, but try as I did, I couldn't get him to calm down; but then, I wasn't exactly feeling so calm myself either at the moment.

Fortunately, there were some friendly and familiar faces coming into the room with their own soon-to-be Kindergarteners and the teachers were also very chill about the whole thing, so after Ben continued to talk HD down and I got some quick hugs and "It's ok!"s from fellow mamas, we were eventually able to give actual last hugs and duck out the door. Talk about unexpected! But wouldn't you know, by the time some other friends got in to drop their kiddo off (we had debriefed just outside the classroom), Harrison was apparently no longer crying. Thank goodness for turn-arounds that come just as quickly as the meltdowns, eh?!

By the end of the night, after the kids came back to join us for a final presentation and sang a goodbye song, HD was smiling again, saying he had a great time, and was willing and able to pose for this picture outside his elementary school, while holding his beautiful creation from the night - a sunflower, which went along with the theme of the name tags, storybook, etc. that was part of tonight's program. Seeing as he is my bright, shining boy, my first sunshine when skies are gray, I found it oh-so-fitting for a night of, yes, rain (and tears), but also the promise of new beginnings.

To The Left (to the left)?!

OK, all you Lefties and Parents-of-Lefties...I need some advice. Since he was old enough for me to pop him up on my hip and haul him around as such, Lincoln has preferred to be on my right side. Always. If I tried to switch him to the left side to balance myself out, or heaven forbid, use my dominant hand to complete a task, he would completely freak out, acting like a little monkey suddenly in fear of being dropped by his mama, crying, yelling, and scrambling back to the right side of me as best he could.

In fact, he still does the exact same thing now, at age 20+ months. I give to you the progression of a typical Oh-NO-You-Didn't! Scramble (which includes, to my horror, but you know, for reality's sake - my own double chin):

This could almost be misconstrued for a smile
which is so not the truth!

On his way!

The D.C. and Linky's true feelings about me trying
to hold him in my left arm. 

So. To all of you with knowledge of Lefthandedness, I ask...is this common? Because Mr. Lincoln is indeed a Lefty, and someone brilliantly suggested to me recently that perhaps he does this because he wants to hold on with his dominant hand/arm (sorry I can't remember who said that and therefore can't give you a proper shout out for said brilliance), so could that be it? He likes right because he uses his left?? 

Pre-yoga, I don't think I would have ever paid attention to this sort of thing, so I have no frame of reference for HD or RL in terms of sidedness. It seems to me that my babies have all preferred the right side to some extent but I figured that was because I tend to that side because it is my stronger one. But hence the need now, post-yoga (wait - not post. what prefix am I looking for there? my brain cells escape me daily thanks to Bambino No.4) to get some darn balance, but no way, no sir, no how - Lincoln's not buying it. 

The glamour shots from above were taken tonight as I tried to make scrambled eggs for dinner and oh. my. You try making eggs using your non-dominant hand! Even of the scrambled variety, it was all just too much so I decided to finally document our little phenomenon and bring it to the people to ask...what is this?! I promise that I've never dropped a baby off my left hip, so why the great aversion to being there? Inquiring minds want to know! 

Field of Dreams?

Lately the hubs and I have been just terrible about staying up late at night. For him it is grading papers from school and the start of baseball season. For me it is the reading, reading, reading quest of my ever-present book list and, on some nights, the mountains of dishes and/or laundry that I've put off for days and finally have to deal with because, you know, people who don't live here are coming to my house the next day and that's about the only thing some weeks that gets me to attack said mountains.

In case you were wondering, the children still get up way too early every day. School also means B & HD have to be out the door bright and early, so why we think staying up late, for any reason, is a good idea is really lost on me. Especially today when I have a jam-packed schedule of teaching but we thought it would be wise to stay up past midnight last night at which point my brain was really on GO! Mode and I should have just kept reading my book because it had to have been close to 2 a.m. before I was finally asleep. Am I rambling? Am I awake? Can't be sure at this point in the day.

All of this is to say, I might be a little out of sorts right now. Ben, too. But we both agreed this morning that we'd have to dig deep today and not let our tiredness turn into pure crankiness, and certainly not directed at the children who would probably prefer us to be more well rested, too (although, if that were really the case, they could also try this fun thing called sleeping in on the weekends. I hear it is great.). Tired and potentially cranky-making factors all considered, we are still at so far, so good for the day. Granted, we've both been caffeinated and were probably counting down the hours until bedtime all day long, but even with self-inflicted sleep deprivation, the Welschies pulled out a pretty good day, in part because we've all been outside, enjoying the fresh, warm air that Spring seems to have (finally) brought for keeps.  Geez - the Faulknerian sentences again. It's like I'm back in Senior Sem at Doane again!

Of course, because this is Nebraska, it was windy again today which kept us close to home this morning, but this afternoon I decided to declare my own little Walk to Work Day which I decided would also be the jumpstart of regular walking that I hope to do from now until the end of my pregnancy. Yoga is awesome, as always, for my body and soul, but since I can't quite do everything I'd like to on the mat right now, I need another way to work and release tension from my physical and emotional states. After today's kick-off, I would say Mission Accomplished, on both accounts.

Since our house is a little over a mile-ish from the studio, I thought walking myself down prior to teaching my second class of the day (prenatal) would be a great idea; the bonus of there being Family Yoga today (i.e. B & the kids would be joining me later and I could catch a ride home) helped. Even with walking into a direct, sometimes rather strong wind, the whole way was enjoyable. It felt good to get moving like that and just be with the thoughts in my head. No music. No phone. No talking. (no books!) I need more of that.

After set up and prep for class, I settled in at the front desk only to realize ten minutes later that no one was coming to join me. This has happened once before since the start of my prenatal class and it just goes to show that even in a town the size of Hastings, getting the word out about a new opportunity can be tricky, especially when said opportunity is directed at such a niche, target audience. I waited a bit longer just to see if any mamas-to-be would breeze in late, but when it was clear I really was on my own for the day, I packed up my things and decided to walk home. If I'd had a book to read, I probably would have stayed there and waited for my next class to start but since The Bump and I enjoyed the walk down, I figured we'd enjoy the walk home, too.

About half-way back, I was trucking along thinking about all the things I could say after surprising my husband by turning up back at home already, some of which included a line of "What am I doing wrong? Why aren't people coming to class?" questions when I quickly realized I needed to stop. Not walking, but that kind of thinking, for sure.

Attendance at a class, whether it is full or a goose egg, is not all about me. There are so many reasons why individuals choose to go to a yoga class (or any fitness class) and while instructor preferences/styles may play a role for some, I know in the end I can only control myself and my actions; I am not powerful enough to control others. And that's a good thing. I don't want to carry that much weight on my shoulders or feel that sort of pressure. I do want to bring my best and strongest offering to each class I teach (yes, even on days after nights that were too late and too short), because that's what I can do - that's what I can control. I can also take ownership of my attitude and response to both full and goose egg days, knowing that so long as I keep showing up, so will others, and again, it is about them, not me.

It was a totally a If-You-Build-It-They-Will-Come-sort-of-pep-talk-to-myself moment.

Before I had gone another block, a helicopter suddenly came into view. It was headed for the helipad at Mary Lanning which I happened to be walking by at that exact time. Along with the intensity of sound that accompanied the chopper, came a huge wave of pregnant-lady-emotions that startled me more than anything. I'm always one to say a quick prayer in my head when I hear sirens (I figure that those at both ends, receiving and giving, need all the good thoughts and well wishes they can get and have been doing this for most of my adult life), and having lived near enough to ML for long enough, I now do the same whenever I hear helicopters, too. Today had to be a first, though, of having one come in to land directly over top of me. Among the rush of thoughts that went through my mind were: "Holy crap. That is scary-loud noise."; "What if that thing is flying in for somebody I know?!"; "I need to call everyone I love and tell them what they mean to me!" (which, for the record, I did not do).

OK. Laugh if you like, because those are some pretty dramatic reactions (may I refer you back to the aforementioned pregnant-lady emotions and lack of sleep???), but my eyes welled up with tears and my throat got super tight as watching the helicopter go over head instantly put everything about the day into perspective. I am blessed that my family has never needed such medical attention. I am blessed to live in a place where I can walk to work without constant fear of fights or gunfire. I am blessed to do work that fills my soul and continues to teach me about life, even when the days do not go as planned. I am blessed.

Thankfully I also had a handful more blocks to go so I could let my weepies and sniffles come and go before I had to take off my sunglasses and talk to other people. The walk gave me just the right amount of perspective, not to mention exercise, and big dose of gratitude. Not bad for a day of running on just four-ish hours of sleep.

Post Script: Day Two of Walking Mama

Day Two after a crappy night of sleep is usually my worst. I'm at my most sluggish, most cranky. Today should have been that day. It doubly should have been that day (wait, triple, because Hi, Monday) as Ben has been gone all evening/for part of the night yet for parent/teacher conferences. PTC nights always mean long days for me because not only am I running herd on the herd all day by myself, but I then have to do supper and bedtime for all three solo, too [to be a single parent? I cannot imagine.]. Because bedtime is so not my thing, these nights sometimes feel extra tedious, especially if I am on a Day Two of Tired.

In today's case, I am grateful for PTC and the rest of the busy week that lies ahead. Because of our hectic schedule this week, I looked in advance for a babysitter who could come today and relieve me for a bit so I could in fact charge through a long day/evening and still have something left for the rest of the week, too. That this foresight happened to help on a Day Two? Well, as Ben says, sometimes it is better to be lucky than good.

Luck also came my way with today's picture perfect spring day weather. Warm sun, gentle breeze, gorgeous smelling trees (although most are a bit overpowering for my pregnant super sense of smell) - the day was begging for a walk. And so, once the sitter arrived and was ready to take on the kids for a bit, I left to go for a walk around the park. Again, no music, no distractions. Just walking and enjoying and even running into a friend on the way home from picking up her own Little from school which was such a lovely bonus - it was all fabulous.

As for the rest of the evening? Well, we spent some time in the yard, ate supper, played a bit more outside (perhaps not the best idea for Lincoln who was super mad at me for then making him come in to get ready for bed), and then did the whole good night thing with very little drama. No one yelled, screamed, or cried. Not even me. ;) Once again, walking saves the day.

The Comeback Kid

I'm beginning to think that Harrison needs a theme song. I may be decent with words, but jingles? Not so much. As of right now, the best I can do is mimic the commercials for the "Priceline Negotiator" and really, we should probably just leave it at that because without a doubt, this kid keeps (and will continue to keep for many, many years) us on our toes at all times with his mad logical skills. I could also quote a Miley Cyrus song, however that would mean admitting to having ever heard sung along with such awfulness, but again, really? He can't stop. And he won't stop. His memory is just too big and his vocabulary seems to be surpassing it on a constant basis.

Classic examples of my little Negotiator who sometimes seems to be too big for his skinny-legged britches (another truth we must face? he's got his daddy's long legs and finding pants that fit is also going to be challenging in the years ahead)? Let me give you a couple gems from, I kid you not, the last 36 hours:

Post-egg hunt at my parents' house on Easter morning, during which the children discovered various outdoor toy goodies left for them by the Easter Bunny along with the plethora of plastic eggs (because, let's face it, the E.B. dropped the ball and so had to rely on some gifts from the grandparents presented in Hunt fashion as opposed to baskets but totally works when your littles are still little enough to believe in things like said E.B.), a bubble blowing machine that the kids found was having a tough time of blowing any bubbles. You can imagine the dismay of a 3 and 5 y/o at such a turn of events, no? The toy had actually been at my folks' for a while, but was still unopened which is why we added it to the morning's loot, so when it failed to work, and we were wondering about the quality of batteries found within, my mom chimed in, "They probably need to be changed. That thing is like three years old." Which instantly caused my dear sweet Harrison to whip his head super fast to look at her and ask (in a pretty accusatory tone for a preschooler, I might add) "How do you know?!?!" Whoops! You got us there, kid!

Fast forward a handful of hours and the Welschies were so close, SO close, to being back home in Hastings, but clearly not close enough as all 5.5 of us had a very long trip back after our long weekend spent in SoDak. B and I thought it would be good to travel post-Easter dinner in hopes that kiddos would nap and we would still get home in time for supper and bedtime and all would be well. Oh, how wrong you can be as a parent.

Nothing awful, exactly, happened on the drive home, but our hopes and dreams of some peace and quiet in the car thanks to snoozing children quickly disappeared not 30 minutes into the drive when HD and RL were having pillow and stuffed animal fights and therefore a grand giggle fest in the back seat of the van, egging each other on to ignore their books and any and all commands, demands, potential rewards and consequences (i.e. losing Kindle. And stuffed animals. And blankets.) coming from B and I at the front of the van, and of course, there was the whole not-sleeping thing. For two type-A/first-borns/planners, this particular defeat was a rough one.

Linky, bless his heart, did sleep on the way home, but only for 45 minutes because then Raegge's bladder, which was also still very much not napping peacefully just like the rest of her, decided we needed to stop which of course woke Lincoln instantly. And we still had well over half of our trip to go. Yay.

So clearly by now, this post has turned from quirky notes about Harrison into full-blown post-vacation tirade on my part, but you know, you needed some background to understand just how done we all were as we rolled back into town late yesterday afternoon....

As we were a mere ten blocks from the sanctuary of our own house, Ben all of the sudden realized that the oldest two were now (playfully, but still) messing around by tugging RL's blanket (which was returned in the acceptance of oh-eff-it-clearly-you-are-not-going-to-sleep) back and forth and saying something about cutting each other. Lovely, eh? So Ben calls out from the passenger seat for them to knock it off and "change their language!" and, without missing a single beat, HD replies, "You mean like change from English to Spanish or something like that?"

I tried. I really, really tried, not to bust out laughing at that, but really? Where does he come up with this stuff?! As I let a big burst of air out of my cheeks, Ben tried to talk over me so the kids wouldn't hear me laughing so hard, and then, finally, blessedly, we pulled into our driveway and moved on to other similarly entertaining but escaping me at the moment shenanigans with The Comeback Kid.

We love him (and his literal/figurative smart mouth) so!