Mom comes first. No matter what.
Day 2’s euphoria at having help and watching my sons thrive under the loving care of others dissipated into reality. My sons are squirrely, their misbehaviors appear around 4 pm – Will disrobes, Jeff, well, the hands get way too busy where they don’t belong- and my demons whisper that I’m not good enough at any life role.
I vowed to make a change on Day 3. I put two important feet solidly on better ground.
Firstly I wrote in this blog. My new rule is that work writing doesn’t count. Even if zero humans read this blogly screed, it’s like yoga. My words float to join a giant Om chanted by thousands of special needs parents. Like me, we’re trying hard to make it through unchartered waters. CalI me crazy, but could feel their gentle vibration throughout my day. Telling me I wasn’t alone. That I would make it. My sons would make it. Indeed the world would make it and we’d all grow phenomenally from even the uphill slog days on this shared trail.
Secondly I booked an online fitness class at my daughter’s studio, replacing my usual Wednesday night Pilates class. Those who know me know my daughter’s studio is pole dance and fitness-focused. Thankfully no poles were required in the class – just a yoga mat and two water bottles as weights. Also I had the option of joining by audio-only instead of broadcasting my midriff across the World Wide Web. Which the heavens must have felt was verboten since my videocam wouldn’t work on Zoom, and thus the universe was spared the sight of this mother of three’s abs.
My daughter forewarned me it was a tough class. If i was winded, probably everyone else was, too. Not to worry. Just do your best, she said.
Amazingly – I ACED THE CLASS! Me – little old me. By far I was the oldest classmate. Excepting a 4-minute bouncy cardio warmup that reminded me to watch my half-meniscus knee, the format was simply eight common yoga and Pilates moves, done for one-minute intervals each, three times in a row. I side-plank all the time, and routinely flow common yoga moves like a Down Dog into a physical mantra to match the mental one. At one point I heard the instructor commend one of the video-broadcasting young-uns for lifting her free hand as a advanced side plank variation, while unbeknownst to the class I lifting both upper leg and hand, an even more advanced variation, and sustaining it for a minute.
Day 3 gifted me with an epiphany. I am strong. I am especially strong for admitting I’m weak, and need self-sustenance, the kind words of others, help with my sons. Confession: my sons’ daily schedule strip selfishly also gives me what I need – a structured mix of work toward goals, creativity, good food, cleanup and movement. At yoga class we call this balance. On Day 3 I call it Sanity.
I suspect the days beyond may not all be so bright. In sharing with other special moms online and in a few conf calls I did, I almost feel guilty for having such fabulous help with the boys the past two days, such that I wasn’t over the edge.
The challenge for me is to remember all of this. That’s part of the purpose in being here with you on this page. Like many moms I put everyone else’s needs ahead of mine – a really stupid character flaw that easily spirals into the dark place. In being accountable publicly, I’m determined to keep my feet on the most important trail of all – the journey to a better me, the one that holds others’ hands as together we reach views of majesty.