Peace and Plans.

Ironic, that I had a post about parenting triumphs scheduled for publication yesterday, because this weekend had me feeling much more like a flounderer than a victor. Mr. Magpie has been traveling a fair amount the past few weeks, which feels consistent with what friends are saying: COVID restrictions seem to have finally ebbed, and travel has returned. A part of me wants to celebrate this return to normal affairs. Do you remember when we were clawing at the news, pondering whether school, travel, holidays would ever look the same? Beyond that, Mr. Magpie deserves the solitariness — we all do. I think many of us are still unspooling from the pandemic. It has felt like a gradual easing back into things, but with scant latitude to reflect on what’s happened, what we’ve lost, what we’ve gained. I spend a lot of time in reflection, and even I have only a slippery grasp of the matter. Any parcel of time where we find ourselves alone, at a remove, from the homes and lifestyles in which we have lived for the past many years is bound to provide some room to process. So, I want that for Mr. Magpie. Not that he was airing out, exactly, though; most of his travel was work-related, with its attendant stresses and responsibilities. Still, ever the Pollyanna, I want to find the good.

But on a functional level, I have felt ill-rehearsed for these solo parenting sojourns. The first weekend, I scheduled too little, and the days felt enormously long. I spent most of my time in dispute mediation, listening to grievances about “she got the blue cup last time” and “I don’t want his foot on my chair.” The second weekend, I scheduled too much, and was teetering on exhaustion come four p.m. — just when I was heading to yet another activity, and dinner and bedtime still loomed large at the end of the horizon. By the end of this period of travel, I felt drained to the point of ornamental. I could scarcely pony the energy to arbitrate, or worry that micro’s sweater had an enormous chocolate stain on it as we headed into dinner at my family’s club. Well, I did worry about that last thing. But I could also sense the storm brewing, as though a highly-tuned weather sensor, as I contemplated micro’s reaction to me yanking off the sweater I’d bribed him to wear in the first place, dabbing it with detergent and hot water, blotting out the excess, and then placing back over his head. I mean, I could have picked a different sweater, but it was a whole coordinated look that also dovetailed beautifully with my daughter’s outfit. And so I chose to just leave him in it. I know these things are objectively unimportant, but I do take pride in the way my children present themselves, and so this was truly an instance of throwing in the towel.

On Sunday night, as I marched through the usual countdown to bedtime procedures (inevitably met with a chorus of whines and acts of resistance), I sprinted upstairs to ready the children’s bedrooms for sleep: draw the blinds, turn down the covers, turn on the sound machines, dim the lights. In the midst —

*CRASH*

Like the tenured mom I am, I paused to listen first, before responding in any way. I could hear a kind of pouty whine from my daughter and could tell she was OK but that she’d probably broken something. I sprinted back downstairs. She had dragged a decorative and unstable cowhide-topped footstool over to the kitchen counter so she could tell Siri to “play Halloween music,” lost her balance, and grabbed onto our glass cake stand to steady herself. It had smashed on its side, sending shards of glass all over the countertop and floor. Our airedale was blithely trotting through it.

I should have checked to make sure she was OK. I should have consoled her. Accidents happen. And she was just trying to turn on Halloween music, for God’s sake!

Instead, I huffed and puffed around, frustrated that on top of trying to get the children to bed, I was now picking up glass and worrying that our dog was traipsing shards of it through our living room.

Somehow, we got through it, and we got through my son’s bedtime, and as I slipped into my daughter’s room — final stop on the bedtime train — I spotted her crouched on the ground playing with her LOL Surprise Dolls. “I’m sorry, mommy,” said one doll to the other. “That’s OK, honey,” the other replied. My heart sank, then rose. I hated that she was performing an apology, but I loved that it ended so affectionately.

I pulled her into me. I told her that it was OK. That accidents happen. That I had been more upset about the glass breaking than at her. That I expect a lot of her because she is a loving and thoughtful person. I realized at some point that I was talking more in generalities than about the incident at hand. I was talking my way into realizing that I am too hard on her. She nodded, snuggled with me, and then returned to playing.

I went downstairs, sat on the couch, and cried. There were many things I could have done differently, could have done better, this past weekend. As I conducted an audit, I kept returning to this new and uncomfortable insight: I am too hard on her. She seems so mature, and responsible, and lately, I have been calling her “my helper girl,” because that’s what she is. She can nearly always get my son to put on his shoes, finish his breakfast, use the toilet when I cannot. She sets the table. She offers to help carry things when my hands are full. She usually says, “Yes, mama” when I ask her to find her brother, or grab her sweatshirt, or put on her shoes. This morning, my son went ballistic because he wanted the red plate for breakfast, and as I contemplated how to handle the situation given that we had seven minutes to finish eating, get dressed, and get out the door for an on-time arrival at school, my daughter said: “Here, Hill, have mine.”

But she is five. A baby. She looks at me with her knowing eyes, she insists on hearing “the full joke” when my husband and I are laughing about something too mature for her ears, she asks me to read every word on the Nat Geo page, but still, she is just five. I cannot forget that.

It is difficult to feel these truths, and doubly difficult to stare at them in black and white on a page.

But I am learning. One strange truth of motherhood is that it is a journey rather than a place. A mode rather than a role. I dried my eyes and finished my self-assessment the way I always do: by asking, “Do they know they are loved?” Yes. And so I told myself there was nothing to do but make peace with myself, and plans for tomorrow. Peace and plans.

And onward we go —

Post-Scripts.

+I must mention that I had some great feedback coming off the heels of this challenging night. Several moms said: “They remember the good stuff — go easy on yourself.” I hope that is true. I hope they remember the night we had happy meals on the carpet of our living and watched Homeward Bound, the afternoon we spent decorating our home for Halloween, the morning we all cuddled in bed. I found that response very reassuring.

+Related: On my forever desire to make life special for the kids.

+On the emotions of sending a child off to school for the first time.

+An oldie but a goodie: 9 things that surprised me about having a c-section.

Shopping Break.

+I will, of course, be immediately replacing the cake dome / punch bowl she broke. We received it as a wedding gift and it’s been in HEAVY USE for over a decade. We use for its intended purposes, and also as a fruit bowl.

+OMG! These $100 black velvet flats are beyond adorable with the little bow!

+Two seriously fun sweaters: this Ba&sh and this SEA.

+Obsessed with the color of these burgundy taper candles for a holiday tablescape.

+Love this look from head to toe: VB top and Paige bottoms. Or, a variation I’m planning to put together with two items I own: this Alemais top, these pants.

+Did you all see HHH’s puffer jackets?! SO cute and actually designed to be highly functional/performance-oriented. (You can ski in them!)

+Adorable recipe box.

+Another great fall floral blouse for under $150.

+OMG, this Lego lunchbox!

+A few children’s items I’m loving today: this Boden sweater, this plaid mini skirt, and these navy Vans I just bought for micro.

+I also did a big shop at J. Crew for some extra fall basics for children — they’re running crazy promotions, with some sale items an extra 70% off. I bought mini this cord skirt to wear with this turtleneck (she’s going to love the pattern) along with a few of their heart tees and leggings. For micro: this, this, this, this.

+Obsessed with these placemats.