My People

Some of you remember back in January when my back locked up on me and I was unable to pick up my baby let alone move. Well, out of the blue last night, it started happening again. I woke up this morning barely able to move, with two littles to take care of. And while Lu is helpful! she can't very well pick her 26 pound baby brother up. As I slowly made my way upstairs to get Declan, I had a sudden craving for a Kicker from Dutch Bros. For some crazy reason I thought it would make me feel better.

I made it down the stairs with the baby, praying every step of the way that my back wouldn't seize up. I got the kids breakfast and slowly started the process of making my coffee. Irish cream, half and half, espresso... I sat down. Sort of. It actually felt better to stand. I sipped my coffee and despite my hopes, it didn't make me feel any better. 

How was I going to make it through the day? Tony's at work and I couldn't even take the baby upstairs for the nap he so desperately needed. But it had to be done. I opened the baby gate and followed behind Declan as he crawled up the stairs. I stood by the crib for a good five minutes waiting for him to get close enough to snatch him and lay him down. Success. So what if he's going to sleep with a pan from the play kitchen and banging it on the bars of the crib? He was in bed.

After making it back down the stairs, after about ten minutes of trying to figure out how I was going to make it through the day, Tony walked through the door. My savior. That's when the tough mom facade went out the window and the real pain set in. He helped me to the bed and here I lay, teary eyed, realizing why my coffee drink didn't make me feel better. 

You see, it wasn't the drink. It was the hands that brought it to me last January when my back gave out on me. It's my people. My people that gathered around my family and lifted us up with meals, and coffee and true love. You know you are. And today, know that you are missed, not just for the coffee you brought, or the meals you prepared, but you. You are missed, I didn't know how truly blessed I was with your friendships until I was gone.

Employed.

As most of you know, I had a job interview last week to be a barista at a coffee shop.  The interview was interesting. For starters, I had never been on the opposite side of the spectrum, in terms of age. The interviewers were in their mid 20's, and here I was, trying to hide my gray hairs. It went smoothly, they seemed like really sweet people. Perhaps a bit too hipster for me in that the experience of drinking coffee has brought them to tears before. But who am I? I've seen credit card commercials that have brought out the shaking sobs in me before. 

I left feeling confident. I'd spent most of my early twenties making and serving coffee. I can do it in my sleep. And the sheer thought of doing it again reminded me of my youth, and a more simpler time. Jim with his decaf orange spice tea, Tom with his huge world mug filled with our drip of the day, leaving about an inch of room for cream. Jackie with her one shot decaf, extra hot, extra foam, nonfat chai tea. The regulars, the conversation, the feeling that I am an important part of those people's days... Okay, I'm not in complete denial, we all know it was the beverage that was the important part, but still.

3 days a week. Two weeknights 6pm-midnight and Sunday mornings 8am-2pm. Those were the hours they threw around when talking about the position. I could do that. Tony would be home and I wouldn't have to worry about someone watching my kids. Lets be real, the job wouldn't pay for someone to watch my kids! I got home and cuddled with my baby. As I say there, something stirred in me, I shoved it down. I was excited. I could potentially have a life outside of my children. Which was something I somewhat longed for. I love my kids. They are my life. But I didn't want to lose who I am and the. Wake up 18 years from now with an empty nest and an identity crisis.  

Later that night as I put Declan in his jammies and sat down to cuddle and rock with him before laying him in his crib, that thing began to stir again. Maybe it was the Beatles lullaby music on the CD player, or the burrito I had for lunch, but this time I didn't ignore it. What was I doing? Sitting here, snuggling this little man, giving him my undivided attention, was one of my favorite parts of the day. Wy would I give this up? He's not ready, I'm not ready. What am I doing? 

Now I know there are moms out there who are thinking, "it's guilt. Don't you think if you just weaned him that he would be fine?" Yes, I could wean him, and he would be fine, but that's not the point. It's not even about nursing. It's about the fact that when I had one baby, sure I could wean him and go out and get a part time job and have little problem knowing Daddy was home putting him to bed at night. But he isn't my first, or my second, or even my third. He's my fourth. And do you have any idea how nonexistent his one on one time with me is? That time before he goes to sleep at night is the one and only time during the day that he gets me, all of me. It's sacred and I'm not willing to give it up. Not yet. 

So I made up my mind, unless the job was one shift on Sunday morning, I wasn't going to take it. 

So when the call came on Saturday and the guy on the other end said, "so you want a job?" My response was, "It depends. What hours are you offering?" And to my surprise, he responded with, "What hours do you want?" 

A short conversation later, I'm happy to say, I will be a contributing member of society on Sunday mornings. Call it a blessing, call it what you will, but I didn't compromise what I thought I wanted for what my family needed. And I'm okay with that. In fact, I'm more than okay, I'm happy.