Begin again

I am sitting crosslegged on the tiled floor of my bathroom, earbuds in ears, meditation app opened on my phone. BG has been in bed for 30 minutes and has come to see me 3 times already in that time. She didn't like the book she was reading. She missed me. She wanted to help with the laundry.

LS is asleep, moments after I put her down probably given the fact that we were at loopiness level 10 by bedtime. DH is in the basement working on a woodworking project.

I am on the bathroom floor. The door has a lock. I haven't meditated in months. I'm ready to begin again.

And then BG starts to wail from the top of the steps. I take off my earbuds. I climb the stairs.

"Mommy, I'm scared. Because I lost that bracelet when we went on the trip."

"You're sad? Sometimes I feel sad when I lose things too."

I lie down with her. I listen. I snuggle. I shut off her light.

I go back to the bathroom floor. Begin again.

I haven't written in too long. This morning, I opened my journal, and filled two entire pages with iterations of "It's been too long, too long, too long."

Begin again. And again. And again. It's all I can do.

I am.

One week, a few years ago, my kids and I watched Mary Poppins followed immediately by Sound of Music. For about a month, they both had moments when they sounded like Julie Andrews.

I'm not going to lie, I didn't hate it.

For the past week, I've been listening to and reading a lot of Liz Gilbert's, Glennon Doyle, and Jen Louden. So forgive me if I have moments when I sound like a wise woman.

This morning, I sat in a coffee shop and wrote while my daughter was at Lego class. Fifteen minutes on the prompt "I am" and ten minutes on "I want."

It was hard. I don't know anymore who I am or what I want. I haven't listened to myself in a long time. But that's why I need to do the work.

I am a healer. I am a teacher. I am a writer. I want to put good out into the world, to share love and peace, to create, and I want to be less attached to that happens to it after.

I want quiet. I want kindness. I want presence.

And a funny thing happened. My timer went off, and I closed my journal and picked up my littlest. She looked up and said "Mommy!" And ran to the door with a smile. And I ran to her with the same smile. And when she wanted to dance outside the door before going to the car, I watched and clapped. And when she said it was my turn, I danced. Then we went to the car, listened to Moana, and both sang at the top of our lungs. 

One of my favorite poems is "Poetry" by Nikki Giovanni. It contains the lines

It only says

I am

And therefore

I concede that you are too.

That's what I need. That's what my kids need. That's what the world needs. I am. You are too.