Staying Extraordinary.
Finding myself among the ordinary.
Write first, then you can shower.
That was the incentive I gave myself just now, to sit down and type. I projected myself into the future post-shower version of me; clean and warm and ready to disappear into a book on this overcast and rainy day, soaking up and enjoying the precious few minutes I would have alone before the kids got off the bus and…
No, no. Stop it. Shower, then writing would just not do. It wouldn’t happen.
Because the shower is an incentive at this point. It’s been three days since my last one (I think) and I’m the kind of person that works out hard every day. You do the math. I won’t lie, I’ve used a lot of deodorant and essential oils to mask what’s really going on.
And so it is, after all, that I am just like so many other moms; I have lots to do with little time to do it in, all while being embarrassingly under-showered. On my bad days, I wonder if this is all life is - a metronome of demands and tasks dictated by the tiny humans and the (not-so-tiny) business I’ve created; pieces of the day pulled from me in various directions, often at the same time, from the minute my morning meditation is complete until the lights go out late at night. I’m in a place where I’m willing to admit, it is a lot. And on the days where I don’t seem to have the patience and endurance for it all, it feels like a lot, and I force myself to say “Good!”, with a big smile, when people ask how I am because even though I am not feeling good, no one (least of all other moms) wants to receive a garbage heap of emotions when they were just being polite at preschool drop-off.
On these days, my husband and three kids get the least of me while I wrestle with staying present instead of fantasizing about times past when I lived alone and could wander off into the woods in a pair of running shoes whenever I needed to find myself again. On these days, I just hang on until lights out.
On the good days, though, when the girls sneak off to play chase and my son lays content at ground level with his diggers and for once I know what the fuck I want for dinner and I actually have the ingredients for it, I’m reminded that I’m more than capable of finding myself among the blending boundaries of a bustling family and work life. I’m reminded that I am extraordinary, even while doing ordinary things. It’s so easy to forget, isn’t it?
I peel back the facade of assumptions that others have it easier (They make it look easier on social media, I have to remind myself it’s not).
I name and dismiss the excuses I’ve told myself about doing more (Can I really not write in the afternoon, or would I just rather not?).
I tease out my ambitions into doable tasks that I actually give myself credit for completing (What’s one thing I will be proud of today? Yes, Ashley. Only one. It’s fine. You’ve got a lot on your plate).
And I breathe until I remember to ask myself what all the rushing around is about. Where the hell am I in such a hurry to go?
Because what I really want is right here: time with my family, to actualize my dreams, and real connections with people who can have a good laugh and chill the fuck out after admitting how hard it is to carry all of this. Is that so much to ask for?
For now, though, I really do have to hurry. Because even though I did thoroughly wash my hands (I promise!), I can’t help but think that my hand, which I just rested my chin on as I pondered my writing, smells a tiny little bit like my toddler’s poop.
Definitely time for that shower.