I love coffee, any coffee. Except coffee that's really sweet and milky or creamy. I like coffee: Dunkin' Donuts, Starbucks, Trader Joes, Folgers, whatever. With gratitude and anticipation, I enjoy every cup of coffee I drink. Well, until this morning.
This is a cup of coffee.
After one very confusing sip of coffee this morning, I thought, "This stuff tastes like WATER!" Literally, water, warm, caramel colored water. What the ... Feeling like I had absolutely no choice in this situation, I was forced to walk back to the kitchen and empty my cup into the sink."This is crazy!" I thought. "Now, I am going to have to *make* coffee in a coffee pot!?" "But .... *this* is so much harder than using aKeurig. Isn't this why I have a Keurig, so that making coffee can be even easier than the 30 seconds it used to take? For God Sakes, it's Saturday morning, I just woke up. It's 10:45 AM.", I passionately implored to no one in particular.
Option number two.
As I resigned myself to the task at hand, I noticed the culprit, an unused K-cup just sitting there on my counter, staring at me (snob). Regardless, there it was, chilling out next to Keurig."Magic?", I thought. I then realized that I accidentally used the K-cup that was in the machine from the previous use and never used the new K-cup to make my first cup of coffee of the day. Mystery solved. But this is still a lot of work and it's 11:04 AM on a Saturday morning right now! "Who do these machines think I am? Superwoman!?"
Denial. This is a good one. Takes its job very seriously - disallowing your mind from going to that place where it really wants to go, the same place that causes unending anxiety. Denial will erase - or redirect - your thoughts to something else: the capture of Whitey Bulger, the Casey Anthony trial, or the fact that Ann Taylor Loft is offering 40% off of everything via your new favorite coupon Web site. After the birth of my second son, I am embarking upon my final two weeks of maternity leave. I am sick-to-my-stomach as I think about this transition from stay-at-home mom of a newborn baby to a working mom of a newborn mom and a toddler making denial my closest confidant right now.
Like so many mothers who have to go back to work full-time after the birth of their children a multitude of emotions permeate our reality: guilt, loss, sadness, regret, resentment, anticipation, and fear. Less than an hour ago I returned home from a wedding shower luncheon for one of my favorite co-workers. Today is a Thursday, so the gathering took place during lunchtime at my place of employment. I dropped my oldest (2.10 months years old) off at my sister's house for a play date and took my youngest (12 weeks old) with me to the party. This was not the first time I have been back at work since I had the baby. Once before I took both kids to the office to see everyone. I am fortunate to have amazing, supportive, caring, funny, and really cool co-workers, and, so, I genuinely want(ed) to see everyone and hear how they were doing and, of course, to celebrate the upcoming wedding of my lovely colleague.
But.
The whole time I was there - and still over an hour later - I have a pit in my stomach that won't go away. I am sick, literally nauseated, at the thought of going back to work, of leaving my baby, my babies. Run away is what I want to do. Hop on a plane with my husband and the two kids and leave the northeast for somewhere cheaper and more hopeful - a state, a community where I can have the option of working part-time or not at all just for a year or two. Reality sets in. I can't leave. No where to go - right now. Two weeks. This is what I have and this time must be savored, like an expensive, gourmet meal that I can't afford or pronounce, or, even see for that matter because it so small sitting on my large, white dinner plate. Instead it will be voraciously devoured like a hungry, postpartum mother who has not eaten since breakfast who only realizes this at dinner time.
Denial will keep me company in the meantime. During meal time, nap time, fun time, all day, all night, every day, every night until the day I get up, take a shower, and start my new, old life as a working mom.
My son tells me to "be the buffalo" in his energetic and hopeful 22-month old voice. "Mama, be the buffalo! Be the buffalo!", he screams in delight, again and again.
"Be the buffalo" is a term I taught him after reading an article in Oprah. Apparently when buffalo sense a storm coming, instead of running the other way - in an effort to escape the impending weather - they run right toward it. By facing their fears and going right through it, they get to the other side - faster and having used less energy than if they tried to circumvent the inevitable.
This phrase has become my mantra throughout the last six weeks. "Be the buffalo" I'd repeat to my little boy while performing a super-over the top version of Tina Fey, doing Sarah Palin, equip with the wink and the twinkle. He loved it and so did I. The perfect dinner-time banter between a mother and son. He'd laugh, which would make me laugh, which would remind me to laugh more. It also reminded me to think about what I needed to run through after he goes to bed and after I have washed the dishes. What tasks/projects/conversations/decisions have I been putting off?
Procrastination is not something that has even been much of an issue for me. During school I never waited for the last minute to write papers or study. I always buy and send birthday cards, Congratulations cards, Just Because cards right on time. Clutter has also never plagued me, in fact, it freaks me out and is something that I avoid on a regular basis. But even we, borderline OCD-quality house-keeping fanatics, have some domestic projects we put off - in lieu of others that are more pertinent or desirable, like cleaning the toilet. Really. Cleaning the toilet or bathroom, which is something I do several times a week, and is significantly more enjoyable to me than cleaning my bedroom or even worse .... my closet.
While being the buffalo, I have purged, cleaned, and organized my drawers, my closets, separating clothing by color (as well as a color-blind woman can) and function. Next I tackled kitchen junk drawers. Then on to the Cd's that needed to re-filed (alphabetical and by genre - what am I an animal?) and the pile of documents that needed to be shredded. Not all of the looming tasks were related to clutter though, some involved starting or completing tasks or projects that have been put off for way too long, like beginning the process of re-applying for Irish citizenship and starting a blog.
So, here I am at 9:13pm having just checked one more off that ever evolving To-Do list after 11 hours of work outside the home and what is next for this animal impersonator? No more buffalo being for me tonight. No more purging or writing. Reading, maybe. TV watching, possibly. Sleeping certainly.
