Grateful?

Today, I don't feel very grateful--I feel more... annoyed. Annoyed Jeff has to work the entirety of another weekend (this is the third one in a row). Annoyed by the uncertainty of preparing our faculty for the fall. Annoyed by the insane heat. Annoyed by being limited in where we can go and what we can do.

Deep breath. (Or, as Lily calls them, "balloon breaths"--the ones where my palms go facedown on top of hers faceup, and we let our arms expand up and down as we pause and breathe.)

It's not that I'm not allowed to feel annoyed--or robbed of the summer or angry at COVID or frustrated by figuring out another weekend night on my own with Lily. But it is important for me to put these things in perspective.

As a mom, I constantly worry--constantly--about whether I'm doing enough for my daughter. Any moment that isn't social media worthy (not that I'm on social media in the first place) feels like a failure, and it's magnified 1000 times by my own anxiety. But if I can step back for a moment and take a few balloon breaths, maybe I can see that she's doing just fine.

Maybe, by posting it here, you can help reassure me she's doing just fine?

As I type, she's in the "play office" (that room I partially took over once distance learning became a reality), happily orchestrating some complex situation where Noah's Ark rescues animals, then takes them to the PlayMobil aquarium to rehabilitate.

Her hair is wet from the pool Jeff MacGyvered out of a Trader Joe's watermelon cardboard box and a $20 tarp from Home Depot--the spot where she's spending several hours each afternoon in these days laden with heat indexes and advisories.

When we've come up short with ideas of things to do these days, we turn to the Summer Bingo card I made for Lily; with each 5 squares complete (which don't have to be in a row), she earns a prize. At 5 squares, she had a nail painting party with mom, and the grand prize of 25 squares is a "Lily's choice" day: she determines everything, from what Jeff and I wear, to what we eat for each meal, to all activities.

So far, she's knocked out items like making her own lunch, baking from-scratch blueberry muffins, and creating a nature scavenger hunt for me and Jeff. In fact, she just finished her tenth square this morning, so Jeff and I will spend tomorrow morning being soaked in a "Water Balloon Fight with Mom and Dad," which is the prize for that milestone.

Miraculously, in spite of all that is happening, she still has been able to make summer memories with her closest friend in the neighborhood, whether they're dipping into a backyard pool (an actual inflatable one this time) or out catching fireflies past their bedtimes.

(For those of you keeping track, that's just these two little girls, growing up too fast. :)

And yet--in spite of all of this--even in the most mundane moments, when Lily listens to an audiobook for hours on end and colors while I spend time on a long Zoom call, it's easy for me to feel like I'm not doing enough, planning enough, or being enough for her. The voices that tell me she hasn't yet done her sight word flashcards today or hasn't read me a book or hasn't practiced her lowercase letters can scream so much more loudly than the ones that say, "you're doing the best you can."

But I AM. I'm doing the best I can every minute of every day. I'm helping raise a child who is silly and creative and thoughtful. I'm taking care of myself by reading a book or watching an old season of Project Runway. I'm knocking out the laundry and the grocery shopping while Jeff is at work to maximize our at-home time together.

Thanks for helping me see that, friends. I have no idea at this point who--if anyone at all--may still be reading these posts. But writing them is like chatting with those who I know used to check in on them, and that's a comfort.

I'm grateful for what I have and for you.