we don't get to burn the other hats

a solo parenting week, process explosions, and attempts at a fancy sunday dinner.

Julia Child’s Boeuf Bourguinon is slow cooking with 3 hours to go in my oven right now. This is mostly because I miss my sister. She makes it on Sundays sometimes when I visit her up north. My first wish when I woke up today was that I could sit down to dinner with her, we could all eat waayyy too many of her homemade rolls (I get to eat them at her house because I’m on vacation), and then tromp around in the mud while looking at her cows. I also very much needed something delicious today, and the good feeling of a recipe completed; simple steps followed that will hopefully lead to something warm and delightful. Fingers crossed on that one; I also survived Costco, with two kids in tow, on a Sunday morning (those who know know) and purchased a new dutch oven, to cook said Boeuf Bourguinon, which seemed suspiciously subpar during the browning stage.

If it doesn’t turn out, which irrationally would feel like the saddest thing ever today, I may just sit and cry…true story. No pressure Julia but it’s been a week over here.

Here’s the thing; I was acting, directing, catering, prop assisting, and producing the solo-mom show this week. In case you missed it, you can catch episodes again next week from 6am-8:30pm, Monday thru Friday, with no commercial breaks. The story line gets a bit repetitive but the characters are sweet and endearing. And before you start wondering what my relationship status is, my partner’s work has nutso hours, so I run things solo when he gets television gigs, but most of the time I’m living the vida loca with a handsome and funny guy who also happens to be an amazing dad.

My goal for the week was balance and sanity. I determined that I would set aside my routine; there just wasn’t going to be time. This is the routine I’ve had for the past four months where I get up early and I wear one hat, just the one me hat, for a few hours. I make several cups of tea and read and write and spend time on the work of being a wholehearted somewhat functional human. Let me tell ya I did not want to set this aside. This idea in fact terrified me. But I saw no other way to survive the week without having to give the mom show a PG-13 rating for “intense moments of emotion” i.e. mother breaks down sobbing because she didn’t get to think a thought on her own or write one word down on paper.

And here’s the extra special rub…we, horror of all horrors, still co-sleep with our three year old; she wakes up at 6:30am, and there’s no way to sneak out when you’re solo parenting (even mission impossible style, crawling on your belly across the floor — which I’ve tried) to go write, drink tea, or read a chapter in a book that makes you smile. This would be a disturbance in the force that she instantly detects and if that warm body isn’t within arms reach the whole thing blows up and now EVERYONE is awake and the day has started at 4:30am.

And so I surrendered to the truth that the only hat I’d be wearing would be the mom hat for a whole week. The idea of wearing this hat nonstop worried me but it has sparkles on it and some pom poms glued to the sides and perhaps a booger or two smeared on the edge for good measure.

They do this; they actually wipe their boogers on me. I looked down the other day and I had three white sticky gooey boogers, clearly visible to anyone, on my left shoulder. They had just been sitting there for who knows how long while I walked through the world. I thought it was playdough. It was not.

So my friends here’s what happens when you only wear one hat at a time. First you feel like a genius (definitely patting yourself on the back) just knowing you’ve made a noble take one for the team decision. You start to think that perhaps this is the way to live your whole life; compartmentalize the shit out of it. You think maybe I’ll just write when my children don’t need me, I can work out on the weekends, or I’ll grab some “me” time later. You hear yourself saying this feels way more peaceful than a usual Monday. Hey, look I’m not my usual glitchy self. And then after about 30 minutes (yup, it’s that fast) you start to spin out. Because while you’re making peanut butter toast with bananas and honey (that your youngest child still won’t eat even though it’s amazing) you’re also thinking about that story you read that you wanted to finish, and where you’re going to move, suddenly anger pops up out of nowhere that your partner doesn’t clean the bathrooms more often, and you feel sad because you still haven’t taken that pottery class and learned how to make bowls…you’re just a little top spinning around in your kitchen, holding plates of food, but actually on a different planet thinking all the thoughts that didn’t get their time.

The thoughts need their time. Preferably spilled out onto a page as words or pictures. At least mine do. Lordy lord lord do they need their time.

Lesson learned. We don’t get to burn the other hats because it makes the wardrobe simpler. Also, slowing down and being present for our kids can’t mean shutting down the parts of us that keep us lit up; even if it’s just for a week. Because the practice and process of tuning into ourselves before we attempt to run the show is a non-negotiable. Without it we are left adrift, incoherently cranky and possibly (it almost happened) crying over meat that didn’t brown the way it should have.

Season 2 of the mom show is running next week. It’s gunna be a nail-bitter. I don’t really know how it’s going to work out, but I’ll definitely be tuning in and sharing any wins.