It's My Practice
We just got into the car; we’re maybe a block from home. And Tate starts in, again. She’s whining about not getting banana chocolate-chip pancakes for breakfast. Very quickly my mind starts rattling, I should’ve never started making those. No-one ever made me breakfast when I was little; it was ‘fend for yourself’ in my house. She’s going on and on about how we really did have time, but that I just didn’t want to make them. About how we never have them anymore (though it’s been maybe a week). I’m quickly combusting inside. This girl needs to learn how to put frozen pancakes into the toaster oven. She has no idea all that I do as a single mom. I’m easy to anger today; I’m so tired having been up all night with the sick pup and don’t think I’ve done anything for myself in days - or has it been years? I feel like I’m gonna blow.
I hit the brakes a little harder than I needed to, for the dramatic affect (shoot - still so damn imperfect; I know this is wrong) and put the car into park. I tell her firmly, “I’m gonna get out for just a minute. I’ll be right here and I’ll be right back.” “What? Nooooo, don’t go out there without me, Mama, waiiiiiit”. I tell her to stay put, that she can see me out the window and I shut my door on her voice. That voice I typically can’t get enough of.
I groan moan a hard, long exhale. The fourth or fifth time, adding horse lips, while shaking out my arms. Then, I take this practice into a walk around the car. Her big eyes watch me, always. I can feel them like glowing beauty marks on my back but I don’t look. I’m desperate to be alone for these thirty seconds. I feel my feet steadily and slowly on the pavement. I try to feel each step. Miss a few as my heart is racing. I keep shaking it out. Especially my wrists now; they’re all over the place, floppy …
Having found my breath, I crawl back in quietly. Immediately, she starts crying, that sensitive, precious being I live for. I turn around and explain calmly that I just needed to ‘shake it out’ and breathe for a minute because I didn’t want to get really mad. “I’m sorry to have scared you when I stopped the car so fast. That was not nice.” Tate nods, crying slightly more. “I needed to get out. Moving my body helps me when I feel overwhelmed and like I might lose my temper. It’s my practice.”
Though still sad, and mad, she looks away. As I put the car into drive, I repeat to myself that Yes, I’m a super messy example for her, but I’m learning. And growing. That was a good idea; I’ll do it better next time. After we’re more than halfway to her class, I look in the rearview mirror and ask, “Please, darling, try and think about how lucky you are to eat all the yummy, homemade foods Mama makes all the time. Being grateful is also an important practice.”
