coffee Archives - pnw mountain mommy

Try Some Self Care, They Said

April 16, 2020

I woke up with a vision.

It was sunny, it seemed soft and inviting. Tulips were everywhere, our trees were parading their fresh green leaves around like it was Paris fashion week.

I. Was. Feeling. It.

So I made a grand pronouncement to my family:

“I will be taking my coffee on the deck.”

Everyone was impressed. They didn’t say they were impressed, but I could tell by how they reacted: Ben smiled with a mixture of hope and pity while he grabbed his coffee to go and headed to work. The Cub wailed about how he didn’t want to eat his oatmeal while simultaneously eating his oatmeal, and he couldn’t POSSIBLY go outside with me until he had eaten all of my eggs. The Bay Leaf smiled a big gummy smile and immediately had a blow out.

I was off to a great start.

Once the Cub had eaten all his oatmeal and his own eggs, and then eaten mine, he seemed open to the idea. Once the Bay Leaf had been changed, for the third time this morning, she also seemed game.

With my coffee still lukewarm, I struck out for the sun-washed wooden mecca of my perfect morning. It took three trips. First trip: the Bay Leaf’s baby quilt (handmade by my best friend Eryka who runs an amazing little etsy store which is currently dedicated to making masks instead of quilts). Second trip: My coffee mug and toys for continual baby distraction. Third trip: The Cub’s bike, and consequently, the Cub.

In my vision I sat on the handmade little quilt with my sweet bitty Bay Leaf. She would look up at me with frequent love and adoration, but would mostly just babble at her toys. In my vision the Cub jumped his bike off the little step on our deck and rode around in the sun, occasionally stopping to give me a hug and a kiss and tell me what an amazing mother and best friend I was. He’d offer to freshen my coffee, maybe bake me a scone. I would look out and see the top of Mt. Hood silhouetted in the morning light while I sipped my coffee and smelled all the cherry tree smells.

So, these things didn’t happen.

My coffee got steadily colder as I tried to keep the Cub from running over his baby sister. I waged a losing campaign to keep the Bay Leaf focused on her toys instead of trying to stuff pine needles in her mouth. I had to get up and wrangle Marmot who was barking at the neighbors (who, I’m pretty sure are convinced, I keep a rabid dog for fun).

Despite the often harrowing attempts at keeping the children from self-inflicted injury and choking, I did manage to sit in the sun for a bit. I got to watch the Cub scoot around on his bike and he asked me to take so many slow-mo videos of him my phone died. The Bay Leaf only managed to eat like… three pine needles and possibly an ant. Marmot, despite the ferocity of his bark and the fluffiness of his hackles, didn’t jump any gates and did get in a sun soak.

And I, in great swaths of seconds, managed to look at Mt. Hood and drink my coffee before tearing off after the toddler.

Was it my vision? I mean… no. But, it was nice. I did it. And I even got a kid-imposed workout in there too. Turns out my mom reflexes are still in tip-top shape. Ain’t nobody flying down a flight of wooden stairs on my watch.

Sending love from on top of the hill,

A Scoop of Decaf

April 8, 2020

I recently learned an approach to writing that was new to me. My instructor told me that when I sit down to write, I should empty my head. Seems simple, right? It’s not. It’s not because I have a thousand ideas every day. It’s not because I have things that happen in my life and I think: I have GOT to write about that. Now THAT is something people will love.

To be fair, sometimes I do write out all the things in my head, but those pieces rarely make it onto the blog. A lot of those things are just needing to be said, to get them out of my head, into the universe, unburdening me of their attention seeking.

When I sit down to write now, I release the pressure of expectation and I sit at my laptop, looking out at my cherry tree. I light a pile of christmas lights that sit tangled and pretty to one side of my desk. I put on some writing music (typically a wordless film score) and I sit. I sit and I start typing. A lot of times it starts with the way the light is filtering through the petals or the smell of my coffee. I start there and see where it takes me. Sometimes it doesn’t take me anywhere of profound interest, but it always takes me somewhere I enjoy being. I just let myself see what comes.

This morning I feel jittery. I typically try to mix in a little decaf with my morning brew so it doesn’t get me too wound up. I’m sensitive to coffee. I love it, and with two little kids I need it, but it can make me rapid and distracted. I guess there wasn’t enough decaf this morning, or maybe I didn’t eat enough eggs with toast. The great mystery of April 8th. I’m sure this is riveting…

The jitters are not just in my coffee, the jitters are in the air. I see the jitters in neighbors when we cross the street to avoid being too close. I see the jitters in the way we check the media, eyes half-lidded, as if that might shield us from the worst of the statistics while still giving us the knowledge we need to stay connected.

Rapid heart beats, distraction, an excess of unproductive energy. This is the state of our world, and of our quarantine. I feel it when I miss my parents and my friends. I feel it when I see the refund from the airbnb that was supposed to be our home base for a hike-filled girls trip in Sedona.

It’s not just the coffee…

As we move forward in this new temporary normal, some things begin to fall into place: This constant vigilance is tempered with the routine of the moment. We get up, we eat breakfast, we play with toy bikes, we play in the yard, we watch shows, we go through our day. Activities, rest, snacks, tantrums, repeat. All very humdrum, all very normal.

So that’s our scoop of decaf.

As we continue to move through the day and play and clean and laugh, we help take the edge off. It’s not a large space, our house and our yard. But, when you’re three and seven months, there’s plenty to touch and pick and prod and bike over. As this pandemic stretches on, and as we continue to shelter-in-place, a tempered brew is being poured. It tastes the same, smells the same, exists in the same universe. But it slows me down instead of winds me up.

Sending Love from on top of the hill,

A Laundry List of Little Things

October 7, 2017

There are things I used to take for granted. Things, that, were you to tell me would become beacons of hope, I would worry about my quality of life.

You know.

You know exactly what I’m talking about.

Here’s the compendium of motherhood’s tiny triumphs:

Coffee

Duh. We can all agree (or a lot of us anyway) that coffee is our new parental life blood and to be separated from our morning mug is to court psychosis and possible bodily injury to loved ones when they ask simple questions like: “could you grab <insert anything here> if you’re going upstairs?” or perhaps: “Good morning!”

A Shower

For some reason, I was under the impression that once my baby hit six months, I’d be taking a shower every morning like clockwork. In my sleepless, postpartum blur, I told myself that once my kid was half-way to a year, I’d be living that good smelling, non-greasy life. That… never happened. Sure, I can shower when he naps. He naps two-three times a day but the naps can be anywhere from 25-75 minutes and so jumping in the shower is risky. I’ve all but given up on shaving my legs or blow drying my hair. Also, those naps are precious. Typically, I have to choose between cleanliness or productivity. I could wash the yogurt out of my hair and the drool off my extremities, OR I could wash the dishes, OR I could try and meet a writing deadline. Typically, overwhelmed with choice and not sure which is the most productive, I end up on the couch eating leftover pasta and watching Project Runway.

A Beer

I appreciated beer before I was a mom, but back then a beer was a spontaneous, social thing. Now, the moment that kid is down for the night, I shuffle to the fridge and pull out a beer and take a deep breath while I pop the cap. When I tell you I enjoy that beer? I mean, next level enjoyment. That beer represents a very real distinction between baby time and personal time. I have a few hours between when Little Bear goes to sleep and when I go to sleep, and in those hours I tidy, I write, a lot of times I let my brain slowly drip out my ears while I futz around on Instagram. It’s my time, and my time is greatly improved with a hoppy little sidekick.

A Hobby

Remember that? It was something you did outside of work and family time? Like, a little project you did to pass the time. Don’t laugh. We actually used to have those. I recently decided to try picking that up again. Botanical drawing is something I find lovely and so beyond my capabilities. I can’t draw, at all, but that makes it more fun because I’m starting from the bottom with no illusions that I will actually have the time to get even remotely proficient until I’m sixty and my kids are out of my house. I started it three weeks ago… I think I’ve maybe sketched a dozen petals. In three weeks.

Reading

I used to be a founding member of a book club. I was a literature major. I prided myself on my ability to read every day and knock off books weekly. I realize that sounds like bragging, and I probably did brag about it back then. Yeah. Back then. Now if I’m lucky I can manage to read two pages in bed before my forehead is sandwiched between the text and drool is slowly being absorbed into the pages.

Sleep

I thought I understood my relationship to sleep. I thought a good night was getting eight uninterrupted hours. Now, if I get three hours in a row I feel like an absolute champion. If for some unknown reason my baby decides to sleep longer than that, I have to stop myself from signing up for an iron man I feel so good. The flip side to this, of course, is anytime my baby wakes up before three hours I turn into a sobbing shell of a person who can only rock back and forth while clutching a coffee mug and mumbling incoherently at the wall.

Comfy Clothes

Notice I didn’t say actual clothes. Comfy clothes are a completely different category and, I’ve decided, far more satisfying than traditional clothing. Why wear something with a button and a zipper when you could wear something with an elastic waistband made from angora rabbits, or spun clouds, or llama tummy fur. They’re not ‘pajamas’ because that implies you only wear them to bed. This is all-day baby battle gear. Since you’ll be covered in spit up, pee, splattered puree, and other unknown items, it’s really the only thing that makes sense. You’ll be gross, but you’ll be comfortable.

Partner Small Kindnesses

Your significant other lets you sleep in. Your significant other picks up some food on the way home for dinner. Your significant other makes breakfast. Your significant other tells you you’re looking nice that day. Any of these things before a baby would be gently appreciated. After a baby your significant other is a saint who has never been sexier than when they’re changing a diaper so you can drink your coffee while it’s still hot.

Free Time

I remember this being a fun, relaxed time, where I would fill it with whatever struck my fancy. Now when I’m given a few hours to myself I have no idea what to do. A family member offers to watch the baby for a bit and sets you free to… what? It’s maddening. I spend the first twenty minutes of freedom debating what to do and secretly thinking I should be taking this time to sweep the living room so my baby stops shoving dust bunnies in his mouth. Eventually I’ll settle on something but by the time I get comfy, I’m usually panicked I need to get back and don’t really immerse myself in the freedom. Freedom is now, apparently, terrifying.

Adult Conversation

I still haven’t figured out how to do that. Most of the time when I meet people without children, I stare blankly into their eyes and try to come up with some sort of topic that doesn’t involve weaning or nap schedules. Most of the time I am unsuccessful and watch as their eyes glaze over and they politely begin inching away.

It’s the little things… or maybe the lack of them. Onward and upward, parents. Just take it one, sleepless, lukewarm cup of coffee at a time.