Normal

Santa Cruz still feels like a ghost town sometimes.  Even over a year into all of this. But tonight, I saw teeny glimpse into a life more normal.

I pulled up to a stoplight and noticed two twenty-something girls standing in front of a restaurant awkwardly trying to take a selfie. They were struggling to get the restaurant sign and both their faces in the photo. I was watching them in a daze, slightly amused, when I realized the guy in front of me was sort of heckling them.  I couldn't hear what he was saying, but all of a sudden he did a quick a U-turn and pulled up to the curb.  He hopped off his bike, grabbed their phone, took a great photo, high-fived them and managed to turn back around before the light turned green.

It filled my heart with so much warmth I almost teared up. I realized it had been entirely too long since I'd seen spontaneous human connection and strangers being kind to one another.

Birds and the Bees

My little one is three years old and, of course, overflowing with questions. 

Today's big one: "Mom, I know you had a baby in your tummy, but HOW does the baby get in your tummy?"

"Well, Daddy helped put a baby in my tummy."

"Oh. But how did he put it in there?"

I will spare you the details, but I did my best to briefly and easily explain how it works. She seemed relatively interested and processed some of it, but then returned to jumping off my bed showing me how she could "land with no hands!".

Then she stopped and said, "Yeah, yeah, yeah...but how do you find the husband?"

Super valid. Definitely the hardest part of the equation. 

Trees, thank you.

On our way to school everyday, Zoë re-enacts a handful of pretend scenarios. I’m a bear, she comes to visit my cave. I’m Teacher Samantha, she’s Teacher Samantha’s son. Or we pretend we’re flying in Dad’s plane to see Papaw and Memo. “Not tooooo high, Dad!”

Today was a little different. She was oddly quiet and then softly spoke up.

“Mom? I need to tell the trees something.”

“Okay.”

“Trees?” She paused briefly as if waiting for them to respond. “Trees, thank you for blocking the sun. When we drive past you, you keep the sun out of my eyes. Thank you.”

Her appreciation made me take a moment to thank them as well. For their beauty and for their resilience this year.

Heart. Melted.

At the end of today (living in 2020/21 as a baseline - something we can all agree is already a low bar), I struggled through witching-hour meltdowns, dinner time negotiations and never-ending dirty dishes.  

I made it to the finish line of bedtime and transitioned right into having a tame argument with my husband while I made "adult dinner".  All while listening to our youngest cry it out as she fell asleep. We've come accustomed to tuning it out.  (And, realistically, it never lasts longer than 4 minutes.)  But tonight, the four minutes felt especially long.  

As mothers do, I was watching butter melt to the perfect consistency to pan fry fish, explaining my frustration to my husband and "sink-defrosting" said fish-to-be-cooked.  All while in the background hearing my toddler start singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to the screaming baby.

And that's when it broke. My heart. 

My sweet, albeit <sometimes> annoying  three-year-old was being so sweet. So genuine. So helpful.

My girl. My heart. My love.

Validation

 Picking up kids from school is the best. On a good day, they run to you with arms wide open and scream: "Mahhhm!"

Today was extra special though. I showed up as Zoë's teacher was asking her to help clean up. She started to run out of the yard to say hello and her teacher reminded her to finish helping. She agreed and started gathering all the balls to put them back in their bucket.

As she gathered, she said, "Hi Mom! I'm helping."

"Good job, Zoë. Good teamwork."

"Yeah, I know, Mom. Hey mom, did you bring my fruit snack I wanted?"

"Yep, it's in the car"

"Yay! You remembered!"

"Sure did."

There was a small pause as she reached down to grab the last ball. As she stood up...she stopped, looked right at me and in the most genuine voice I have ever heard from my child, she said, "You're a great mom."

I giggled at first; as you do at all things toddlers say. But she just stared at me.

My heart warmed and I could feel a tiny space fill with much-needed light. I had no idea I needed to hear it. 

But I did.