It’s a Thursday morning, a week ago. I am trying to get my kids loaded into my white Rav4.

I’m running late.

On a meeting I scheduled.

With my new Boss.

He is a brilliant new CEO with all the potential to become a significant world leader. I have an agenda on this day, A) train my new nanny without laughing too hard. I am not the person to have “a nanny” and yet 7Am showed up and so did she. (Thank God.) As long as she keeps showing up every day, I can actually tackle this job. B) I’m trying to explain the rush of the morning to OUR Fabulous Nanny-Nina, that’s right we’re those white people who hired a bilingual nanny and yes, she is teaching my kids Spanish.. I’m working on Rosetta Stone, French AND Spanish presently. My mind is running a million hours a minute. I am literally talking to her, while explaining drop off,  my six-year-old’s habit of literally taking F-O-R-E-V-E-R  to do anything and you have to stay on top of her,  and simultaneously feeling a little bummed out.

I had planned to bring goodies to the office for the staff as a “welcome” but my 15-month-old decided to spend our last week of mommy-and-me time cutting SIX molars and getting a sinus infection… and just like that, those grande ambitions to be the “best Executive Assistant” before I even start go floating out the window. I have a slobbery, drooly, very VOCAL child on my hands.. even as I am learning my bosses new “pace”, answering emails and prepping with the office, I have a screaming almost-toddler in my face making sure I hear Every. Single. Opinion about what the hell is happening in her head. Nanny-Nina takes the Little One and loads her as we keep chatting at light-speed to try to make up for our lost time when my 6-year-old slams the car door on my middle finger.

Now…. the LAST time I had my finger slammed in a fucking car door, My older brother did it. It was a common occurrence for my little fingers to be packaged in ice from the age of about 3 to 4. Luckily, I learned really quickly that falling flat on my face in an effort to “hop” out of the car, was a wiser choice than touching anything on the frame of the car, for assistance… it’s like the little beast waited for the opportunity to literally see them touching the car, and smash them. HULK SMASH!

So now, fast-forwarding 26 years… it’s been a little while since I have had to recover from such an unexpected blow. It doesn’t matter how little or large the fingers are, in fact I think little fingers get off the hook because they are smaller to pull out as you are sitting there, feeling like Rapunzel in Tangled, and determining “do I just pull it out or push them gently through”. The decision is made automatically and before I know it, I am almost a grown woman, hopping up and down, hitting the pavement with my other hand, anything to not FTFO (freak The Fuck OUT) in front of my kids and new nanny. It doesn’t work. I have a face, freshly painted with Bobbi Brown Make-up.. it’s 7:45am, so I know every woman out there knows what time I had to arise in order to make that happen. The tears are threatening to spill out from behind my eyes… I decide I only have one option… Find a way to laugh. Now.

So I start talking about my brother.. I remember how much my eldest reminds me of him, how most of the time, that’s a blessing to see such a sweet spirit fostered instead of squelched. Thriving, not fearful.. I see so much hope in that little face.. and yet I know, she reminds me of my brother for a reason. She just doesn’t think the way I do, and that’s ok… just foreign because she came out of me, and acts like the person that I least understand as an adult. Makes parenting a little tricky. Especially when I see reason for sayings like “the beatings will continue until Morale improves” but know that is not the way to get through that thick little skull of hers.

It’s a tricky balance. One I work on every day. It’s probably one of the main reasons I am so damn grateful to have a nanny-nina.. because I am not one of those “moms” who thrives in the “at-home” setting. I’ve been squelched. Well, now that’s interesting.. starting to understand my brother a little more.. and that means I already have all the tools to figure out my kid. I just need to think harder. Find a better creative solution that meets her needs.. and now that Mommy is getting her spirit filled up through a fast-paced-high-demanding-job I actually have a second, in between all the jumping and howling and laughing, to consider this…

I get back in the car.. I laugh. I assure the 6-year-old that mommy is fine and not mad at all, it was an accident. We laugh and sing to school, I make it to work for my meeting and that in and of itself is a entirely separate adventure… As we listen to “cake by the ocean” I have a bittersweet moment of realizing, this opportunity, this growth is me having my cake and eating it too.. by the ocean is even better. I may not have all the answers and God knows I make my fair share of mistakes; but here, in this space, there is exponential opportunity for growth… I feel like an adult for the first time, like I am not the kid that got married young, had babies and now sits at home…the bonus is that every life experience I have in my arsenal, is being purposed for this very time. My “experiences” and the character that was built through blood, sweat, tears and sacrifice of surviving adolescence finally counts for something. No, is what makes me qualified for this job and this moment. And that’s when it hits, the transformation has begun, my life has been waiting for this time, perfected by forces and elements yet unseen.. THIS is 30.


One thought on “Waiting For You

  1. Beautifully written. I am very excited for the journey that you are going down. I am so proud to call you Mine. You truly bring honor to our house, and to my name, Darling. When the days are hard just remember, my arms are your safe place.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s