On the evening of October 16th, 2016 a lot of shit is going to hit a large fan, with many large spinning blades. Try the following, instead of what you actually do:
Please don’t order out. That burger you dreamt about will not fill the hole your lack of self-care created. Also, the budget will have no wiggle room, so don’t try and justify your compensation prize/take-out burger; sit in the itchiness, take a walk or a bath, drink some water and breathe, rip paper. Eat the mac-n-cheese with peas and hotdogs that you you made for the kiddos, it will be good enough.
Get off your phone when David reads the bedtime story, please. You are capable of showing up for the remainder of their ten minutes awake. You are a good mama. You make them smile. They love you and need you for those last moments of their day. And you can do it.
Turn the TV off when the first kid starts crying. Not when the second, third, or fourth kid starts crying. Yes, you had thoughts about this night & how it needed to unfold. But ideas about how things should look make you spin and scratch instead of rest and breathe. Please remind your expectations to fuck off. Pause West World, and breathe.
When you and David do ascend the stairs and reach the top of Crying Kid Mountain, try not to yell at the babies who shattered the idol you created with the burger and HBO. Yes, you are spinning, but I suggest resisting the urge to spin the tired terrorists up, too. Some stern words and tender touches will suffice. DO NOT TAKE RAE INTO THE ECHO-Y BATHROOM, CLOSE THE DOOR, AND YELL ALL THE REASONS SHE NEEDS TO GO TO SLEEP. She wants to be asleep just as badly as you want her sleep. Both of you need to put your hands on your belly, breathe deeply, and sing “Here Comes the Sun” by the Beetles until the tears stop falling and a smile curls onto her face. This will stop the spinning.
Cry a lot when you get in bed, not just those little tears strapped to bungie cords. Cry like you’re tossing those suckers out off the bridge never to be seen again. Ask David to hold your hand longer than he does. Laugh with him when he starts laughing, and ask for forgiveness from each other and God for refusing to show up and refusing to choose Love. You both chose to stay small on this night, and that’s okay–you’re a human. But you can and will do better next time, you’re a Love Hulk, remember?
Wrap up the night with Truth and Gratitude and Joy. Stitch your tears, laughter, and prayers into the down comforter that envelopes you both. Then whisper out loud, “We’re all gonna make it. We’re all gonna make it. We’re all gonna make it.”
I love you and you’re doing a great job raising your miracles. Don’t worry about the cancer or the pain or the meds, it all gets figured out, mostly. God wastes nothing, it’s all Goodhardgood. Smile.