Good morning mothers.
It is 7:04AM and I have just put Joseph down for his first nap. The internet tells me that the way to cure these 5AM wakes we’ve been having is through a simple, effective, 11-step process that includes not putting him down for a nap before the appropriate wake window has passed, from the appropriate wake time I desire. What the what? I need more coffee to do this math. I seem to always be counting hours on my fingers these days. Okay, so if he woke up at the ass crack of dawn and then I fed him at the slightly less ass crack of dawn that means that I would have to put him down for his first nap at an hour that once in my life, I blissfully slept through uninterrupted. Got it! Apparently I also need the blackest of blackout shades (“if you can see your hands, it’s too light!”) and an earlier bedtime, which was relief advice before I had a 4(!!!) year old on my hands, who wanted to stay at the playground until the blazing orange sun set.
Yes, yes, I take a brief interlude from kvetching about sleep to share with you that my blondie girl, my beautiful Reva turned four years old this week and of course I couldn’t help but cry because just LOOK at this big girl, with her CHANDELIER earrings and her little white flats.
I’ll spare you the soliloquy on the passing of time, but only just this once. She ran out of her bedroom that morning and said “Mommy look how tall I am!” And then she stood in front of the mirror checking if any of her teeth had fallen out yet because we read a Pete the Cat book about the tooth fairy, which is a very sweet book indeed.
We will celebrate Reva twice, because thank God for big families and many friends that love her. Last weekend, we rented out an adorable puppet theater in Brooklyn and invited all of her little friends to come and to barely pay attention to a marionette rendition of the Jungle Book. For some unknown reason, the cast decided to leave out the iconic song we’d been practicing all month: The Bear Necessities. But whatever, I’m fine. It’s fine. It was a lovely way to spend a Sunday evening. We ate floppy slices of pizza and generous hunks of rich chocolate cake and sang and sang some more, and Reva tore her shoes off and let out her inner Mowgli. Roar. And then this weekend, we’ll have a backyard party at my mom’s house, pending the air isn’t an ashtray, and eat more and drink more and celebrate more. And there will be cake.
Speaking of cake, last year I made a fantastic pink strawberry cake for Reva’s birthday. It was so good, in fact, that Maui, our Portuguese water dog, jumped on the counter and bit off a small chunk of it the morning of the party. Apologies to everyone in attendance but I did not remake the cake. I simply molded it back together and added a bunch more frosting and pretended like the whole thing never happened. You all turned out ok, right?
This year, Reva requested a Pete the Cat cake, so I set out to watching YouTube tutorials about how to make a homemade Pete the Cat cake during a Zoom meeting that was dragging on for too long. We’ve all been there. I was going to the be the mom who made her kid a homemade cake every year, damn it. And as I sat there there watching this lovely expert baking blogger use her X acto knife to slice out slits for Pete’s eyes and crescent moons for his mouth, I realized almost immediately that I had to let this truly fucking insane idea go. I could not, would not, spend my entire weekend carving a cat cake for my four year old; who I would move heaven and earth for, but for whom I would not give up my precious little weekend with it’s precious little teeny tiny bit of rest to make a cat cake. I felt elated to x out of the browser and return, with glassy eyes, to my Zoom meeting, but there was a moment of pause. Of reflection, and of realization, that if I didn’t have as demanding a job, I could make her any cake she wanted. I didn’t feel sad per se, but I felt aware of the choice that was made. I felt aware of the letting go of a small piece of the identity that I’d built up for myself. At least this year, with a 4-month old and being at work full-full-full-time, the cat cake would have to be outsourced. At least this year, I chose not to be the mom who made her kid a homemade cake every year.
If I’m being totally honest, and this might not surprise any of you, but she absolutely did not care that we picked up a $59 cake from Whole Foods. She was pretty happy with the EdibleCakeImage.com Pete the Cat I ordered for $21. And I was happy to spend $80 so that I could follow my usual weekend routine and have a quiet Shabbat dinner, a slow Saturday morning walk in the park and an evening dinner at a restaurant I’ve wanted to try for a while, Misi.
Btw, before we move away from this cake saga, if you too are in the market for a birthday cake, I can highly recommend the Chocolate Eruption cake from Whole Foods, customized with an edible cake image. Whole Foods normally won’t provide you with a clean sheet cake, they seem adamant about including the original design, like some kind of annoying artistes, but if you ask beg plead cry the baker will likely succumb to your requests. It was delicious.
In other news, I’ve been so desperate to write this month, to carve out the time for creativity, but between startup life and being the Head of The Party Planning Committee, my days have been back-to-back time blocks. 5AM-9AM with the kids. 9AM-5PM at work. 5PM-8PM with the kids. 8PM-10PM catching up on work, and dinner, and the slump of dishes that sits in the sink. 10PM doom scroll for “relaxation” or if I’m being wise, a bath and a good book. It’s not always like this, but lately, it has been and the writing was the first to fall out of the wagon. I keep sitting down with the full intention of pouring my heart out to my laptop, and just then, I hear a cry, or a ping, or a buzz, or a bell.
And just when I thought that I had all my plates spinning in the air at just the right velocity, Reva’s school emailed me that tomorrow is Graduation Day. Umm, what? Despite the post card neatly affixed to my fridge for the last three weeks, I had completely forgotten to plan for this day or to invite the grandparents or to give it any attention at all. Simcha, simcha, so much simcha. So much to celebrate and yet, the anxiety of managing this family calendar sat right at the base of my throat until I gulped it back down. There was that little voice of guilt again, bubbling up, visiting me unexpectedly soon after the cake situation.
It turns out, no matter how wonderful of a multitasker you are, it’s still really freaking hard to manage the family calendar alongside your own personal calendar alongside your work calendar. It’s really hard to not scroll through emails on your phone while you are giving your toddler a bath so that you can watch some tv after everyone has been tucked in. It’s really hard to be constantly present, constantly in the moment, constantly giving 100% of yourself to those you care for and those you work for. The hard part about being a working mother is accepting that many of the visions you had for how you would mother are simply not realistic in the current landscape of your life. Having to let go of the plan to bake the homemade strawberry cake with natural food coloring, or to let go of the desire to order a special outfit for Graduation Day because you forgot until the very last second. There are only so many plates that you can keep spinning at any one time and if you don’t choose to set a few down voluntarily, the entire circus manipulation act comes crashing down and at your feet will sit a smattering pile of colorful plastic plates and sharp sticks. But we mothers do our best. We keep everything and everyone in our orbit spinning, spinning, towards the center, towards the sun.
Anyways, I do want to tell you more, but I must be off to wake up Reva and get her dressed because today, well today, is Graduation Day.
All my love,
Jane
Loved this one 😀
Lovely and poignant as always. The calendar mgmt is so real. I fully forgot to sign up my middle one for his beloved summer camp this year and by the time I remembered all of the sessions were sold out (I did beg plead and borrow my way in but woof did I feel the hardcore mom guilt). Thanks for sharing this.