Every weekend, I draft a "to do" list.  Every weekend, I put myself at the top of the list.

The "me" part of the list is where I prioritize the activities and opportunities to tend to myself, baby-step toward my goals, and experience my senses and perspective. I use the list to guard time to journal, take a walk outside, or read a good book. 

One of my favorite me-tasks is "nap/do nothing."  I give myself permission and something like credit for resting.  "Do nothing" is actually a specific resting position where I lie on my back on the floor against my bed. I rest my calves on the bed, thighs perpendicular to the floor, back flat, arms stretched out on the floor, and a small pillow under my head.  It's a little awkward at first!  But, soon, I feel all my joints and muscles relax, as if I'm sinking into the floor.  I remind myself to relax my face and jaw.  My thoughts are the last bit to settle as my brain is busy with all the things I should be doing, remembering, or planning.  Sometimes, it helps to imagine I'm floating on a gentle river.  I feel the sun warming my front while I'm supported by cool water.  All I can hear is the easy lapping of small waves.

I've organized my weekends with lists like this for a long time.  (Here's a snapshot of the practice 11 years ago!)  But I haven't always started the list with me.  I concluded weekend after weekend with a clean and tidy house, a meal-plan, and laundry folded and put away, but a worn out and irritated me.  Sometimes, those weekends still happen, but, for the most part, putting "me" at the top of the list ensures that I consistently take very good care of myself.  

How do you prioritize yourself amidst the chores, responsibilities, and relationships of your life?

It's been just over a year since my last "now" posting.  This is now:

Today is Mothers' Day and, as celebrations go, it was a dud.  Kiddo was out with his dad.  J was digging a foundation for the new shed.  I went grocery shopping.  The store was crowded, despite going at my usual Sunday morning hour, and everyone appeared to be purchasing flowers, plants, cards, gifts, and ingredients for festivities with moms.  

Driving home I was surprised by a wave of sadness.  Mothers' Day has rarely been a big deal for me.  N's dad wasn't really into it, and it's awkward to take your own young child to purchase a card or gift for yourself, so I accepted it as a flimsy excuse for a Hallmark card event.  But, ugh, no event for me and my motherhood.  

This year, I am keenly aware of my relationship with my son in a different way than prior years.  Partly, it's because he's 12 and relates to me in a different way than he did as a smaller child.  Partly, it's that we're under a stay-at-home order so we are together, each day, more than we have been since he was a newborn.  I enjoy his company, (most of the time... he is a tween).  I welcome his ideas, interests, and developing perspective.  I'm surprised by his vocabulary. I'm laughing to tears from his comedic timing. 

If you know me well, then you know I wasn't planning to be a mother.  I was a newlywed anticipating a two career household, with a cat, and no children.  I looked forward to fulfilling work, out there, in the world, and hopes for comfortable compensation in the future.  

But kiddo came along and everything changed, as they warn you it will, and now it's 12 years into this mothering gig and I'm missing my kid on Mothers' Day.  And that's a good feeling.  I'm grateful for this darn kid and I'm grateful to be his mother.

Tonight, I am grateful and content.  This weekend felt...normal.  Like the former normal.  Kiddo went to his dad's. I cleaned and organized the house.  We purchased more seeds at the hardware store.  There was time together and time apart.  I napped, twice!, today.  While grocery shopping, I picked up some stuck-at-home toys for kiddo.  He was grateful and we played together in the late afternoon. 

Recent days have been bumpy.  Each day with its own series of ups and downs and back up again (mostly). Because the "new normal" doesn't arrange itself overnight. We create it one small course correction at a time, which bring us closer to stability, familiarity, and a sense of normal.  

Things that are working in my house: making art, physical activity outdoors, planting seeds (literally) for a big new garden, revising the schedule of working-at-home and school-at-home, practicing patience and mercy (aka grace) with ourselves and each other.  What's working in your home? What fails are you either learning from or just moving on from?  It all counts.  

I was tired, pausing, and resuming, on Sunday, March 22.  I'm exhausted, queasy, still in my pjs, and sitting very still, today.  The last two days I pushed to keep up with my job and kickstart the kiddo's homeschooling.  I tried to make (force) a normal level of productivity from both of us.  But this isn't normal.  So we'll ride the waves of productivity and rest.  We'll plan and accomplish; rest and recover.  These aren't cookie-cutter days.  These are days of adaptation and attention. 

Pause. Breathe. Repeat. 

Social distancing and staying home - doing everything for the family at home, feels more difficult and draining than I think it should.  Or, maybe, it simply is difficult.  And I am tired.

I'm tired in my body, my mind, and my emotions.  I'm not to the bedridden, despairing fatigue place.  I'm at the place where I can pause, nap, move slowly, set priorities and only do those tasks.  Pause between tasks.  Nap, again. Jot a few notes in my journal.  I'm at the place of acknowledging that this is challenging.  

It's challenging for good reasons.  Transitions from one set of routines and expectations and the corresponding feelings to a completely alternative and, frankly, alien set is challenging.  The limbo of not knowing how long this will last and what the impacts and implications will be on jobs, school, resources, etc. is challenging.  The multi-tasking to manage working at home and schooling at home and parenting all day while doing both of those things all at the same time is challenging.  Feeling distant and disconnected from friends and coworkers and neighbors and family is challenging.  Feeling crowded, as a deeply introverted introvert, by the tasks, immediate family, work-related texts and emails, podcasts and TV playing in the other rooms are all challenging.  

So we, I, pause.  To say, yes, this is a different kind of unfamiliar labor for which I'm not trained because there is no training.  To say, it's ok that this is hard.  To say, now we, I, pause.  I acknowledge the work I'm doing.  I rest and restore myself.  I identify the skills I'm using and prepare to use them more appropriately and skillfully in the coming week.  

And I nap.  

"Pause. Breathe. Repeat."  An entry about remembering to take my own advice. And some household tools for remembering your calm and focus in the midst of a very challenging transition.