Friday was a strange day. A weird day. I mean it was ‘fine.’ Okay, it was a harder day than most.

I find myself doing that (see above). Trying to soften the difficulties by putting ‘weirdness’ in their place. I can say “it was a hard day” without self-shaming, right?

Anyhow . . . the hardship was finding myself lost in the hours of the morning. I have actually really been enjoying these slower wake-ups during quarantine. My husband and I alternate who arises first to feed and let out the pups, as well as feed and tolerate the humans. It’s mainly every other day, tit-for-tat if you will, and Friday was his turn.

The funny thing about these social-distancing mornings is that when I am not responsible for an early a.m. yoga class or early-rising client, I sleep in. Now it’s not like the 12 or 1 p.m. kind-of-sleep-ins that I might have encountered as a teen or twenty-something in college. But it’s still a nice, loafing kind of time, arousing about 8:30 or so. And as a parent to youngins, I will take it absolutely if that means my kids have been awake for more than two hours already(!)

By the time on Friday that it was 11:30, and I was to venture out to my office (which I am only using sparingly for Telehealth sessions, and it’s just me in there, so keeping it clean is pretty simple), I asked myself: “Just where did the morning go?”

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing I suppose, just so odd to notice there were three hours between waking up and right now. What did I do with myself?”

I wonder: Was it disassociation? Sheer memory loss? Distraction?

I recess back into the first half of Friday . . . Two cups of coffee, a little journaling and oracle card-pulling. Asking my daughter to get off her iPad adventures to log into the computer to start online learning. Rumination of something or many things. It’s now 9:45. I notice I’m not very hungry (odd) and decide to get a short workout in before I commute to my space.

Meet 10:15. See? Right there. Don’t know where that half hour went.

I climb the upstairs (to actually get into a bra if I am to burpee, jump-jacks, or push some ups ) and at the top of the steps I see my son’s face in the mirror of his room as simultaneously I hear a crash!

Tears. Rosy cheeks. A hunched over, retracting upper body.

“Aw, was that your building that fell?” (Internally: please don’t cry.)

“Yes. Wahhhhhh!”

(I was so close to getting my clothes changed.)

“It sounded like a loud crash, must have been a big tower!” (couldn’t have happened just 5 minutes from now when your Papa was available, huh?)

Sniff, sniff. “Yeah.” Fumes.

I exhale, here.
Step into his doorway and crouch down.

“Would you like a hug?” (make it quick, Cutie Pie.)

Shakes head ‘No’ while walking towards me.
Sweet, tight embrace. Salt falling on my shoulders.

“This must be so frustrating.”

Shakes head ‘Yes’ and cries louder.
Tighter hug, and Son pats my back as if to console me while I hold him. (I love when he does this.)

“I’m here, Puppy.” (I’d really like to be here and also get to the basement to sweat . . .) “Would you like help rebuilding?”

Defeatedly: “Noooooo! I can’t just rebuild it!”

Pausing.

“Well . . . maybe, Mama . . . (wipes salt from cheeks), you can be the helper and I can be the builder . . . (tries not to smile). I can tell you which blocks to pick up and give me . . . (makes eye contact to check in), and you can be my helper as I build it.”

(Shit.)

“Of course, baby.”

So we build. We create a conga line of assortment and responding to my son asking, “Can you pass me the blue one? No, Mama — this blue one.” As he selects the one he meant, then hands it to me, only to give it right back to him in the same breath. Yes, it was as tedious as it sounds.

And it was a magical, too.

That presence I was feeling. That releasing of all my other expectations in the whir of the morning as I focused on what was right in front of me. A conscious choice to be there with him, rather than run away or fix.

It had me all teary and by the time that he was complete with his new structure. His pride shined. His sister also joined us and asked if she could be a helper, too.

11:00. I didn’t have time in that moment after to workout and then shower and then get enough of my face made up to be ‘video-chat presentable’ for clients. I had to get into the rinse-off, throw a decent top and nice scarf on for accommodation and worry about getting food organized to be nourished for the afternoon.

By the time I landed down to my kitchen, Husband had whipped up a bite for me (it was 11:15, why wasn’t I hungry yet?). Tuna melt on an everything bagel oh my.

“Thanks, babes.”

“Everything okay?” he quizzed.

I really had to sit for a moment. Felt like an eternity for what was maybe 40 seconds or so. “I guess.

I go on, “. . . it’s like there’s a void in the way of handling the time, and then the time wanders anyways. I don’t know where it goes, then I set goals to be ‘productive’ or ‘entertain’ in my routine, and it trips up in the moments that matter. What I just had with Son upstairs was so truly lovely and important, and I felt like the kind of Mother I always aspire to be. And I still want all of my alone time back. My own ways of navigating myself back. All these elements of mindfulness and presence when they show up like that — I know that’s it — and it’s hard right now.”

He waits. As he does.
Because he knows to wait with me.

“And I am truly grateful for it, too. Really. I want those moments like I just had with Son. Where I attuned into the importance of what mattered right-then-and-there. I’m so proud of them for handling this the way that they have.” I exhale.

He waits. As he does.

“I just don’t want you to be on an island by yourself.” He responds.

Cue ugly crying.

The island. The many islands of ourselves and out of our experiences that makes me reflect now on the animated film “Inside Out” (which, if you haven’t seen, head onto whatever media platform you can to go and see it this very moment. Seriously, just come back to this post, I’d understand). Reflecting on the beauty of holding ourselves and importances in a coexisting kind of way. Not out of qualifying, not out of hierarchy. The feeling that there is actually more strength in shared moments, even when they conflict. Especially when.

For Husband to have identified that I was on this island, was floundering off of it in the waters of my own inner-narrative-muck, was perceptive. And, his daily commitment to join me is no less surprising 16 years into our relationship. It’s the kind of person he is. My own nervous system is still weary. I, too, am tackling the variety of emotional terrain of the coronavirus. It’s not that I expect that to be any different, though it’s by no means easy.

Clients, I see you.
Friends, I see you.
Family, you know.

Who’s on your island?

Who’s with you in the boat that you’re trying to maneuver?

I hope you have someone. A first-mate, or maybe several. I also hope that you can be the companion for someone or many others.

It’s going to be a while until we chart into anything more familiar, and I’d prefer us all to use our humanity as the compass for whatever that territory is moving forward.

Take those exhales. Let go of some expectations. Revel in the presence of yourself and partners and pets and little ones. Come back to yourself, to those islands, as often as you can.