The Groove

I cringe at cockiness. Arrogance, among a few other unseemly traits, is one of my pet peeves. I’m all for confidence, but cockiness irks me. So when I catch a whiff of my own brand of smug, I’m downright mortified. But I suppose my few moments of prideful boasting help keep my ego in check because those moments always always always lead to moments of great humility. (Did you read my recent post about my honorable Jiggle Bum Drum? Case in point.) If I’m lucky, those moments of humility lead to moments of clarity.

So I’ve been noticing over the last year and a half that I have an almost prophetic ability to anticipate when I will dip into Crappy Mama Mode. It’s not that I actually become a Crappy Mama. It’s that I feel like a Crappy Mama. Mamas and Papas, you see the difference and hence feel my pain, right? This woo woo intuition doesn’t stem from my deeply centered state of spiritual consciousness. I don’t tap into my inner yogi for guidance here. I simply trip over my own little arrogant speed bump and BAM! I’m thrown back into the grind. Let me explain.

Life runs in cycles. We live, we love, we laugh, we cry, we breathe – all in cycles. Sometimes life flows effortlessly with the livin’, lovin’ and laughin’ components falling into place in abundance and with ease. And sometimes life’s flow stutters and splurts along like Chris Farley in a tutu with even that simple art of breathing providing challenge and struggle. I don’t really have a name for the latter (other than “Ugh, I’m in that crappy zone again!”), but I often refer to the good stuff as The Groove. When I’ve hit The Groove as Stella’s Mama, I have infinite patience, respect and adoration for my peanut. I happily follow her from room to room carrying a bowl of steamed carrots because I totally get that it’s just too much to ask of her to sit still while eating. I read the same story over and over and over again and entertain the following exchange with amusement:

Stella: What’s that?

Mama: A Ladybug.

Stella: What’s that?

Mama: A Ladybug.

Stella: What’s that?

Mama: A Ladybug.

Stella: What’s that?

Mama: A Ladybug.

Stella: What’s that?

Mama: A Ladybug.

Stella: What’s that?

Mama: A Ladybug.

I love The Groove. I feel strong and capable, exuding confidence about my actions and decisions as one of those never-annoying-but-oddly-enlightened Mamas. Oh yeah, I love The Groove.

Maybe it was all the Shakespeare I read in high school, but I sense that whenever I experience a bit o’hubris, reality crashes down with a big ol’ body check to the ego. Comedic fodder? Totally. Painful drama? Absolutely.

But fair dues, really. I’m not one for martyrdom or painful struggle. I’m just starting to recognize the balance of it all. Whenever I feel I’m in the Groove, I soak it up for all it’s worth. And the moment I start to acknowledge – or God forbid I actually brag a little – about how I’m rockin’ some aspect of the Mama gig, I’m nudged not-so-gently back to reality with a crash course in How To Live Life Without Patience of Energy. I wonder if my journey through The Groove and Crappy Mama Mode allows me to learn two things: First, life is simply full of ups and downs. And you can sing "Que Sera Sera" only so much. When you’re up you’re up, and when you’re down you’re down. Second, I think my Mama highs are actually enhanced by my Mama lows. I have a fantastic spectrum of experience to draw from when I reflect upon my “performance” as Stella’s Mama. I know what it’s like to be the Rock Star Mama who remembers the binky, the blanky, diapers, a snack and an extra change of clothing as she heads out the door with an excited babe. I also know what it’s like to be That Mom who has to humbly admit to the outside world that she in fact loses her patience – in public no less – from time to time.

So is it all about balance? In part, I guess it is. I think it’s also about faith in a strange way. Once I acknowledge that I’m diggin’ life in The Groove, I have all but secured my future in Crappy Mama Mode for the next week. (If I acknowledge The Groove out loud, watch out. It’s like the heavens rain down a gigantic Jinx Coca Cola Ninety Nine upon my not-so-humble head.) But, more importantly – and this is where the faith comes in – whenever I’m steeped in Crappy Mama Mode, I occasionally remember that The Groove will return. This too shall pass. And oh, the comfort that prophesy brings. It helps me dredge up a semblance of compassionate patience and makes that journey around the house with a bowl of steamed carrots all the more bearable, dare I say humorous.