The Typhoon Is Over

Ah, how sleep restores all serenity…. I can’t believe it has been over five months since my last post, nor can I believe how many times I’ve attempted to write on it (far outnumbers the passed month). But that is all in the past. My son crossed thirteen hours last night with one snack waking. He is the best little sleeper in town!

SO, with rest in my corner, I hereby mark the end to unfinished tasks, unmet goals, and unachieved milestones. I will not be swayed by the winds of exhaustion anymore. My breasts are no longer milk dispensers, my pants no longer bounce back open, and my nights are no longer walking laps between the fridge, the crib, and my bedroom. I have crossed the ponds to America and back, two kids in tow. I have shopped (oh how I shopped), I’ve defied the naysayers who said I could never bring it all back, I’ve protected my daughter from certain germ death in airplane toilets, I’ve face jet lag and won, and I have created a new space on my desk with flowers and my favorite coffee mug in front of which I plan to pay homage to my own brain for at least three hours each day while Manika is in school.

A lofty goal you think? I’ve got more! I’ve committed to a monthly massage, 4am yoga thrice weekly, a figure-sustaining run on the other mornings, packing my husband’s lunch, and teaching my three year old how to read. Oh, and did I mention my novel, and my plans to open a children’s book store, and that children’s book I’m still shopping… anyone interested? Okay, I’m dizzy now too. Perhaps I’m admittedly getting away from myself. But the point is, I’m ready to be busy… to look forward, and forward, and more forward! Enough with the past, and even the present is still moving a bit too slowly…

And then came the typhoon. Sometimes I feel like the D+ life student. A typhoon, God? Really? Was that necessary?

So there I was on a Tuesday night, basking in my freedom to get up and get a glass of water at night without having to check on or feed a child, already looking forward to my 4am yoga session, when I get a text message from my daughter’s school. School cancelled. Cancelled!? What? I check the time. 12:15am. It must be a joke. No one from a preschool texts at 12:15am? Then I read the rest: forecasted typhoon enroute.

Groan. I wake up my husband. “Do you know that school is cancelled tomorrow?”

“What?”

Forget the sheets of rain and destructive winds. “Cancelled! That means another day of –“ Gasp! “Momdom!” I could already feel the flowers on my desk drooping. Another day of dumping toddler potties, coloring, play dough, and ball pits. Wasn’t the entire summer enough? I begged the universe for mercy. “God, I hope our ayi can make it into work! That would be… unthinkably awful!”

The next morning, I called the school to confirm but was apparently hundredth in line behind a bunch of other similarly stunned parents. I rehearsed my speech while I waited. “But it’s sunny out? And Yahoo Weather says the typhoon is not going to touch down until after noon, and school is over at 1pm and who’s ever right about the weather anyway?” I never got to say it though; the line never ceased being busy. The Shanghai government stuck to their citywide decision. No school-going kids on the road.

So at 7:30am, I packed the kids up in the jogging stroller and endured the thousands of interruptions I dreaded. “Yes, Avik, here’s your bottle.” “Yes, Manika, we can stop at the playground.” The sunny skies laughed at me. The cloudless blue mocked me. They said, “You thought you were suddenly back in the driver’s seat? Sorry, you’re a mom. You’re, for the rest of your life, your children’s passenger.” Ugh. Swear word muttered under my breath. “No Manika, you cannot have my Iphone.” “Avik don’t you want to take a nap yet?” “No Manika, you cannot eat a bag full of cheddar Goldfish.”

So much for a relaxing run.

And then my brother called, my childless baby brother whose advice I often discount as outdated by five years of experience. “What is the big deal? It’s one day?” he said.

“But you don’t understand, all summer I’ve been making these plans to do stuff, to make something of myself, to crawl out from under the rock of caretaker, nose wiper, bum cleaner…”

“It’s one day.”

“You don’t have kids, what do you know?”

“But they’re so cute.”

“Bye, have a nice day.”

I seethed even more. I already knew that it’s only one day. I own a calendar. I know how the days work. But Wednesday is a me day. I silently screamed to the universe, to Ravi.

And then, in their silence, it dawned on me. In my quest to be present-seizing, making most of my time and energy, and creating new opportunities for happiness and greatness, I was doing none of those things. I was still stewing in past plans and expectations, and if I didn’t update quick, I stood the chance of ruining what was now proving to be a truly, almost laughingly, beautiful, sunny, typhoon-less day. My mood instantly changed. I smiled a bit, and started to think.

“Hey Manika? Want to have a typhoon party?”

Three hours later, my house was full. I had children, toys, wine bottles, pizza, and general chaos everywhere. The kids loved it! Us tai-tais got buzzed together. But my heart was back at piece. I had seized the present. I spent time with my friends. I played with my children. I had had fun, which was totally unexpected.

Of course, in the back of my mind, it still wasn’t the ideal afternoon. My computer looked longingly at me a couple of times. I glanced forlornly at the Apple TV, wishing I could see the latest Mad Men episode instead of wipe another chocolaty hand. But the lessons I’d learned (and blogged about) earlier this year proved persistent. I was pleased to find, five months later, that the bridge of “realizing and enjoying the present” that I’d built to connect the “before Avik” and “after Avik” me was not just some temporary rickety structure used to keep my sanity, but a true addition to my life path, a place I could circle back to any time I needed or wanted. By the time the rains and winds finally did come, the day was over and a pretty satisfying success.

I pointed this out to Manika in the evening, in a magnanimous effort to boost her spiritual growth: “See, we made lemonade out of lemons.”

To which she replied, (poor girl with my genes), “But I don’t like lemons or lemonade!”

“Okay, it’s just a figure of speech. I mean, we didn’t really drink lemonade, did we? “It’s just a saying.”

“What is a saying?”

“I just mean, we took you not-having-school and made it fun. You did have fun?”

“Yep. Let’s do it again tomorrow!”

Gasp. “No!” Deep breath. Don’t want to scar the child with memories of not being wanted. “Of course, it’s always great when you’re home, but you have to learn too. We all have to learn. That’s what life is all about. Learning. Understand?”

“Yep.” Pause. Rain pelted the windows outside. “Mommy, let’s play,” she said.

There seemed nothing better in the world to do. “Sure, why not?”