The Noticing #49

My Brain Was In The Middle of Something

Hi, hello!

It is early summer in the American South, which means we’re currently enjoying a mixed bag of delights (lightning bugs, garden tomatoes, early morning coffee walks) and disappointments (mosquitoes, humidity, and children who apparently need to be driven somewhere every seventeen minutes).

So far, summer mostly feels like a series of transitions and interrupted thoughts, which is probably why today’s newsletter ended up heading in that direction.

• Connections: Are My Children Conspiring Against Me?

• Caught My Attention: Reviews, Recs and Requests

• Photographic Evidence: Early Summer Noticings

• If This Resonates: How We Doing?

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Connections

In my memories, the beginning of summer comes with a particular feeling of promise.

Can you feel it? That first evening when the lightning bugs are out, the honeysuckle hangs heavy in the air, and it feels like anything is possible. As a child, I wanted summer to last forever.

I think this is part of the reason I have spent years trying to reconcile my childhood love of summer with the much more complicated experience of living it as an adult.

As a young parent, I thought summer would be full of bucket lists and blissful memory-making. When I was the young mom who made a Pinterest board with a different art or science project for every day of the summer, I didn’t think through the reality that it takes about fifteen minutes, if you’re lucky, for children to finish any kind of craft or activity. You know what that leaves you with on a summer day? A hell of a lot of hours.

These days, I know myself much better.

I know that I genuinely love working. I love being alone. I enjoy having uninterrupted time to think, write, create, solve problems, and make things. It has been one of the gifts of my life to have flexibility and presence in every season of my children’s lives, and having the agency to choose that is a privilege. But after years of raising small children, having all three of my kids go to school for most of the day for most of the year has finally given me regular access to that part of myself again.

And then June arrives.

As I write this in our downstairs den, wearing noise-canceling headphones with the door closed, my nine-year-old daughter has interrupted me three times. She needed permission for a second popsicle. She wanted to inform me that two chickens were standing on the deck. She needed to give the dog another snuggle.

Yesterday was much the same, except worse. At one point I became convinced that my three children had coordinated an elaborate campaign to rage-bait me with questions, ride requests, spending money, and discussions of future plans, all while I was trying to make phone calls to a credit card company.

You know what I am?

A gentle, connected parent.

You know what I’m not?

A superhero.

I thought I was going to completely lose my mind by last night. I love my children. I love my flexible work. I love that I have built a life that allows me to be present for these small moments. My middle child will be driving on his own in a few months, and I am already aware that one day I will miss being asked for rides.

And also, my brain was in the middle of something, for the love.

I think this is the part we struggle to talk about honestly. It feels bad to be interrupted. It feels uncomfortable to never be able to complete a task or cross something off a list. Somewhere along the way, many of us absorbed the idea that if something is meaningful, we shouldn’t find it unpleasant or annoying. If we know we’ll miss it someday, we shouldn’t feel frustrated by it today.

I can love my children and still find constant interruptions exhausting.

I can feel grateful for a flexible summer and still feel disoriented by it.

I can know that these years are fleeting and still want to finish a single thought.

One of the things I have learned from spending years studying stories, trauma, attachment, and nervous systems is that understanding an experience often changes the way we interpret it. We tend to think interruptions cost a few seconds, but they often cost much more than that. They cost momentum and attention and flow, especially for those of us who are easily fragmented and distracted. By the end of the day yesterday, I was irritable and cranky, far from a blissful summer mom enjoying the flexibility and freedom of a wide-open summer.

The difference now is that I no longer assume my irritability means I am failing.

My irritability is data.

I don’t immediately conclude that I am impatient, ungrateful, bad at rest, or bad at summer. More often, I find myself getting curious about what my brain and body have been asked to do all day long and whether the exhaustion I am carrying makes perfect sense.

I’m still trying to find my own summer footing, as usual. My crabby Monday showed me that I’m going to need some more guardrails around my work time and my children’s expectations of my availability to drive them to Five Below, and that’s okay. My children are also adjusting to a new schedule and trying to figure out the lay of the land.

None of us have ever done this exact summer before.

Once again, I wonder if some of us are trying to explain a nervous system experience with a character explanation. I wonder how many of the things we criticize ourselves for are actually experiences we haven’t fully understood yet.

Maybe summer doesn’t create your difficulty with transitions.

Maybe it reveals it.

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Caught My Attention, For Better or Worse

(All links are affiliate links.)

📕 The Calamity Club by Kathryn Stockett

I adored this book and have recommended it to just about everyone I know. The audiobook narration is excellent, the characters are memorable, and the story completely pulled me in. What I appreciated most, though, is that it was simply a good novel.

It didn’t change my life or teach me some profound lesson. It just reminded me how good it feels to get lost in a story and spend time in a world someone else created. Sometimes I think we put so much pressure on books to transform us that we forget the joy of being entertained.

📕 Yesteryear by Caro Claire Burke

I hate this book so much.

At this point, I am approximately three-quarters of the way through and asking myself important questions like: Am I finishing this because I want to be able to talk about it? Am I hoping it gets better? Am I simply too stubborn to quit?

The audiobook returns to the library in two days, so I suppose we’re about to find out. I will likely see this through, even if the final stretch involves skimming and spoilers.

🎧 Audiobook SOS

What I really need is another audiobook that captivates me enough to make me want to fold laundry, unload the dishwasher, and tackle all the other mundane tasks of summer. Is that too much to ask?

Hit reply and send me your best recommendations. Bonus points if it’s the kind of book that makes you look for excuses to keep listening.

☀️ One Summer Find

I am working on Part Two of my summer affiliate links roundup, but I couldn’t wait to share this one. My daughter “convinced” me to buy this hair and body spray during a recent Target run, and every single time I wear it, someone in my family tells me I smell good.

I consider that a very strong endorsement.

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Photographic Evidence

The current state of affairs: live music with your kids, gainfully employed teenagers, summer bounty and morning walks.

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If This Resonates...

A few questions to take this conversation out of the ether and into our real lives:

• What has been the hardest adjustment of summer for you so far?

• What do you tend to criticize yourself for when you’re feeling overwhelmed, behind, or out of sorts?

• What is helping you find your footing this season? (Accepting all compassionate suggestions.)

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I did it. We’re doing it. Deep breaths, big hugs and no shame for needing some peace and quiet. Happy Summer. ☀️