I don’t often get time alone. I stopped in the cafe for coffee and a sandwich. I am a pseudo-single mama, stuck in marital separation limbo. Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time” was playing, reminding me that long ago I was a kid. My daughter looks like me in the 80’s. Apparently neon and ruffled skirts are back.
I went into the cafe stressed and tired, slightly sick, deepening the horizontal line I’ve been etching into my forehead. One might think a mama out alone could order a sandwich and coffee and eat in peace, but I made my own internal noise.
There was an old woman at the table across from me, with perfectly round, fluffy white hair. She was wispy like a wishing dandelion, quietly sipping coffee from a chunky white mug. She had passed the worrying years, while I am in them, trying to keep a clean home and plan meals, worrying about money, avoiding Pinterest because it makes me feel less than, hoping my children are happy, feel loved, sleep enough, get time to play, dig in the dirt, run in the grass, eat enough vegetables, and know that I love them until the stars turn to fish, even though I feel like I’m screwing it up nearly every day. Just drink the damn coffee, mama, I told myself.
My children want their dad to live with us in our house again. They don’t understand that sometimes parents need a vacation from one another and need space.
The coffee was supposed to be relaxing. Self care. But it is not self care to sit quietly and mentally beat up one’s self. The dandelion lady was gone. A fresh-faced, blonde haired tween in skinny jeans and Ugg boots took her place, coffee in one hand while the other picked an enormous muffin apart into manageable chunks. She licked her fingers between bites and said “like” every ten seconds. She was happy and talked with sticky muffin hands. I am somewhere between the muffin girl and the dandelion lady. My coffee got cold.