Today is Not Pancake Day!

As I'm writing this, I'm debating if I feel like making chia seed pudding for the first time this afternoon and also reminding myself to return my overdue library books and call my friend Lynn. I'm thinking about how nice it's going to be to go to the gym tonight and have myself a bit of mommy time. Chatter, chatter, chatter, this and this and this.

Isn't it amazing how our minds can fill themselves up so fast with noise, things to do, to try, and to remember? Just the other day, I swear the chatter in my husband's head was so loud, I could hear it. It's like grinding, squeaks and scratches. For him, it's the usual work chatter, so overwhelming, that although he was in the room with us, he was so completely dazed and distracted that if a giraffe had walked in, he wouldn't have noticed.

My own chatter takes over too and sometimes, unknowingly, I get lost in it and feel a general sense of yuckiness; like I'm running a race without wearing a bra and with grocery bags in my hands. But, these days I'm practicing returning to the moment. When the chatter gets too loud, I stop, close my eyes and take inventory of everything I notice through my senses. It sounds a bit like this:

Breath,
breath, breath
cold feet,
sound of fridge,
mint taste
breath, breath,
loosen shoulders
breath,
relax jaw
car alarm
breath

and so on. I do this until I feel myself come back to the present moment. And in that present moment, I realize that in that tiny itty-bitty microsecond, all is well, all is well, all is well and in the next itty-bitty microsecond, all is well. And the chatter fades.

I think we all have this chatter to some degree. Prone to multi-tasking and perfectionism, on most days, my moments of stillness seem like distant kites flying away from me, but I'm okay with that. I just let myself be surprised when I notice, hey, it's loud in here! Let's stop for a bit. Of course, it's easier to do this if you are in a quiet spot, but it's doable anywhere.

When my toddler is screaming his head off demanding I make him pancakes, and I tell him for the umpteenth time that today is not pancake day, I notice the stress rising in my body, and my patience rapidly dwindling. The chatter gets louder and louder: I'm not making pancakes again! Who is the idiot who started this pancake habit?, How will my son ever get proper nutrition eating pancakes everyday?, Why can't I have a peaceful breakfast for once? I'm so tired! I want to go back to bed. Why can't this kid entertain himself long enough so that I can pour myself a cup of coffee?

As soon as notice myself being swept away by this chatter, I seek that teeny-tiny microsecond where all is well. I don't always manage to do this before I've raised my voice or lied that we don't have enough eggs to make pancakes, and most times I don't manage it at all. But when I do, I really do. And this microsecond of stillness and peace adds itself to the other microseconds of stillness I've found before and the next thing you know it gets easier and easier to be in the moment.