Shades of my parents

I am in front of the stove making pancakes. I’m not sure why I am making pancakes. I should say I’m not sure why I asked the kids if they would like pancakes. I should not have asked because I am stressed out about a work meeting early this morning that made me get the kids up early. I didn’t sleep well for many reasons and it’s effect is apparent. I am blessed and cursed with self awareness so I use the stress to focus on getting the kids ready and out of the house. But I also know that stress and lack of sleep and dehydration tends to make me less smart. Ok, stupid.

I’m serving the second batch of three pancakes to Aidan and Lydia straight from the pan and onto their small plates where they quickly pour maple syrup on top. The exotic maple syrup I bought from America. From Target. Elisa meanwhile is having her honey nut cheerios bought from the local foreigner super market since the box I brought from my last US trip -- also procured at Target - is long gone.
While I make the pancakes I am heating Elisa’s lunch. The older kids take sandwiches which are easy enough to prepare every night but Elisa likes a hot lunch that the ayi makes the day before. My job is to microwave it and pack it. As I write this it seems simple but at the time is seems like a lot of coordination.
Sabrina comes down stairs and announces that she has a car (an uber variation) ready for us in five minutes. I feel like an overweight middle age prima ballerina as I start washing the breakfast dishes as the kids put their shoes on. The elders grab their bikes and I have them check the tires since it’s been a week since they last rode them to school. Elisa makes her usual last minute water bottle request - cold water - for school and then she’s ready. As I rinse the last dish I have the overwhelming feeling of my mom’s presence. Not watching over me. But of her, in me, getting the kids off to school. I am a kid at the dining room table, my dad smoking unfiltered camels and my older brothers reading the sporting green. I have corn flakes with a spoonful of sugar or two if no one is watching. I didn’t feel rushed as a kid but I feel rushed as an adult. I wonder of my kids feel the rush. I guess they do.
I know my mom had her own stresses and dark days and I see myself doing the same on some days. But not on this morning day. On this day I am my super hero mom, getting everything ready and not missing anything as we step outside and into the smogging fall morning. The elder turn, wave, and head off on their bikes. I am handling like my mom would in an albeit totally different country and different relationship and different means when I take Elisa via uber to her school before the car turns toward my office. I am handling it like my mom would have handled it if she occupied the crazy upside down world that I live in. The world that is right side up for me.
But I am also my dad’s child and the stress I feel is from him. Did he ever relax? Do I ever relax? Or do I need that tension to drive me. Drive, drive, drive. On edge. Always serious even when i am being funny or serving pancakes.
On this fall morning I feel my parents shade over me. I look down at my shadow dancing with wind blown leaves and I turn into the office.

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