Getting Out the Door

There are mornings when getting out of the house feels like an accomplishment in itself.

This morning, I took both of my daughters to the coffee shop.

I know that doesn't sound particularly remarkable. And the activity itself isn't. But if you're a mother of little ones, I think you understand the magnitude of it.

Getting everyone dressed. Getting everyone into the car. Remembering the diapers and the water bottles and whatever toy has suddenly become essential. The low hum of anxiety about how it will all go, while the day's mounting to-do list circles through my mind at every stoplight.

By the time we arrive, I have already lived an entire morning.

I pause as I reach for the door.

"We're ready!" my three-year-old announces.

It makes me laugh.

We are.

I scoop them up and we go inside.

There's this strange combination of self-consciousness and pride I sometimes feel when I'm out alone with both girls. Does everyone know it took us almost an hour to get here? Do I look strange wearing lipstick at ten in the morning? Am I inconveniencing everyone behind us because, despite ordering it a hundred times, I suddenly can't remember my usual coffee order?

The young person at the register smiles warmly, and my oldest — completely unconcerned with any of the things occupying my mind — starts asking how everyone is doing today.

Her little sister offers her toothy grin to anyone who will look her way, amazed simply to be somewhere new.

And slowly, I start to settle in too.

While we're waiting for our order, a woman stops to tell the girls how cute they are. It's something people say to them often, but this time she looks back up at me and begins telling me about her own daughter.

About experiencing Christmas through her eyes. About the funny way she learned to walk — trying to fly on her belly first.

For a few minutes, we are just two mothers talking about our girls.

And I feel seen.

I feel, strangely and unexpectedly, like maybe I'm doing something right.

The moment ends when my oldest confidently grabs a smoothie that does not belong to her.

Back to reality.

I thank the woman, wish her a nice day, retrieve the rogue smoothie and clumsily maneuver the stroller toward the outdoor seating.

I used to go to coffee shops all the time.

Sitting there, I wonder: is this something I still like?

Motherhood has changed so much of my life that sometimes I don't know which parts of the person I was before are still mine. Even something as simple as ordering a coffee can feel different when there are two little people beside me.

But maybe different doesn't mean gone.

We share a blueberry muffin. A considerable amount of it ends up on the ground. There is nothing but blue sky above us and a sweet, warm breeze moving through.

And for a little while, nobody needs to be anywhere else.

I hope there are many more coffee shop dates with these two.

I hope mornings like this help me find the pieces of myself I want to carry forward — while making room for this new version of me, too.

What I Gathered

Lately, I've been thinking about style less as simply what I'm wearing and more as the little collection of things I reach for to move through my day.

Today it was a chocolate brown knit and shorts. A swipe of lipstick that made me wonder if I was overdressed before deciding I didn't care. The mascara that takes two minutes but somehow makes me feel more awake. A simple bag that still feels like me, alongside the stroller caddy that very much belongs to this chapter of life.

Nothing precious. Nothing particularly complicated.

Just useful things that make an ordinary day feel a little more considered.

Maybe that's what personal style looks like for me right now — not dressing for a life I used to have, but finding beauty in the one I'm actually living.

Then we pack everything back up.

My one-year-old falls asleep in the car, and I spend the drive home praying those few minutes won't completely destroy her afternoon nap.

The dishes are still waiting in the sink.

The laundry still needs to be switched.

Nothing on my list magically disappeared because we went out for coffee.

But we did it.

We're doing it.

And today, I'm proud of that.

Collected with Care: Everything gathered from this morning — what I wore, what I carried, and the little things that made me feel more like myself can be found here.