The Goo Phase (and I could use a card)
Before I get into today’s essay, let me introduce to you the newest content coming from our little corner of the world. Car Company with Charlee & Willa!
This is inspired by our own time in the car as a family and the madness that sometimes takes place. The girls will scream or insist on the same song over and over again and, finally, TJ had the idea to record them and play it in the car. So during a particularly loud car-tantrum from our youngest daughter Noa, TJ played back some of the fun Charlee and Willa had behind the microphones, and, to our surprise, not only did Noa stop crying, she—along with Willa and Charlee—started laughing. And thus, a new podcast for kids was born! Please listen and let us know what you and your kids think. And we’ve gotten this question enough for me to preemptively answer it now: yes, you can still listen, even if you’re not a kid! Also, if you don’t already listen to the podcast I co-host with TJ, you can do so here. And if you’d like to purchase a greeting card from my shop, you can do that here.
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Thank you so much for being here in any capacity; I appreciate you!
I had just gone through a divorce, which is, you know, like a surprise party, but instead of walking through a door and people yelling, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” you walk through a door and people yell, “NOW YOU’RE SINGLE!” Either way, you’re surprised.
I love the story of the caterpillar-turned-butterfly just as much as the next hope-filled person, but I don’t think there’s enough attention placed on the goo phase. Like, when the creature is neither a caterpillar or a butterfly, but is instead, just goo. I looked it up, and it’s described as a “soupy liquid substance” inside the little sack (which is also known as a chrysalis, but my husband TJ doesn’t think anybody will know what I’m talking about if I use that word. I, however, know you are smart. You probably have your bathroom wallpapered in little brightly colored chrysalises, all in wonderfully aesthetic rows and, see? You’re also stylish.)
Anyway, we need more cards with cute images of the goo. More messaging that is goo-inclusive. Because sometimes, we don’t recognize ourselves and it’s not because we’ve turned into butterflies. There are no wings, no transformation that anyone in their sound mind would want for themselves. Sometimes we are simply goo, rolling around on the bottom of a homemade chrysalis (but it’s a DIY chrysalis because you are also crafty, and guess who’s not surprised at all).
I have a dear friend whose dad is not so well lately and has started to miss important social cues. The other day, he accompanied her to the bank and, once inside, yelled to everyone, “She’s got a gun!” while pointing to her purse. As you can imagine, it isn’t easy. Not for her, not for him, and not for the strangers in public who don’t know the full story. She and her sister have printed cards to hand out after he commits a public faux pas, explaining the situation. (And how lovely of them to invite strangers to give grace to someone who’s struggling. That is a blessing for everyone involved.)
When I think about myself going through that divorce, I picture myself as goo. Of course I had a hard time getting out of bed, I was goo. Of course I cried at parties, surrounded by all the couples we used to be just like--I was only goo. There’s a reason most goo stays put in the chrysalis. A reason the goo doesn’t start attending parties until emerging a butterfly. Nobody told me that bit, so I trudged about the best I could, finding myself at parties, melting into the corners and blinking back tears. Of course I fell in love again a little too fast, goo doesn’t know any better. It knows about water, a little—tears, for sure. About melting and freezing—but only at the whim of the elements. It knows about sliding into the cracks that others only know about in the context of stepping over. But goo doesn’t know the first thing about a complex organ like a heart; how in the world would it know to guard it.
I, like my friend and her dad, probably could have used a card to hand out to others. It probably would have helped smooth out a few situations, not the least of which was all the questions people asked in church about where my husband had gone (in a metaphoric sense, I didn’t really know either). I could have handed them a “Please go easy on me. I’m only goo, you understand” card and the women’s restroom—with all the chatter over hand washing—would have been at least 75% less scary, I think.
I also wish I could tell my little gooey self that the butterfly is coming. It always is. And that it’s okay to be goo; it’s actually part of your evolution. Heck, maybe it’s even part of your revolution. Also, maybe we all get cards to hand out. Something like, “I’m overwhelmed by my kids and I’m grateful I’m their mom and also I got into a fight this morning with my husband, so please go easy on me.” Or maybe a card that says, “The internet makes me wonder what is true and that is existentially bad and I need solid ground so that’s why I’m reading the Psalms today, but I still feel weird because of some scrolling I did—please be kind.”
Certainly, it couldn’t hurt and God knows there are days I could use one. Also, perhaps we imagine every person who feels off to us has handed over a card that says, “I’m off and it’s for a good reason but I can’t talk about it right now.” And we immediately extend them grace and forgiveness or, at the very least, refrain from leaving them an awfully negative review because they wouldn’t let us throw out our young toddler’s dirty diaper (that was just pee, and I told them this) in their trash can. And oh, did I mention this was at a kid’s toy shop? Also, if you’re wondering why this is oddly specific, then let me just assure you I have stopped being hypothetical. And man, that guy was off. He wouldn’t let me use his trash can to toss a dirty diaper that only had pee in it. He wouldn’t even let me use their bathroom to change my one year old’s diaper. I had to change it on the sidewalk in front of his shop. He also wouldn’t even take his earbuds out when we walked in.
He was OFF. O-F-F. And by that, I mean he was the mosquito repellant you spray all over your body that smells terrible and is bad for you but malaria is worse so I guess the risk benefit is there. I’m trying to be nice here, which I think I nailed by saying he’s neither a mosquito or malaria. And a chemical bug repellant has some utility, so really, I gave him a compliment.
After the ordeal, I was so angry and had already found where to review his store on my phone when TJ suggested I wait. Maybe there’s something really sad in his life, he said. Maybe he really needs this job. Maybe you getting him fired isn’t the best way to intersect with him. We don’t know the whole picture and, yes, we do know he’s rude and seems to have a particular dislike for kids while working at a kid’s store—and that’s odd—but we don’t know if he’s really struggling right now and it comes across as meanness.
I listened and agreed. I took a deep breath and put my phone away.
He could use a card, see.
Like all the times I could use a card.
(Also, perhaps he was in his goo phase and had to leave his safe little chrysalis to work at a toy shop.)