Skip to main content

When you’re not the Main Character

*love- supporting the protagonist.

Frequenting coffee shops is an established habit. Lately, it’s included a little pal—my Felicity baby. Sometimes she insists that bouncing must happen or else crying will happen. I bounce her and people watch.

Four teenagers sit against a window. The boy has his arm possessively draped around the shoulders of the leggy girl in the shorts. A woman by herself attempts to use her phone. She goes up to various tables and makes observations about their lives. She smiles a lot. A girl with a pretty face and textured hair sits focused on her studying. A college couple sits in the high metal chairs. She speaks about ethnic diversity and the blond haired boy listens with eyes alert. They lean in just far enough to show they are not a couple yet.

A million wishes, wants, prayers and thoughts must radiate from the coffee shop. Main characters plodding along their own plot lines. And I bounce my baby, and I also march along my sub-conscious starring role.


You don’t need marriage or motherhood to learn the “you’re not the main character lesson," but they have been instructive for me. Love is an outward act and it requires a forsaking of self and seeing of others.

Yet even as I continue to learn to embrace the needs of my husband and child, it is still so easy to watch the coffee goers as the protagonist. The lady by herself needed some random coffee goers to play the supporting role in her story.

Maybe coffee shops also try to teach. 


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Hit the Ground Crawling

So admittedly it's been awhile since a mommy adventure has been documented via typing. The lack of stories mostly coincides with the end of maternity leave, but now the time has come to hit the ground of writing with some crawling. At least Felicity seems to thinks it’s time to crawl. Only she’s finding that her body doesn’t want to cooperate yet. I noticed she wanted to crawl when she started making flips onto her tummy to signal the end of naptime. Then, during playtime, she’d flop onto her large middle and stretch her little fingers grabbing at the toy that rolled just out of reach.  Toes push the ground, but her belly keeps her beached. And the most she’s managed is to scoot backwards or to rotate using her belly as an axis. But the crawling is coming soon.   She wants it badly. The little toes are starting to realize they need to push at the ground and determination to move forward fills her face with each passing day. At the moment, crawling is a Mueller fam...

The Adventure Begins Very Early on the Morning of July 15th

Note: In-N-Out is the first place I go when I arrive back in California. The California chain tastes like coming home. My day had been planned. I was going to walk with friends. Have coffee with my mom and a phone date in the evening. Followed by my husband asking, “what should we have for dinner.” And me responding “In-n-Out.” I’ll admit it I did exercise in hopes of expediting the labor process, but as I had been told, “babies will come when they will.” So I laid my plans: Plan A the aforementioned walk etc. and Plan B— Have a baby. When my mom arrived, full of more energy than I’m used to her having (a contrast with my labored lack of energy), it was apparent that Plan B was in effect. We were most definitely not going to coffee. I was going to have a baby. Labor… it’s not fun. Epidurals… they are a wonderful invention. It was late evening. I’d hoped they’d let me push on the 14 th . The history nerd in me was caught by the idea of having a baby on Bastille D...

Slaying Giants

Days like this begin when the night before I choose not to sleep, because I must read a few more lines from some news site or scroll one last time through the glowing screen of my iPhone instead of making good on my resolve to read quality literature and journal prior to bed. They continue when I wake up earlier than usual to teach, but finish teaching to realize that my children also went to bed later then they should. So now, everyone’s patience operates like feet hitting a wet spot on a wood floor. Bam. You loose traction. And first one then another is upset and done. That tantrum sparked another melt-down from someone else, and as I try to not join the melt-downs, and instead attempt to be the adult I hazard some words of explanation.  “Your choices impact us all.” I tell one of them.  My children’s choice do change the tenor of the room for good or for ill, but so do my choices. On days of this sort, where nothing is really wrong, other than a strong case of the grumpies...