Recorded on our walk today.
I have had a productive few days. Cleaning, creating, thinking about stuff. It's been wonderful and I feel very rested and ready to resume the full-on rush of childrenness in my life that will begin again as of Wednesday night or Thursday morning...I am not sure if we have decided which.
I am thinking, though, that in spite of the fact that all of this solitude has resulted in a great deal of positive productivity on so many levels...perhaps there is a reason why people choose to plan vacations that add stress to their lives rather than sit around the house during their time off. I basically have gone off the stress cold turkey, and now I am looking at welcoming it all back and I'm fucking terrified.
Thankfully I had the foresight to extend my vacation from work to overlap a bit with the return of the children, so we all have time to get acclimated before I have to start doing the whole logistical nightmare part of single parenting.
To top it all off, I have been thinking lately about relationships. About how it wouldn't be so bad to have a man in my life. Maybe. If he was tolerable. But mostly the idea of adding a relationship to the mix just seems like more stress to me, and yet at the same time I feel all of this pressure to try anyway because maybe it might also make things easier, and anyway when I start to get all weepy like I am right now it would be kind of nice to at least be able to call up a romantic interest and say "Hey. I need someone to fucking hold me. Get yr ass over here." (yes, I am All Class.)
I don't fucking know. It pisses me off that I have to choose a romantic partner who is compatible with my life and can somehow serve a utilitarian purpose. It pisses me off that I can't just love who I love without having to worry about the fact that I am overworked and overstressed and could use another set of hands around here. And the idea of finding a partner stresses me out in other ways because I feel like it would jeopardize some very intimate friendships I have that I am just not willing to give up for some man who may or may not stick around.
The thing is that I feel like I have HUGE True Real Love in my life right now. Love that fulfills all of my romantic needs, save the more practical ones. I don't know if it's fair to ask that love to fulfill the more practical needs...it doesn't seem like that's feasible, at least not at this time. And I am too lazy/stubborn/finicky to want to spend time finding anything that compares to that love and also fulfills the other.
So, whatever. The choice is already made, really, by virtue of me not wanting to invest the energy. My kids will come home. I will hug them a lot...maybe stress out a little about not having enough time for everything I want to do. I will find a rhythm and ride it. It's not so bad, really. In a few years, the hardest of the hard work will be over with. I'll survive, and I'll use those frenetic, frustrated bursts of energy to create things that will remind me of my strength when I am feeling weak like I am right now.
For now...I guess I will let myself cry it out a bit. Then I'll get myself up, put on my walking shoes, and wander around the neighborhood listening to music, crying a little, talking into my voice recorder, and enjoying as best I can the waning hours of my vacation from motherhood.
]]>It is so weird to wake up on a Monday morning after having had no children all weekend, and not have children tumbling in from their weekend with papa. The house is quiet and kind of lonely.
I have been filling my time with people, though. One a day, just like Dr. Lainie ordered. Yesterday was canoeing with S, Saturday was dinner with H, Friday was La La's with P. Tonight, it's...what? Maybe tonight I will hang out by myself and actually start doing all of those things I thought I was going to over the weekend. hahaha.
I am working morning/afternoons this week instead of my usual evenings, so even that is weird. And I am off work as of Wednesday until next Monday.
hahaha. I am definitely in my to-do list mode right now, and not in my writing mode. WTF is up with that? hehe.
I have been listening to the Cure all morning and slowly getting ready for work. Those of you who don't have children might not appreciate this...but one thing about not having the kids around that is incredibly gratifying is that I don't have to argue with anyone about departure. I don't have to remind anyone to PLEASE put their underpants/socks/shoes...or CLOTHES on. I don't have to explain WHY we are leaving or WHERE we are going. I can just...go. I can UP and fucking LEAVE! hahaha. That, right there, is enough to make me giggle with giddy glee.
It's been good so far. I have only really sat down and missed the boys 2 or 3 times. There has only been one tearful answering machine message from Cole, which I kicked myself for missing. My sweet mama's boy. For the most part, I feel really good. Their papa has been exceedingly reasonable lately. I don't have that same fear I did last year, when I was not absolutely sure if they would all be ok. That helps a lot. I think I can relax and just enjoy my time for the most part. Enjoy the lack of daily clusterfuckism that comes from having to find a place to put them while I am working...and shuttling them to and fro.
But, you know, also...I miss them. I was listening to a recording I made of me and Coley baking bread together and missing his sweet silliness, and Monk's silly sweetness. It is a good thing I have friends to keep me occupied, because...yeah, as much of a pain in the ass it can be to have the kids around all the time, it sometimes gets to hurting like hell when they aren't.
Ha! But in a week it will be back to complaining and stressing and winging it until the next mama break!
Not the punk band, either.
I sent M off to summer camp today with the carpool, which is graciously covering my carless ass for today and tomorrow to ensure M gets there and back without trouble. It's a day camp, so it's not like I'm sending him off to the wilderness for a week straight, but I am still feeling all verklempt about my baby, because this is the first camp he's gone to that has a lot of kids who are significantly older than he is. We have had several "talks" about this...about what to do when someone asks him to do something he thinks is wrong...you know...reminding him that his instincts about right and wrong are generally very good, and that he can always talk to me if he has questions about stuff people tell him.
At any rate, he had to be up at an ungodly early hour this morning to wait for his carpool, and I woke up with him (ish). He was so excited. I just wanted to go back to sleep. I kept flashing back to swim meet mornings when I was M's age, where I would get myself out of bed, get ready, pack a box of Jello (the sugar crystals were like some sort of faux performance drug for swimmers when I was growing up) and dread the shock of jumping into cold water and the stress of racing anxiety.
I keep wondering if it's normal that, at the age of 8, 9, 10...I don't know when it began, but really young...I was getting myself up and getting myself to either the pool or the friend's house for my ride. I don't remember my mom driving me, nor do I remember her attending any of my meets except maybe the City Meet where I got 4th in the 100-yard breaststroke and my mom brought me a big wad of bubblegum that was shaped like a hamburger (it was so cute, I refused to chew it!) It's one of those things, though...where I just can't look to my own life as a guide for what is normal or right or good in terms of parenting. I just kind of have to make shit up as I go along. And it didn't feel normal or right or good to make M wait outside for his ride alone, so I woke up with him and waiting, sleepily, lying on the couch.
Then again, as soon as he left, I went back to sleep & when I woke up, I found C in front of the television eating some toaster waffles he had prepared on his own. I was amazed that he didn't even try to wake me. Then I left the room and came back 15 minutes later and he had already started on his morning art project without asking for my assistance.
It seems like there is a line between benign neglect and actual neglect, and I am spending my entire life as a mother trying to find that line. I like the idea of my children being self-sufficient and resourceful and not necessarily needing me to facilitate every activity they undertake. At the same time, I remember feeling awfully lonely and unsupported as a child, and that has had some pretty serious repercussions in my adult life. I want my children to know that I am here for them if they need me, and I also want them to gradually earn the art of self-reliance. Hah.
Wow. I think I just figured out why I have such a difficult time asking for help when I need it...why I struggle with NOT being self-reliant. Perhaps, for some, the hardest lesson to learn is NOT self-reliance, but understanding that it's ok to not be able to do it alone. Perhaps, more than worrying that I'm doing too much or too little, what I need to focus on is giving my children the tools they need to communicate when they need help, and to give them space to figure it out on their own when they don't.
It's funny. I will have weeks and weeks with my boys, feeling like I have done everything wrong as a parent and I can't possibly keep doing this...and then there is a day like today, when I realize that I have actually somehow managed to give two boys a good start towards leading fully compassionate, empathic lives.
I have had a rough day...a rough weekend, kind of, in ways that are difficult to explain. Just a lot of unpleasant, unwelcome, and unproductive self-examination. The boys were at their dad's all weekend, and when they came home this morning, I just thought "Oh, fuck. I am just not cut out for this job today."
But I did what I know best to do...distract them. Hahaha. I took all of our various portable media devices out with us for an early morning exploration walk, and then we stopped at the park and I tried not to cry my eyes out from exhausted sadness while the neighbor lady played hide and seek with Monk and her kids, and Coley made me various "poisonous" concoctions from sand in the sandbox.
In spite of my gratitude for both of these things, I was still feeling like crap. And, of course, when I feel like crap and I am trying to parent...I feel like double, triple, exponentially compounding crap because, on top of all of the other shit I feel like I am doing a crappy job of, parenting goes to the top of the list because, damn, I just can't get it together to have fun and enjoy my babies for a bit.
Well, I muddled through, trying to be honest with them about how I'm feeling, without putting too much responsibility on them for causing and/or relieving my upset.
There are little snippets throughout the day, though...I know they know when I am down. Coley thrusts plucked wildflowers at me...Monk gives me a rare hug. They argue less...not out of fear, but out of empathy. It's nice. It's really nice.
By story time tonight, I was feeling much better, thanks to a couple of good friends and some time spent at an event that moved me out of my selfish self-pity, as well as viewing an exhibit that inspired me artistically and politically.
We are reading the twits...and we were at the chapter where they Dahl describes Mrs. Twit, thusly:
Coley interrupts me here...he says "Mom, do you ever have ugly thoughts?"
I'm thinking "Good fucking lord, kid...ALL FREAKING DAY! And then some." Because damnit if I'm not worried that if Mr. Dahl is correct, I am about to sprout a couple of disgusting boils on my face. But I respond "Well, honey...I think everyone has bad thoughts sometimes."
Coley examines my face for a minute, and we both turn back to the book. I continue reading:
Cole looks at me again. "Mom," he says. "You must think good thoughts all of the time, because I think you are beautiful."
And this makes me so happy that I forget to point out that this is a rather simplistic way to introduce the complexities of emotional make-up to small children. In fact, I don't point out anything at all. I just smile, hug both of them closer, and continue reading.
Thank fucking maude for my boys, is all I have to say. Thank fucking maude. I am so not worthy of them.
Recorded on our walk today.
Here is a little glimpse of what it is like to live with Coley. I was doing the dishes while the boys were playing with yu-gi-oh cards in the other room. I heard this:
Monk: Coley! Did you spill that? You better go clean it up before it reaches the yu-gi-oh cards!
Cole: Don't worry! I built a floodgate!
I walked into the living room to find that Coley had spilled an entire cup full of water and had, indeed, constructed a floodgate out of blocks, rather than mopping up the spill.
The question is...how can I get mad at him when he showed so much ingenuity? And what 6 year old thinks of the term "Floodgate?"
You know...when Monk was this age, I really thought I had a live-action Calvin sans Hobbes living in my house with me. Coley, however, is even moreso.
Oh, and...I threw him a rag and he mopped it up. So I didn't have to worry about getting mad at him, anyway.
Oh, and also...Coley's quote of the week came yesterday, when he turned to his friend Paulo after having gotten really dreadfully angry with him over a dispute in rules of their never-ending imaginary game and said "I really like you, Paulo...but sometimes I want to BLAST YOU to SMITHEREENS!! ...pause... SOMETIMES, but not ALWAYS."
heh.
I know I keep talking about what nerds my children are...but they quite honestly fascinate me with their never-ending nerditude, and I love it.
Yesterday, I came home to find my eldest laying in front of the television. At first, I was kind of surprised...because both of my boys are only vaguely interested in TV...and we really don't watch a lot of it, particularly not in the evening. We don't have cable, and I kind of feel like most network television is crap, and virtually none of it is appropriate for kids.
Anyway, I needn't have worried. I asked him "What's this?" And he was all excited..."It's this show that is a lot like that show we watched together that one time about segregation in the south, only it's about DEAF people."
So, basically, when I am not around, my son surfs PBS for good
documentaries. My favorite part of this particular documentary (and I
only caught the last 10 minutes of what Monk says was a 2 hour show)
was the deaf rock band, Beethoven's Nightmare. Rock on, dudes. And rock
on, my little dude. I just hope NPR gets its shit together before he's
old enough to be a pledge member.
I am not sure how obvious this is to people who have read about my children, but my six year old is kind of...special. In a number of ways. I am still trying to figure out if this is something that will help or hinder him in later life, but it is becoming more and more clear to me that C has a great many more anxieties than your average six year old. I am trying my damndest not to pathologize the little guy, while still maintaining an open mind about getting him the help he needs to cope with his uniqueness. And fortunately (or un, depending on how you look at it) I seem to have a lot of people in my life who I love who also have one anxiety disorder or another...so I get a lot of insight from them, even when they aren't communicating it directly.
At any rate, lately there have been a few incidents where C has had actual mini anxiety attacks. They seem to be happening most often when I am not around, and thankfully my friend who cares for C in the evenings is one of my friends who deals with anxiety of her own, so she knows exactly what to do when it happens. Calm voice, back rub, etc. And he usually calms down.
The other day, I heard him arguing with his friend who he goes to childcare with. Evidently, his friend has been playing with other kiddos more and more, and C was displeased with this. C said something somewhat threatening to his friend, and I had to remind C that P could play with anyone he chooses to play with...and suggested some solutions for C to consider if P didn't want to play with him. I am really trying hard to not project what I know about social phobia on to little C, because he is only 6, and this could very well be a phase...but it seemed familiar to me.
At any rate, it was difficult to talk Coley down. He ended up not wanting to go to his childcare thingy after all, and I was stuck. It was the one day of the week that I absolutely *Have* to be at work at a specific time, because I have meetings at a specific time on that specific day. And Coley was not budging. And the more he didn't budge, the more furious I became (attempting, of course, to contain myself)...and of course the more fury he sensed in me, the less likely he was going to be to budge.
Finally, it broke. I don't know what I said or did to convince him...maybe it was just the sweltering heat in the car, but C begrudgingly decided to give in. As he was getting out of the car with his little shoulders drooping, crying about how he never makes any friends and no one loves him and life is really really BAD (keep in mind that this is a child who will swing from the depths of self-pitying sadness into the silliest giggles you have ever heard). I told him the only sincere thing I could say at that point, as I was not feeling very empathic as his mother. I said "Aw, bird...I wish I was 6 years old so I could be your best friend."
He brightened a bit at this thought. And then he remembered his actual best friend, S. He said to me "Mom...my best friend is THIRTEEN."
I smiled. The relationship he has with S., a very gentle, sweet, unique 13 year old girl is so amazing. They play together like children, but they have this weird, uncanny sort of lifetime-transcending understanding of one another. It's really one of the most precious relationships I have ever had the pleasure to witness. And as Coley thought about S, he seemed to cheer up, too.
"Mom," he said. "Wanna know why S. and I are best friends?"
"Why, my birdy bird?"
"Because we BOTH believe in MAGIC."
And that is bird. In a nutshell. He is dramatic and wise and happysad and generous and kind and creative and brooding and joyful and wiggly and wonderful and...well...magical.
Lately, Monk keeps coming up with ideas for inventions of things that have already been invented. It must be tricky to be a child of this age, when so much of the good stuff has already been conceptualized. Today, his "inventions" included an operating system that would allocate a certain amount of space to each user who has a log in on the network, and also some space in which all users can share files. The following conversation ensued:
Me: You know...it's good, though, for you to be thinking of this stuff. Because at some point you are really going to think of something that has never been invented yet, and maybe you can invent it!
Monk: You mean...like a Death Ray?
Me: Well, maybe. I'm not sure how I feel about being the mother of the kid who invented the death ray, though.
Monk: Don't worry. I'll change my name.
hahahahaha.
I assume this will be added to throughout the week, but here goes...
Lessons I have learned while traveling with the kids:
Necessary Hotel Amenities: indoor pool, in-room refrigerator, in-room coffee maker, television with cable. Beds? Optional. (Coley ended up sleeping on the floor both nights after falling out of the bed the first hour of the first night.)
Kids Eat Free means you have to choose from a very unhealthy menu and you still end up paying for it.
No matter how subtle the incline, if there is grass, the kids will find an excuse to roll around in it.
You actually can skin your face, if you are Coley.
There is nothing cuter than a pair of giant river otters...except maybe a whole mess of penguins.
Evidently, I am attractive to parrots.
Always always always eat a meal before going to the art museum.
Never bring your fragile-egoed 6-year old aspiring artist into a gallery of youth artwork. He WILL fall on the floor and cry about how he will NEVER be that good...and he wants to go home NOW.
If you are at a truck stop rest room, and the boys have to use the bathroom, better to bring them in the ladies room than chew your fingernails while you watch countless seedy-looking men stream into the restroom you just sent your boys into.
No matter how much you spend and how much effort you exert, the boys will talk endlessly about how great the hotel was (and the swimming pool) (and the cable television) and not mention anything else. You can count this as a victory. You did, after all, choose the hotel.
Also, three days after arriving home, when you spend a simple day at the park and get stuck in the rain and your impossible to please 6 year old tells you "This day was more funner than most other days." Don't take it personally. Just smile, and nod in agreement...and muse over his ability to stay in the present.