It's not resentment, it's pure frustration.
Two little children twisted and mangled from years of poor guidance and absent parents. Today I was pushed past my boundaries.
The wheels fell off today
For the first time ever, I shed tears of pure frustration after delivering them safely to their daycare. Hours before this I'm feeding them, ensuring they are prepared for the day and allow for transparency and accountability in the space between home and not.
Dramalama
So there we were, about to leave the house and the youngest has his brothers car, remote control car that cost me a fortune, being dragged by a piece of nylon he's fastened to the undercarriage. This is how it all began, followed by excuses from the eldest that he's scared to confront his brother (if you knew the authoritative, dominant personality you'd also call bullshit) and of course another 5 minute debate about why their seat belts aren't on (again) in my car. They never do this in their fathers car.
The smirk that hurt more than a slap in the face
Our home is full of dangerous spiders that crop up from time to time. I don't normally kill spiders but these particular species can cause a lot of harm to children and animals so I insist we remove them.
Before we left the house I had asked the youngest if he had washed his face, brushed his teeth and hair and his hands. A resounding and confident "Yes!" came out of his mouth.
Just as we turned into the daycare mothers house, the eldest ejects his seat belt from it's fastened position. I SLAM on brakes, partially out of concern that one of the doors may be open and partially because my gut had told me one of them had done so on purpose.
True as nuts, the eldest had done so. Now livid, I insist he puts his belt on until he has come to a complete stop. They never do this with their father.
My wits end
As we arrive at the daycare gate, I see the youngest with pinched finger and thumb holding what looks like a bunch of black grass. "What on earth is that!", I exclaim. "It's a spiders nest," he retorts, "I found it on the wheel of the car."
At this point, I burst out laughing with disbelief. Just 3 days earlier we had explained to this 7 year old that the dangers of the spiders in our home are real and yet here he is with a spiders nest pinched between finger and thumb.
I get out of the vehicle and get to his side of the car. As he gets up his face and my eyes meet. Not only has he lied about having cleaned this morning, but his eyes are caked in sleep. The betrayal of knowing that he's not only lied to me, but lied so confidently cuts me to the core. He's irritated me, pushed me to breaking point and now this. Needless to say, I cried all the way to work. For the first time ever, I cried. I cried long, hard, real tears of frustration.
A reminder
Boundaries, I will not tolerate unacceptable behaviour and a round table meeting is about to commence. On the other side of frustration is love, on the other side of my sanity is a lack of boundaries. Time to get both back!
Thursday 10 December 2015
Wednesday 2 December 2015
It's not them, it's me.
This week, we attended the children's Christmas function, the eldest rocked his moves on the dance floor, the youngest was very attentive and focused. They are both doing so well, have improved so greatly and the confidence is evident that we are doing something right.
Great apprehension
A couple hours before our arrival at the school, we are informed that their mother (who has been M.I.A to date) will be in attendance, personally I'm impressed she's making the effort. Although I'm happy for the children that their mother is showing support, I try my best to mask my anxiety at the thought of our first encounter. There is a tangible agitation between us as a couple, we both don't say it, and he even denies it, but we're both walking on eggshells, poised and in our seats.
The eruption within
Naturally, any woman who has walked my path would want to make sure that the kids are protected from any drama, that as a woman, one looks and feels confident and at one's best. As far as flawless is concerned, I've nailed it, however, within me is an unnerved shambles, hoping for the best.
The kids come off the stage, they've done so well. I'm so proud and they run into their fathers arms. Straight past me. Dagger in the front. I shrug it off.
Typically I would be the recipient of such hugs, but I suppose this is their night, it's their father and they know that mom is around. Suddenly my insecurity starts to charge from the top of my solar plexus and wants to spew out through my throat and out of my mouth, a familiar and nagging sequence that has been the cause of my disdain all year. The resentment is real and so is the rejection.
Nothing compares to the pain
The evening comes to an end, mom doesn't bother to greet me and I'm not surprised. I don't really care either. Her hair is an unkept bed of two tone outgrowth and her tiny figure swims in the jeans that carry her legs. I pity the her, but she made the effort and it's applaudable.
The boys throw themselves into her arms, and then we all say goodbye. An unfamiliar pang gnashes at my heart. Those are my boys, I seethe, and then quickly remind myself of my place in this family. I am the 5th wheel, fiercely protective over family that is both my own and by definition not. I'm torn. What is this I'm feeling?
As we walk to the car, I trail behind. The high heels I'm wearing command my steady pace. They all leave me in their hurried path as I try and keep up without really wanting to either. I feel like less of a priority and then prompt some rationale into my head with a reminder that it's very late and the traffic crazy. He's not leaving me behind on purpose, hundreds of parents and children flow toward their cars and it's way past bed time.
It's not about me and it's eating me alive. I feel rejected, excluded and unwanted. I call out to their dad to wait, a snigger can be heard behind me, it's her, great! I wanted to be this bold and united family and I'm embarrassed and deflated, caught out like the fraud I feel I am. Perhaps my ego is at play because non of this really matters, yet I'm absolutely devastated.
A fall from grace
We get home and prepare the children for bed. It's an hour past their regular bed time and so much still has to be done. I prepare their lunches as dad starts packing their bags. We've also just been informed (not consulted with) that they will be collected from their mother a day earlier from school and we are to pack up their clothing for the weekend plus one day - at 9pm in the evening. I feel left out from that decision too, it's not even important but for some reason I'm jaded.
I'm livid, but at the same time, I'm forced to know my place. I fail to keep my irritation at bay, my face is an open book and my eyes give away a story of their own, wild with annoyance. She's not here, doesn't contribute and yet I'm feeling like I must just fit in.
As we go to bed, an immature blurt of frustration comes out of my mouth, "I hate my life!", and he goes cold with shock. Personally I can't even tell you where this came from, just that it pretty much summed up the last year we have been together. I love him, I love our bond, I love our connection but I don't know if I'm strong enough to do this. Surely it's meant to get better with time?
An avalanche of emotions start to surface, I feel like a failure, a fraud and a fake. I battle every single day at the thought of sharing my life with this extended family. There is judgement from my side, a reminder of his mistakes and my own.
I'm stuck at 17. I'm stuck at the hospital where I'm terminating my pregnancy all those years ago. Is this my punishment? Should I have made a different decision? Why didn't I just do the opposite? I'm living with so much regret, such a void and so many unanswered questions.
This is my life, with no family of my own, no children, no husband, just an observer and participant when I'm required to be and then I need to back off and allow the family to sort out their issues when needs be. The family that reminds me that I'm the outsider. It doesn't help that at my age, people judge me, I've had people tell me I'm a fool for taking on this mess, but I'm still here. Two days ago a girl I used to au pair told me she's seen on social media that I'm "still avoiding the marriage thing". Well I can assure you I'm feeling so much less than a winner right now.
I'm hurting, badly, wounded by the fact that I chose this. I chose this life because of a love for a man that I've never shared with anyone. I chose this life and yet I feel as if I'm failing at it. I chose this life and yet I'm resentful. Would it be better to just walk away?
My problem is that, in my mind, this is failure.
My problem is that, in my mind, this isn't the picket fence dream I deserve.
My problem is that, in my mind, I'm not their mother. I'm the stand in. Good enough for the most part, useless against the original.
My problem is that, I want to be someones family.
My problem is that, I want my own children, my own milestones.
My problem is that, I resent that this isn't the life I chose for myself, or rather, that I hadn't envisioned for myself.
My problem is that, I am so resentful.
My problem is that, I'm so angry.
My problem is that, I wish I could undo the past.
My problem is that, I will always wrestle with regret and judgement.
My problem is that, I'm broody for the first time in my life.
My problem is that, I'm an emotional wreck.
My problem is that, I'm in a box, without a label. I give love, share joy and impart guidance, yet I'm not their mother. I'm expected to be detached, yet expected to love. I'm the fetcher and carrier during school rounds, the provider of clothing and stationery supplies. Their cheerleader and the nothing that compares to their mother whose done nothing but neglect them since they were conceived.
I'm the cleaner of wounds, the voice of reason and the co-parent during their stay with us which is during the week, every day and on weekends. I'm at a crossroads of self acceptance and self persecution. I'm in a quandary over maternal instinct and duty. I'm struggling with blood bonds versus a couple months of cohabitation in this new role.
I know I'm not their mother, but I feel like I am. I'm the protector, the cook and cleaner. I'm the one they turn to for good night kisses and giggles over Nae-Nae dance moves.
My problem is that, I've taken on something greater than myself.
My problem is that, I want to and don't want to at the same time.
My problem is that, all I can see are the con's and very little pro's to this situation.
My problem is that, I used to be independent and free and now I'm bound and held to ransom by a broken family where I feel like the outsider.
My problem is that, even if I have my own children, they will always be his first born.
If you know what my solution is, I'd love to hear it.
Until then, I better dry my eyes that have cried about a thousand tears since last night and do my best to pull myself out of this depression and into work mode before that too is jeopardized.
My depression, my anxiety and my struggle this year, the only year we've been together, all started when I lost my identity and took this all on. I'm no hero, I'm just a woman in love with a man, who is really really battling to accept her life choices.
Maybe I just need to grow up, maybe time will heal. Who knows, I don't.
Great apprehension
A couple hours before our arrival at the school, we are informed that their mother (who has been M.I.A to date) will be in attendance, personally I'm impressed she's making the effort. Although I'm happy for the children that their mother is showing support, I try my best to mask my anxiety at the thought of our first encounter. There is a tangible agitation between us as a couple, we both don't say it, and he even denies it, but we're both walking on eggshells, poised and in our seats.
The eruption within
Naturally, any woman who has walked my path would want to make sure that the kids are protected from any drama, that as a woman, one looks and feels confident and at one's best. As far as flawless is concerned, I've nailed it, however, within me is an unnerved shambles, hoping for the best.
The kids come off the stage, they've done so well. I'm so proud and they run into their fathers arms. Straight past me. Dagger in the front. I shrug it off.
Typically I would be the recipient of such hugs, but I suppose this is their night, it's their father and they know that mom is around. Suddenly my insecurity starts to charge from the top of my solar plexus and wants to spew out through my throat and out of my mouth, a familiar and nagging sequence that has been the cause of my disdain all year. The resentment is real and so is the rejection.
Nothing compares to the pain
The evening comes to an end, mom doesn't bother to greet me and I'm not surprised. I don't really care either. Her hair is an unkept bed of two tone outgrowth and her tiny figure swims in the jeans that carry her legs. I pity the her, but she made the effort and it's applaudable.
The boys throw themselves into her arms, and then we all say goodbye. An unfamiliar pang gnashes at my heart. Those are my boys, I seethe, and then quickly remind myself of my place in this family. I am the 5th wheel, fiercely protective over family that is both my own and by definition not. I'm torn. What is this I'm feeling?
As we walk to the car, I trail behind. The high heels I'm wearing command my steady pace. They all leave me in their hurried path as I try and keep up without really wanting to either. I feel like less of a priority and then prompt some rationale into my head with a reminder that it's very late and the traffic crazy. He's not leaving me behind on purpose, hundreds of parents and children flow toward their cars and it's way past bed time.
It's not about me and it's eating me alive. I feel rejected, excluded and unwanted. I call out to their dad to wait, a snigger can be heard behind me, it's her, great! I wanted to be this bold and united family and I'm embarrassed and deflated, caught out like the fraud I feel I am. Perhaps my ego is at play because non of this really matters, yet I'm absolutely devastated.
A fall from grace
We get home and prepare the children for bed. It's an hour past their regular bed time and so much still has to be done. I prepare their lunches as dad starts packing their bags. We've also just been informed (not consulted with) that they will be collected from their mother a day earlier from school and we are to pack up their clothing for the weekend plus one day - at 9pm in the evening. I feel left out from that decision too, it's not even important but for some reason I'm jaded.
I'm livid, but at the same time, I'm forced to know my place. I fail to keep my irritation at bay, my face is an open book and my eyes give away a story of their own, wild with annoyance. She's not here, doesn't contribute and yet I'm feeling like I must just fit in.
As we go to bed, an immature blurt of frustration comes out of my mouth, "I hate my life!", and he goes cold with shock. Personally I can't even tell you where this came from, just that it pretty much summed up the last year we have been together. I love him, I love our bond, I love our connection but I don't know if I'm strong enough to do this. Surely it's meant to get better with time?
An avalanche of emotions start to surface, I feel like a failure, a fraud and a fake. I battle every single day at the thought of sharing my life with this extended family. There is judgement from my side, a reminder of his mistakes and my own.
I'm stuck at 17. I'm stuck at the hospital where I'm terminating my pregnancy all those years ago. Is this my punishment? Should I have made a different decision? Why didn't I just do the opposite? I'm living with so much regret, such a void and so many unanswered questions.
This is my life, with no family of my own, no children, no husband, just an observer and participant when I'm required to be and then I need to back off and allow the family to sort out their issues when needs be. The family that reminds me that I'm the outsider. It doesn't help that at my age, people judge me, I've had people tell me I'm a fool for taking on this mess, but I'm still here. Two days ago a girl I used to au pair told me she's seen on social media that I'm "still avoiding the marriage thing". Well I can assure you I'm feeling so much less than a winner right now.
I'm hurting, badly, wounded by the fact that I chose this. I chose this life because of a love for a man that I've never shared with anyone. I chose this life and yet I feel as if I'm failing at it. I chose this life and yet I'm resentful. Would it be better to just walk away?
My problem is that, in my mind, this is failure.
My problem is that, in my mind, this isn't the picket fence dream I deserve.
My problem is that, in my mind, I'm not their mother. I'm the stand in. Good enough for the most part, useless against the original.
My problem is that, I want to be someones family.
My problem is that, I want my own children, my own milestones.
My problem is that, I resent that this isn't the life I chose for myself, or rather, that I hadn't envisioned for myself.
My problem is that, I am so resentful.
My problem is that, I'm so angry.
My problem is that, I wish I could undo the past.
My problem is that, I will always wrestle with regret and judgement.
My problem is that, I'm broody for the first time in my life.
My problem is that, I'm an emotional wreck.
My problem is that, I'm in a box, without a label. I give love, share joy and impart guidance, yet I'm not their mother. I'm expected to be detached, yet expected to love. I'm the fetcher and carrier during school rounds, the provider of clothing and stationery supplies. Their cheerleader and the nothing that compares to their mother whose done nothing but neglect them since they were conceived.
I'm the cleaner of wounds, the voice of reason and the co-parent during their stay with us which is during the week, every day and on weekends. I'm at a crossroads of self acceptance and self persecution. I'm in a quandary over maternal instinct and duty. I'm struggling with blood bonds versus a couple months of cohabitation in this new role.
I know I'm not their mother, but I feel like I am. I'm the protector, the cook and cleaner. I'm the one they turn to for good night kisses and giggles over Nae-Nae dance moves.
My problem is that, I've taken on something greater than myself.
My problem is that, I want to and don't want to at the same time.
My problem is that, all I can see are the con's and very little pro's to this situation.
My problem is that, I used to be independent and free and now I'm bound and held to ransom by a broken family where I feel like the outsider.
My problem is that, even if I have my own children, they will always be his first born.
If you know what my solution is, I'd love to hear it.
Until then, I better dry my eyes that have cried about a thousand tears since last night and do my best to pull myself out of this depression and into work mode before that too is jeopardized.
My depression, my anxiety and my struggle this year, the only year we've been together, all started when I lost my identity and took this all on. I'm no hero, I'm just a woman in love with a man, who is really really battling to accept her life choices.
Maybe I just need to grow up, maybe time will heal. Who knows, I don't.
Wednesday 25 November 2015
Mr N(ASS)ty and the idle threats
I won't lie, it's been a difficult couple of months - hence my absence.
I'm at the point of no return with my nonchalant and completely blatant discontent with my life. I wish things could have been different, why can I still not see the blessing in this situation. Why does it feel like I'm being punished.
Parenting is hard, and off-putting
Someone asked me the other day if I was still interested in having children of my own. Of course I'm wanting my own children, but raising a pre-teen and a 9 year old is hard, and off putting when I think that I may need to do this all over again. I know they say it's different when it's your own children, but gosh, this is a constant battle between cooperation and defiance. The latter dominating at the best of times.
Mr N(ASS)ty was introduced to me a couple of weeks ago by a client of mine. "It's time to step up and hand out some good old fashioned discipline", she said "it's not always easy dishing out hidings, but we all grew up with them and we all laugh about it now."
She was referring to Mr Nasty as if he was the benchmark of parenthood, as if, when you're at this point of idle threats, Mr Nasty is at the top of the list when it comes to distributing physical reminders of who is boss. Today the kids met Mr Nasty, although, as you would imagine my luck, it was a giggle session between them while I sampled some Mr Nasty to their backsides. The introduction was futile as the youngest scoffed at my soft and harmless blows. "That wasn't sore", giggles the youngest, "do it again".
At this stage I'm over it, I'm also considering taking an online mental wellness quiz to check that I'm not, in fact, losing my mind to the insanity I call my afternoons.
Maybe it's not meant to be
Today, for the first time, I questioned whether or not I should walk away. I wondered what it would be like to just say, 'Sorry everyone, I'm done, I need a permanent time out in a remote location with a couple of cocktails around an adult only pool', but I know I could never, I don't want to.
Every fibre of my being is battling through this challenge of acceptance. It's not them, it's me. It's my frustration and my resentments and my regrets. I love their father, and they are good kids, but I'm selfish and I wish they hadn't been born. There. I said it. I wish, they hadn't inconvenienced my life.
If that makes me a bad person then I'm a bad person. But the fact that I'm still here, still committed, still doing my all for them with no expectations and no return on investment is a very clear form of love. Love isn't a duty, it is a privilege. I choose to share my home, money, time and knowledge with them. I choose to give of myself even when it means I'm near tearing out my hair and making idle threats with a bamboo spoon that I brought for a couple bucks at the local store.
I love them, I love him, I just don't know how long it's going to be before I can accept them in all their humanness. Perhaps I've just forgotten how to be patient, tolerant and accepting of others. Perhaps they are my reminders that all things, including love come at a price and mine is loving their father with the burden and privilege of raising them at the same time.
C'est la vie.
I'm at the point of no return with my nonchalant and completely blatant discontent with my life. I wish things could have been different, why can I still not see the blessing in this situation. Why does it feel like I'm being punished.
Parenting is hard, and off-putting
Someone asked me the other day if I was still interested in having children of my own. Of course I'm wanting my own children, but raising a pre-teen and a 9 year old is hard, and off putting when I think that I may need to do this all over again. I know they say it's different when it's your own children, but gosh, this is a constant battle between cooperation and defiance. The latter dominating at the best of times.
Mr N(ASS)ty was introduced to me a couple of weeks ago by a client of mine. "It's time to step up and hand out some good old fashioned discipline", she said "it's not always easy dishing out hidings, but we all grew up with them and we all laugh about it now."
She was referring to Mr Nasty as if he was the benchmark of parenthood, as if, when you're at this point of idle threats, Mr Nasty is at the top of the list when it comes to distributing physical reminders of who is boss. Today the kids met Mr Nasty, although, as you would imagine my luck, it was a giggle session between them while I sampled some Mr Nasty to their backsides. The introduction was futile as the youngest scoffed at my soft and harmless blows. "That wasn't sore", giggles the youngest, "do it again".
At this stage I'm over it, I'm also considering taking an online mental wellness quiz to check that I'm not, in fact, losing my mind to the insanity I call my afternoons.
Maybe it's not meant to be
Today, for the first time, I questioned whether or not I should walk away. I wondered what it would be like to just say, 'Sorry everyone, I'm done, I need a permanent time out in a remote location with a couple of cocktails around an adult only pool', but I know I could never, I don't want to.
Every fibre of my being is battling through this challenge of acceptance. It's not them, it's me. It's my frustration and my resentments and my regrets. I love their father, and they are good kids, but I'm selfish and I wish they hadn't been born. There. I said it. I wish, they hadn't inconvenienced my life.
If that makes me a bad person then I'm a bad person. But the fact that I'm still here, still committed, still doing my all for them with no expectations and no return on investment is a very clear form of love. Love isn't a duty, it is a privilege. I choose to share my home, money, time and knowledge with them. I choose to give of myself even when it means I'm near tearing out my hair and making idle threats with a bamboo spoon that I brought for a couple bucks at the local store.
I love them, I love him, I just don't know how long it's going to be before I can accept them in all their humanness. Perhaps I've just forgotten how to be patient, tolerant and accepting of others. Perhaps they are my reminders that all things, including love come at a price and mine is loving their father with the burden and privilege of raising them at the same time.
C'est la vie.
Monday 12 October 2015
Bombyx mori
I've never really been afraid of bugs.
Sure, I'm not a fan of locust's or things that may have a stony exoskeleton, but besides that, I can handle most insects.
It's that time of the year
Three weeks ago, our eldest brought home a box of Silkworms. No longer than my smallest fingernail, each little worm now depended on him for survival. "This will be a good life lesson", we thought, until one night he went to bed knowing they were in need of food and couldn't have cared less.
Perhaps too young (at the age of 9) to understand the responsibility he had undertaken, perhaps too naive to consider the consequences should they not survive due to his neglect.
Not a care in the world
A few days later, the kids are off to their mom for a full 10 day mid term break. The box of Silkworms sits on our dining table, dried leaves need to be changed and scatterings of digested Mulberry leaves need to be cleaned out from the box.
What happened next was truly shocking, although I shouldn't have been appalled - I was. Eldest skips out the door with bags in hand, gives me a half-hearted hug goodbye and leaves the worms behind. When I stopped to suggest he takes the worms with to mom for the next 10 days, he sheepishly hands over responsibility to me with a detached grin. Three worms had died in his care, my heart was broken, so needless to say they were mine to care for.
To live or die
Thankfully there is a Mulberry tree in our road, literally a couple steps from our house. There were jokes about putting the helpless grubs in the tree and let nature take its course. There was talk about giving them away and even throwing them in the dustbin. For some reason, I just couldn't do it.
Perhaps the hassle and the responsibility was my own fault, I could have chosen to give up on these little stinkers and continue with my 10 day holiday from the kids. Yes, even though I'm still working as usual, no children for 10 days feels like a vacation on its own and I was excited.
So I decided to keep feeding them
There were days of box changing and cleaning that I resented. The heat had been unbearable and the worms needed leaves morning and night as they grew and doubled in size. But there were days where (and I still do) just sit and watch them be. Their main purpose in life, unfaltering commitment to grow and spin cocoons. They eat, they poop, they eat, they poop and on the odd occasion they will sleep.
As they grew, they would shed their skins to accommodate their growing forms. By this stage, one of the worms had given up and spun his cocoon prematurely, as if to just shut out the world and retreat to a cozy, yellow safe haven.
I could relate. Yes it was premature, but he simply did what came naturally, even though it wasn't 'the right time'.
My box of lessons
One day last week, while cleaning their box out, a small golden shell caught my eye. It seemed that a Silkworm had transformed itself into a pupae without spinning a silky cocoon and died. We had just experienced day 4 of a massive, national heatwave. Perhaps my own neglect had caused this little critter to pass on prematurely?
I gently picked up the little casing, and on inspection, a transparent half-moth, half-worm had developed inside. How on earth did this creature manage to go into this stage of it's life without spinning a cocoon first?
Adapt to survive
I gently prodded the alien creature that lay in my hand and to my surprise it began to wiggle. The wiggle of life, the wiggle of survival. The wings were developing, I could see the changes happening and the adaptation within the casing before my eyes. It had failed to cocoon, but it hadn't failed to survive!
In that moment of awe, I became so aware of my own journey over the last few months with the kids in my life. My instant motherhood journey, trials and resentments. My ability to see that some instances are permanent, some are temporary and some are choices that have all prepared me for this change.
Sure, I wasn't ready to do this. Perhaps this little pupae was a metaphor for the journey I've been on.
Sometimes, we go against the norm. Some circumstances will make us feel judged, some may make us feel 'abnormal' and others will prod and poke us to remind us that we're still alive.
As we transform and grow before everyone's eyes, we may struggle with change and may even forget that all we're meant to do, is simply do what comes naturally. The change doesn't happen when the bell rings, the change happens as its meant to, be it break down, spin or retreat.
We may struggle with transformation and we may even need to adapt to survive. Some of us will be pushed to spin a cocoon and retreat within as we change, emerging as that butterfly (or in this case moth) that we inevitably will become. Some of us may transform, unaware that the change was happening anyway and yet everything is exactly as it should be.
You don't always have to be comfortable and protected to develop. Sometimes the shift happens when you're in the midst of a heatwave.
Sure, I'm not a fan of locust's or things that may have a stony exoskeleton, but besides that, I can handle most insects.
It's that time of the year
Three weeks ago, our eldest brought home a box of Silkworms. No longer than my smallest fingernail, each little worm now depended on him for survival. "This will be a good life lesson", we thought, until one night he went to bed knowing they were in need of food and couldn't have cared less.
Perhaps too young (at the age of 9) to understand the responsibility he had undertaken, perhaps too naive to consider the consequences should they not survive due to his neglect.
Not a care in the world
A few days later, the kids are off to their mom for a full 10 day mid term break. The box of Silkworms sits on our dining table, dried leaves need to be changed and scatterings of digested Mulberry leaves need to be cleaned out from the box.
What happened next was truly shocking, although I shouldn't have been appalled - I was. Eldest skips out the door with bags in hand, gives me a half-hearted hug goodbye and leaves the worms behind. When I stopped to suggest he takes the worms with to mom for the next 10 days, he sheepishly hands over responsibility to me with a detached grin. Three worms had died in his care, my heart was broken, so needless to say they were mine to care for.
To live or die
Thankfully there is a Mulberry tree in our road, literally a couple steps from our house. There were jokes about putting the helpless grubs in the tree and let nature take its course. There was talk about giving them away and even throwing them in the dustbin. For some reason, I just couldn't do it.
Perhaps the hassle and the responsibility was my own fault, I could have chosen to give up on these little stinkers and continue with my 10 day holiday from the kids. Yes, even though I'm still working as usual, no children for 10 days feels like a vacation on its own and I was excited.
So I decided to keep feeding them
There were days of box changing and cleaning that I resented. The heat had been unbearable and the worms needed leaves morning and night as they grew and doubled in size. But there were days where (and I still do) just sit and watch them be. Their main purpose in life, unfaltering commitment to grow and spin cocoons. They eat, they poop, they eat, they poop and on the odd occasion they will sleep.
As they grew, they would shed their skins to accommodate their growing forms. By this stage, one of the worms had given up and spun his cocoon prematurely, as if to just shut out the world and retreat to a cozy, yellow safe haven.
I could relate. Yes it was premature, but he simply did what came naturally, even though it wasn't 'the right time'.
My box of lessons
One day last week, while cleaning their box out, a small golden shell caught my eye. It seemed that a Silkworm had transformed itself into a pupae without spinning a silky cocoon and died. We had just experienced day 4 of a massive, national heatwave. Perhaps my own neglect had caused this little critter to pass on prematurely?
I gently picked up the little casing, and on inspection, a transparent half-moth, half-worm had developed inside. How on earth did this creature manage to go into this stage of it's life without spinning a cocoon first?
Adapt to survive
I gently prodded the alien creature that lay in my hand and to my surprise it began to wiggle. The wiggle of life, the wiggle of survival. The wings were developing, I could see the changes happening and the adaptation within the casing before my eyes. It had failed to cocoon, but it hadn't failed to survive!
In that moment of awe, I became so aware of my own journey over the last few months with the kids in my life. My instant motherhood journey, trials and resentments. My ability to see that some instances are permanent, some are temporary and some are choices that have all prepared me for this change.
Sure, I wasn't ready to do this. Perhaps this little pupae was a metaphor for the journey I've been on.
Sometimes, we go against the norm. Some circumstances will make us feel judged, some may make us feel 'abnormal' and others will prod and poke us to remind us that we're still alive.
As we transform and grow before everyone's eyes, we may struggle with change and may even forget that all we're meant to do, is simply do what comes naturally. The change doesn't happen when the bell rings, the change happens as its meant to, be it break down, spin or retreat.
We may struggle with transformation and we may even need to adapt to survive. Some of us will be pushed to spin a cocoon and retreat within as we change, emerging as that butterfly (or in this case moth) that we inevitably will become. Some of us may transform, unaware that the change was happening anyway and yet everything is exactly as it should be.
You don't always have to be comfortable and protected to develop. Sometimes the shift happens when you're in the midst of a heatwave.
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| My box of Bombyx mori |
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| If its uncomfortable, it's probably a growth period! |
Monday 21 September 2015
They are always listening
While sitting at the dining table this week, a gem was revealed to me, one that I would only appreciate a few days later. A delayed reaction of emotion hit me well after our meal was finished.
Daddio and I always try and teach the kids a couple life lessons, as I would imagine most good parents do. We reflect on morality, right from wrong and our feelings almost every dinner time. Our dinner time has become our family time. Somewhere between bathing, homework and prepping for lunches, dinner time is our time to communicate and reflect as a family, as a team, unconditionally.
So while we sat chatting about the day, we start talking about bullying at the school they are at. It is a problem that has escalated well past the point of urgency since my days at their age. Bullying has become the most concerning of all activities at their school other than the teaching standards and pass rates that keep dropping.
Besides that, the youngest tells us about his day and eldest pipes up as he does at every opportunity he can get, contributing his two cents of anything that comes to mind.
"It's okay if people don't like you", he says as his shoulders shrug at me. "If people don't like you, you just send them love, love them anyway. That's what you taught me." he says chewing on his carrot. "That's right my boy", I reply encouragingly and just like that dinner was over.
It was only the next day that I realised just how poignant that statement was. While all this acting up, insubordination and school time shenanigans were taking place, something had sunk in. Something positive, something deeply good and wholesome had germinated within his psyche.
He's been listening and even though I can't recall the exact moment that I instilled this unconditional pearl of love and wisdom, he credits me. He knows that even though his friends (or in my case, his mother) doesn't like me, you can still send them love. I am still sending her love. I will always send her love.
Clearly, I'm doing a lot better at this than I realised. My heart is full of pride, my soul is full of purpose. I am their teacher and they are mine.
Daddio and I always try and teach the kids a couple life lessons, as I would imagine most good parents do. We reflect on morality, right from wrong and our feelings almost every dinner time. Our dinner time has become our family time. Somewhere between bathing, homework and prepping for lunches, dinner time is our time to communicate and reflect as a family, as a team, unconditionally.
So while we sat chatting about the day, we start talking about bullying at the school they are at. It is a problem that has escalated well past the point of urgency since my days at their age. Bullying has become the most concerning of all activities at their school other than the teaching standards and pass rates that keep dropping.
Besides that, the youngest tells us about his day and eldest pipes up as he does at every opportunity he can get, contributing his two cents of anything that comes to mind.
"It's okay if people don't like you", he says as his shoulders shrug at me. "If people don't like you, you just send them love, love them anyway. That's what you taught me." he says chewing on his carrot. "That's right my boy", I reply encouragingly and just like that dinner was over.
It was only the next day that I realised just how poignant that statement was. While all this acting up, insubordination and school time shenanigans were taking place, something had sunk in. Something positive, something deeply good and wholesome had germinated within his psyche.
He's been listening and even though I can't recall the exact moment that I instilled this unconditional pearl of love and wisdom, he credits me. He knows that even though his friends (or in my case, his mother) doesn't like me, you can still send them love. I am still sending her love. I will always send her love.
Clearly, I'm doing a lot better at this than I realised. My heart is full of pride, my soul is full of purpose. I am their teacher and they are mine.
Sunday 20 September 2015
Are expectations premeditated resentments?
I remember sitting in therapy a couple of years ago explaining that an ex had told me that "expectations were premeditated resentments".
For a while, the therapist and I debated whether or not his outlook was a negative one, or perhaps if expectations were in fact, necessary.
This past week, I realised that most of my resentments have come from expecting the other party, the children, my partner, even my boss, to do certain things, provide in certain ways and then, in turn, fulfill my needs and my expectations - all of which revolve around me.
I don't mean that I expect them to drop everything, yet I do, I have an unrealistic expectation that everyone is happy, everyone is on my side and everyone wants to pull their weight and add joy to my life. A cotton candy bubble of denial, that's me, the eternal optimist. Facts are, people are people.
Sometimes for example, the ex fails to pay her part toward her children (that I'm paying for and currently raising) or she sets up the children for failure when she doesn't arrive with her family in tow as promised to their soccer matches - I simply get resentful. I expect a mother to be more than that. I expect her to be - me - to do what I would do, to move heaven and earth to be there, to ensure that my word is my bond.
But when you learn to expect that the unexpected is going to occur, when you learn that your expectations may be unrealistic, aggressively optimistic or even completely off course, you're growing. Perhaps, like myself, you keep thinking that maybe this time will be different, expectations are often our greatest cause of pain and disappointment when we don't accept people for who they are and who they've proven to be.
We expect from others, what we would do ourselves. Accepting that people will let you down, or at least fall short of your desires for the outcome in mind, is your greatest freedom. It's not that one shouldn't expect better from people, but it is necessary to free yourself from judgement of them when they fail to rise.
So this week, I decided to see the circumstances in which I expect certain outcomes to prevail, exactly as they are. I expect that each time the children get home from school, there may not be a welcoming committee nor a parade of love showered from them to me. I don't take it personally anymore, it is expected. I have come to expect very little, perhaps expect humanness, routine and a little less pizzazz - then I can't be disappointed. They are after all, moody, complex and individual human beings.
The same applies when their mother reacts with childish comments and hurtful accusations, I've learned to expect this, my expectations cannot cause resentment, because I know that she's incapable, or at least unwilling, to rise above the pain and anger she feels toward us and be a present and active parent. In the past, I had high hopes she would soften, change and reason with herself if not with us.
A stone is a stone, and I shall no longer see the stone as a feather. So now, I let go and at the same time embrace expectations. They can be premeditated resentments or they can set you free.
It's lighter and my life feels like my own again.
For a while, the therapist and I debated whether or not his outlook was a negative one, or perhaps if expectations were in fact, necessary.
This past week, I realised that most of my resentments have come from expecting the other party, the children, my partner, even my boss, to do certain things, provide in certain ways and then, in turn, fulfill my needs and my expectations - all of which revolve around me.
I don't mean that I expect them to drop everything, yet I do, I have an unrealistic expectation that everyone is happy, everyone is on my side and everyone wants to pull their weight and add joy to my life. A cotton candy bubble of denial, that's me, the eternal optimist. Facts are, people are people.
Sometimes for example, the ex fails to pay her part toward her children (that I'm paying for and currently raising) or she sets up the children for failure when she doesn't arrive with her family in tow as promised to their soccer matches - I simply get resentful. I expect a mother to be more than that. I expect her to be - me - to do what I would do, to move heaven and earth to be there, to ensure that my word is my bond.
But when you learn to expect that the unexpected is going to occur, when you learn that your expectations may be unrealistic, aggressively optimistic or even completely off course, you're growing. Perhaps, like myself, you keep thinking that maybe this time will be different, expectations are often our greatest cause of pain and disappointment when we don't accept people for who they are and who they've proven to be.
We expect from others, what we would do ourselves. Accepting that people will let you down, or at least fall short of your desires for the outcome in mind, is your greatest freedom. It's not that one shouldn't expect better from people, but it is necessary to free yourself from judgement of them when they fail to rise.
So this week, I decided to see the circumstances in which I expect certain outcomes to prevail, exactly as they are. I expect that each time the children get home from school, there may not be a welcoming committee nor a parade of love showered from them to me. I don't take it personally anymore, it is expected. I have come to expect very little, perhaps expect humanness, routine and a little less pizzazz - then I can't be disappointed. They are after all, moody, complex and individual human beings.
The same applies when their mother reacts with childish comments and hurtful accusations, I've learned to expect this, my expectations cannot cause resentment, because I know that she's incapable, or at least unwilling, to rise above the pain and anger she feels toward us and be a present and active parent. In the past, I had high hopes she would soften, change and reason with herself if not with us.
A stone is a stone, and I shall no longer see the stone as a feather. So now, I let go and at the same time embrace expectations. They can be premeditated resentments or they can set you free.
It's lighter and my life feels like my own again.
Thursday 3 September 2015
The woman in the mirror
Sitting across from the therapist, I realised that I didn't have much to say to her, to ask for assistance with or to get answers about. My opening words were literally, "I have no idea why I actually came here today."
Without sounding like I know it all, I realised that I had to find myself again and reconnect with my identity - and of course work on my resentment. But, for the life of me, what was a professional therapist going to tell me that I didn't already know?
The Disconnect
As I sat blowing my nose while rehashing a year of emotional distress, it became apparent through my session that I've disconnected from this picture. Disconnected from people, from feeling. Disconnected and in turn, bitter. And guess who sits at the fore of my distress? Their mother.
My issues, concerns and frustrations, albeit a huge responsibility I've taken on, have lead me to childhood and previous relationship matters that I simply haven't addressed until now. I never wanted to be the homewrecker, I never wanted to be the thorn in the side of a family union. That is how I grew up, how I was influenced and traumatised.
To reconnect, one needs to empathize, release fear and work through the mirror image of the problem being presented. My problem is a person I cannot see nor speak to, yet I have eaten from the sweet fruit of drama and poisoned myself with her bitterness.
Mirror Mirror
The therapist turns to me and asks, "What is it that this woman represents to you?"
Immediately all the irresponsible things she had done, said, felt and confessed to came to mind. "She's the complete opposite of me", I retorted, "her lack of responsibility and accountability."
But, this in fact, is not what she represents. This woman, the mother of these two children I'm raising is my karmic lesson of compassion and unconditional love that I've chosen to turn my back on.
I am no better than her, she is no better than I. We are two people that have chosen two different live paths and her children are a constant reminder of a polar opposite I've never experienced until her. She is, my mirror.
A lesson in empathy
The therapist turns to me again, after a long gap of silence between my tears. "Imagine, for a moment, how it must feel for her. Imagine being alone, with someone else raising your children, with someone whom you shared 10 years of your life with. Imagine for a moment, how she feels, being a weekend mother, realising her shortfalls, her dreams and aspirations not materalized and seeing you with her family, living a life she perceives as perfect."
My face went numb, and that hollow feeling one gets in the pit of their stomach when a loss is felt. The slow, creeping vines of anger and resentment, transformed into sadness and withered inside me. How lonely she must feel. How much lose she too has suffered.
While I realise that I wasn't the cause of her relationship breakdown, I've stepped into a relationship with a man that I have so much history with, that she too has so much history with. A man we shared at different times of our lives, children we share now, children that weren't part of my plan. Children that I've given my all to, sacrificed for, loved and been hurt by. Children that constantly remind me of a time in my life when their father and I could have been more, could have prevented their existence by staying together as teenagers. Their relationship wasn't based on what ours is, but that doesn't make her loss and grief any easier to swallow - for both of us.
I felt like the other woman. I felt like, in a surreal way, I had stepped into and invaded a family that had nothing to do with me. A family that I hadn't chosen, and a family that I felt alienated from - because I never made them - they did. And while this realisation made me sick to pits of my being, I feel the happiest with him, the most content together that I've ever been in my life. As if, he was always mine, borrowed from me by the world and returned to me as destiny and fate would have it.
Perhaps, this is how it's meant to be. Perhaps, I'm the love lesson that needs to be reflected into her life with action and in time.
Extending love and letting go
So before everyone gets on the bandwagon of cliche's, "Everything happens for a reason", is top of my mind. I know that I cannot go back. I know that everything has happened by choice, by purpose and that these two little souls need the good from both of us, all of us. She is their mother, I am their guide and they have a very capable, very hands-on father. We should be a power team, not a toxic divide.
I've never spoken ill of their mother, while there are always constant reminders of how she's slated me in my absence to them, in front of them. Funny how it always gets back to my ears through the children.
My choice, right now, is to change my perspective. My choice is to let go of my unrealistic expectations that a bond that I share with their father is enough to get us through and make everything okay. Everything was not okay before I arrived. Everything is getting better, but this isn't a quick fix. This is life, these are lives, my life, his life, hers and theirs.
The therapist closes her book at the end of our session. "You can live with bitterness and become twisted with resentment, or you can choose to love her in her imperfection."
I may not be ready for that, I'm still trying to come to terms with feeling like she stole my life. The life that in retrospect, I was meant to have. Not raise her children.
Knowing she willingly carried children that would be subjected to alcohol and drug abuse makes me resent myself even more for not being brave enough to say yes instead of no to a child that would have changed our entire lives.
Perhaps I'm just living out my own guilt, perhaps this is the bigger picture. Perhaps, I've got so much more to learn and gain with so much less to sacrifice than I realise.
Let the healing begin.
Without sounding like I know it all, I realised that I had to find myself again and reconnect with my identity - and of course work on my resentment. But, for the life of me, what was a professional therapist going to tell me that I didn't already know?
The Disconnect
As I sat blowing my nose while rehashing a year of emotional distress, it became apparent through my session that I've disconnected from this picture. Disconnected from people, from feeling. Disconnected and in turn, bitter. And guess who sits at the fore of my distress? Their mother.
My issues, concerns and frustrations, albeit a huge responsibility I've taken on, have lead me to childhood and previous relationship matters that I simply haven't addressed until now. I never wanted to be the homewrecker, I never wanted to be the thorn in the side of a family union. That is how I grew up, how I was influenced and traumatised.
To reconnect, one needs to empathize, release fear and work through the mirror image of the problem being presented. My problem is a person I cannot see nor speak to, yet I have eaten from the sweet fruit of drama and poisoned myself with her bitterness.
Mirror Mirror
The therapist turns to me and asks, "What is it that this woman represents to you?"
Immediately all the irresponsible things she had done, said, felt and confessed to came to mind. "She's the complete opposite of me", I retorted, "her lack of responsibility and accountability."
But, this in fact, is not what she represents. This woman, the mother of these two children I'm raising is my karmic lesson of compassion and unconditional love that I've chosen to turn my back on.
I am no better than her, she is no better than I. We are two people that have chosen two different live paths and her children are a constant reminder of a polar opposite I've never experienced until her. She is, my mirror.
A lesson in empathy
The therapist turns to me again, after a long gap of silence between my tears. "Imagine, for a moment, how it must feel for her. Imagine being alone, with someone else raising your children, with someone whom you shared 10 years of your life with. Imagine for a moment, how she feels, being a weekend mother, realising her shortfalls, her dreams and aspirations not materalized and seeing you with her family, living a life she perceives as perfect."
My face went numb, and that hollow feeling one gets in the pit of their stomach when a loss is felt. The slow, creeping vines of anger and resentment, transformed into sadness and withered inside me. How lonely she must feel. How much lose she too has suffered.
While I realise that I wasn't the cause of her relationship breakdown, I've stepped into a relationship with a man that I have so much history with, that she too has so much history with. A man we shared at different times of our lives, children we share now, children that weren't part of my plan. Children that I've given my all to, sacrificed for, loved and been hurt by. Children that constantly remind me of a time in my life when their father and I could have been more, could have prevented their existence by staying together as teenagers. Their relationship wasn't based on what ours is, but that doesn't make her loss and grief any easier to swallow - for both of us.
I felt like the other woman. I felt like, in a surreal way, I had stepped into and invaded a family that had nothing to do with me. A family that I hadn't chosen, and a family that I felt alienated from - because I never made them - they did. And while this realisation made me sick to pits of my being, I feel the happiest with him, the most content together that I've ever been in my life. As if, he was always mine, borrowed from me by the world and returned to me as destiny and fate would have it.
Perhaps, this is how it's meant to be. Perhaps, I'm the love lesson that needs to be reflected into her life with action and in time.
Extending love and letting go
So before everyone gets on the bandwagon of cliche's, "Everything happens for a reason", is top of my mind. I know that I cannot go back. I know that everything has happened by choice, by purpose and that these two little souls need the good from both of us, all of us. She is their mother, I am their guide and they have a very capable, very hands-on father. We should be a power team, not a toxic divide.
I've never spoken ill of their mother, while there are always constant reminders of how she's slated me in my absence to them, in front of them. Funny how it always gets back to my ears through the children.
My choice, right now, is to change my perspective. My choice is to let go of my unrealistic expectations that a bond that I share with their father is enough to get us through and make everything okay. Everything was not okay before I arrived. Everything is getting better, but this isn't a quick fix. This is life, these are lives, my life, his life, hers and theirs.
The therapist closes her book at the end of our session. "You can live with bitterness and become twisted with resentment, or you can choose to love her in her imperfection."
I may not be ready for that, I'm still trying to come to terms with feeling like she stole my life. The life that in retrospect, I was meant to have. Not raise her children.
Knowing she willingly carried children that would be subjected to alcohol and drug abuse makes me resent myself even more for not being brave enough to say yes instead of no to a child that would have changed our entire lives.
Perhaps I'm just living out my own guilt, perhaps this is the bigger picture. Perhaps, I've got so much more to learn and gain with so much less to sacrifice than I realise.
Let the healing begin.
Tuesday 1 September 2015
Seeking professional help
Today, fate had plans for me.
I had decided that after my recent melt down (and a couple mini ones thereafter) it was time to seek professional help. I needed to speak to someone about my resentment and my fears, boy do I have a lot of both.
As destiny would have it, a cancellation came through for the Psychologist I was trying to get an appointment with, apparently quite a popular Dr. with many patients waiting to see her months from now. Today, I was meant to be there, meet her, chat.
My first steps
"I have absolutely no idea why I'm here", I started. To be honest with you (and her) I realised that I had a lack of balance, needed more 'me' time and had thrown myself into a role that had nothing to do with me. But, I didn't know why I was sitting in front of a professional therapist when I knew all the answers already. I knew and still know that only I can fix this by changing my attitude towards this new life.
What I didn't bank on was hearing that all of it, all of it, was my choice. Now, I'm not ignorant to the fact that I chose to take on this step mommy role, but I didn't really think that it would get this far, the drama that is, to the point of breaking my soul. Turns out, it's all part of the permission I've granted. Hashtag let's take some ownership here.
It's still not about me
In short, I have to let go. It's not about me, not in the sense that I want to be the centre of attention, but about putting myself in everyone elses shoes. Surely I've been doing so much of that, that this is the reason why I snapped? I need to change my perspective, positive versus negative. Happy, healthy versus down and depressed. I realised today, I've become addicted to the drama of not knowing how this works and choosing to be stuck in the middle of someone else's fight.
My challenge is to accept the things I cannot change, sound familiar?
So, I identified today that my expectations haven't exactly been realistic and that I "signed a contract without knowing what the terms and conditions were", as my therapist so rightly said today. It doesn't mean we're doomed, it means I have to learn to deal. Always a choice to accept my present circumstances or leave.
I choose to stay.
Monday 31 August 2015
No one understands it, not even myself.
I've been rallying through this instant family role for a year now, properly since the beginning of this year (2015) all on my own steam, no one gets it, it's not encouraged, nor endorsed by anyone who knows, loves or meets me. People don't get this, not even I do.
I read a short Babble article this morning that just summed up all my emotions and put everything into perspective that's pretty much, what I call life at this moment.
I have no village.
During a very real chat with Daddio recently, I lay all my cards on the table about boundaries. I've found that resentment and fear are buddies, and that where there is resentment, there's most likely an underlying fear that someone or something is going to have to be sacrificed. A least in my mind.
Having identified this conflicting duo of emotions, I've managed to stop, take a meaningful breath and then ask myself, "What are you afraid of in this moment of resentment?"
Nine out of ten times, it is the fear of loss I'll endure, loss of something physical or precious that I've worked for. The other side is the fear of lack of appreciation I'll receive from anyone, lack of gratitude, being taken for granted, being resented back. Something may get damaged that I've worked hard for (when they sit swinging their legs on my new camping chairs on the lawn or perhaps I'm concerned that I'm at the bottom of the priority list as the last bits of my favourite mayonnaise are put up for auction to the highest bidder without my consideration and yes, it's just bloody mayonnaise, why do I act like it's important). I'm constantly wrestling with resentment and releasing it by speaking about my fears and concerns as they arise, which set me free from the burden of carrying them silently, sometimes for days.
Try discipline a child without raising your hands, your voice or asking yourself why you signed up for this. I've tried, been and done everything in my power, perhaps this is my emotional rock bottom, my cry for help.
I need a village, and my tribe is very, very small. I don't know anyone who is in the same position as I am. I'm gapping this and I may just be losing my mind.
Why am I putting myself through this?
So here I am, letting it all out. The toothpaste in our bathroom has been forced down into the basin drain by 6 year old fingers his solo game continues in silence.
Thousands of little germs greet his dirty fingers, the same ones he was meant to wash prior, along with the booger in his nose that needed to be removed. Yes, he's 6, I get it, but it's my basin too.
I stand watching from a distance as he takes his toothbrush and sweeps up the remains of our dirty basin (please don't act like yours is spotless 24/7) bringing the debris to his little mouth. It is in this moment I realise that my en-suite bathroom has been overthrown, my sanctuary and only place to hide has been taken over because two little boys have to be separated otherwise there are distractions and fighting and nothing really gets done. This is bullshit.
When I realise that he is in possession and alternating 2 toothpaste tubes (and neither are the junior brands I brought him last week), I in turn, realise is our tube of adult toothpaste.
He has now managed to mix up the only 2 tubes of toothpaste in our bathroom, one of which was for his exclusive use during a severe mouth infection he had two weeks ago. Now I know where my ulcer and sinus infection have come from *rolls eyes*.
My blood pressure starts to rise, I've been sick and perhaps this is the reason why. Perhaps, if these were my own biological children, my willingness to share bodily fluids with them, including germs and diseases, I wouldn't be so pissed. Why am I putting myself through this, why! I share my resentments, Daddio quickly takes the tubes back to their original bathroom. I'm sans toothpaste I can trust. Now would be a good time to tell me I'm being oversensitive.
Toughen up or leave
I will admit, that leaving this place I call home with two small manipulators with very obvious psychological issues, has become a very real option. It's not because I don't love their father, God knows how much I love their father, it's because I'm wondering if I've got what it takes to do this.
But maybe, this isn't about loving myself more, maybe it's learning to dance in the rain as they say, about setting boundaries in place and being happy - for the most part - without losing my own sense of identity.
So I made myself a priority. (Ha.)
It ends by starting anew
And this week I look forward to so many exciting new adventures, on my own, because that's what all women need, with or without a village, with or without offspring. They need time out, pampering, friends and that moment when you get to a set of traffic lights, get checked out by a cute guy next to you and feel that ziiiiiiiing of, "Yeah, I still got it!".
So I've set out a date for myself, all my needs cannot be fulfilled by everyone in my life, so I'm making my own list and prioritizing myself once again. I'm seeing old friends for lunch and coffee dates that I've failed to prioritize over the last year, I've got a gym date with my bestie (me) I'm starting to drink green tea, with the intention of getting my sexy, un-mommied body back in shape - because that's what I signed up for. For independence, for self preservation, for date nights and movies and memories. Sorry Daddio, it's not personal, well it is, but not like that :)
Not because I'm selfish, but because I'm worth it. Not because you don't make me happy but because you can't give me everything I need, all of the time, and that wouldn't be sensible to expect anyone on this planet to make me (or you) whole. As my dad always says, "Life is a Do It Yourself Job".
No one gives 100% of their effort, 100% of their time to 100% of anything - it's not possible. Balance will set me free, balance is the answer, balance is the difference between expecting to be priority and then commanding it when the time is right.
Balance cannot allow resentment to come into play when balance allows for new adventures, stimulus and experiences. Time out, time away - without romance, without partners, without even being angry about it. Simply, just - for - you! So you can grow, so you can live, so you can create your own memories, experiences and identity.
Balance is in my own hands. Maybe then, people will stop asking me what I'm still doing with a man and his two children and all their baggage. An ex and her shopping list of tendencies to give less f#$%s than anyone I know about her responsibilities.
And perhaps when I'm smiling again because I've sorted myself out - everyone will realise, including myself, that love is enough and boundaries are everything.
I read a short Babble article this morning that just summed up all my emotions and put everything into perspective that's pretty much, what I call life at this moment.
I have no village.
During a very real chat with Daddio recently, I lay all my cards on the table about boundaries. I've found that resentment and fear are buddies, and that where there is resentment, there's most likely an underlying fear that someone or something is going to have to be sacrificed. A least in my mind.
Having identified this conflicting duo of emotions, I've managed to stop, take a meaningful breath and then ask myself, "What are you afraid of in this moment of resentment?"
Nine out of ten times, it is the fear of loss I'll endure, loss of something physical or precious that I've worked for. The other side is the fear of lack of appreciation I'll receive from anyone, lack of gratitude, being taken for granted, being resented back. Something may get damaged that I've worked hard for (when they sit swinging their legs on my new camping chairs on the lawn or perhaps I'm concerned that I'm at the bottom of the priority list as the last bits of my favourite mayonnaise are put up for auction to the highest bidder without my consideration and yes, it's just bloody mayonnaise, why do I act like it's important). I'm constantly wrestling with resentment and releasing it by speaking about my fears and concerns as they arise, which set me free from the burden of carrying them silently, sometimes for days.
Try discipline a child without raising your hands, your voice or asking yourself why you signed up for this. I've tried, been and done everything in my power, perhaps this is my emotional rock bottom, my cry for help.
I need a village, and my tribe is very, very small. I don't know anyone who is in the same position as I am. I'm gapping this and I may just be losing my mind.
Why am I putting myself through this?
So here I am, letting it all out. The toothpaste in our bathroom has been forced down into the basin drain by 6 year old fingers his solo game continues in silence.
Thousands of little germs greet his dirty fingers, the same ones he was meant to wash prior, along with the booger in his nose that needed to be removed. Yes, he's 6, I get it, but it's my basin too.
I stand watching from a distance as he takes his toothbrush and sweeps up the remains of our dirty basin (please don't act like yours is spotless 24/7) bringing the debris to his little mouth. It is in this moment I realise that my en-suite bathroom has been overthrown, my sanctuary and only place to hide has been taken over because two little boys have to be separated otherwise there are distractions and fighting and nothing really gets done. This is bullshit.
When I realise that he is in possession and alternating 2 toothpaste tubes (and neither are the junior brands I brought him last week), I in turn, realise is our tube of adult toothpaste.
He has now managed to mix up the only 2 tubes of toothpaste in our bathroom, one of which was for his exclusive use during a severe mouth infection he had two weeks ago. Now I know where my ulcer and sinus infection have come from *rolls eyes*.
My blood pressure starts to rise, I've been sick and perhaps this is the reason why. Perhaps, if these were my own biological children, my willingness to share bodily fluids with them, including germs and diseases, I wouldn't be so pissed. Why am I putting myself through this, why! I share my resentments, Daddio quickly takes the tubes back to their original bathroom. I'm sans toothpaste I can trust. Now would be a good time to tell me I'm being oversensitive.
Toughen up or leave
I will admit, that leaving this place I call home with two small manipulators with very obvious psychological issues, has become a very real option. It's not because I don't love their father, God knows how much I love their father, it's because I'm wondering if I've got what it takes to do this.
But maybe, this isn't about loving myself more, maybe it's learning to dance in the rain as they say, about setting boundaries in place and being happy - for the most part - without losing my own sense of identity.
So I made myself a priority. (Ha.)
It ends by starting anew
And this week I look forward to so many exciting new adventures, on my own, because that's what all women need, with or without a village, with or without offspring. They need time out, pampering, friends and that moment when you get to a set of traffic lights, get checked out by a cute guy next to you and feel that ziiiiiiiing of, "Yeah, I still got it!".
So I've set out a date for myself, all my needs cannot be fulfilled by everyone in my life, so I'm making my own list and prioritizing myself once again. I'm seeing old friends for lunch and coffee dates that I've failed to prioritize over the last year, I've got a gym date with my bestie (me) I'm starting to drink green tea, with the intention of getting my sexy, un-mommied body back in shape - because that's what I signed up for. For independence, for self preservation, for date nights and movies and memories. Sorry Daddio, it's not personal, well it is, but not like that :)
Not because I'm selfish, but because I'm worth it. Not because you don't make me happy but because you can't give me everything I need, all of the time, and that wouldn't be sensible to expect anyone on this planet to make me (or you) whole. As my dad always says, "Life is a Do It Yourself Job".
No one gives 100% of their effort, 100% of their time to 100% of anything - it's not possible. Balance will set me free, balance is the answer, balance is the difference between expecting to be priority and then commanding it when the time is right.
Balance cannot allow resentment to come into play when balance allows for new adventures, stimulus and experiences. Time out, time away - without romance, without partners, without even being angry about it. Simply, just - for - you! So you can grow, so you can live, so you can create your own memories, experiences and identity.
Balance is in my own hands. Maybe then, people will stop asking me what I'm still doing with a man and his two children and all their baggage. An ex and her shopping list of tendencies to give less f#$%s than anyone I know about her responsibilities.
And perhaps when I'm smiling again because I've sorted myself out - everyone will realise, including myself, that love is enough and boundaries are everything.
Friday 28 August 2015
Give yourself permission
There's an old adage about serenity. The first time I heard it was at an AA meeting for the friends and family of alcoholics when I went with my mother as a young child, to a support group for the multiple addicts in our family.
Years after that I found myself repeating this mantra over and over again at the various meetings I found myself at when my partners (quite a list of them) were all addicts themselves. I had chosen, albeit unconsciously, to surround myself with this behaviour way into my 20's.
Until a couple of years ago, I chose addicts. I chose those with depression, anxiety, childhood issues. I chose people, broken and worn down by their own demons, ones that disguised themselves as real problems. Ones that simply needs to be acknowledged and set free by recognizing and accepting their own fears. Fears that turned their issues into monsters, into controlling parts of a soul and spirit that was always meant to be living a life of love, joy, peace and prosperity.
"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."
No doubt you've heard this before, today I'm reading it as if it's the first time I've ever laid eyes on it. And today it makes more sense that it ever has. I've found the wisdom to know the difference between what I can and cannot change.
The Victim Triangle
The victim triangle, otherwise known as the Karpman drama triangle, is basically a social or psychological pattern of human behaviour we choose in our daily lives. One takes on the roll of the Victim, The Persecutor or the Rescuer, each with their own unhealthy and unstable consequences of self induced, toxic repetition.
The triangle is used in psychology to assist those in choosing the right behavioural approaches to their problems. In fact, I am quite au fait with this tool because one uses it in psychology sessions when discussing co-dependent relationships and the roles we take on within them.
After my previous post, and in case you missed it you can read all about my burn out here, I decided to detach from the drama by choosing to step out of the roles that Ifound myself put myself in and willingly chose to take on.
Drama-lama no more!
You often hear about how people get pushed to breaking point, or as you'll read in the previous post my doctor called it "rock bottom, adrenal fatigue". It's basically when you take on so much, that your body literally cannot keep up with the stress you're under.
Here's what I was dealing with before I took my life back:
Years after that I found myself repeating this mantra over and over again at the various meetings I found myself at when my partners (quite a list of them) were all addicts themselves. I had chosen, albeit unconsciously, to surround myself with this behaviour way into my 20's.
Until a couple of years ago, I chose addicts. I chose those with depression, anxiety, childhood issues. I chose people, broken and worn down by their own demons, ones that disguised themselves as real problems. Ones that simply needs to be acknowledged and set free by recognizing and accepting their own fears. Fears that turned their issues into monsters, into controlling parts of a soul and spirit that was always meant to be living a life of love, joy, peace and prosperity.
"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."
No doubt you've heard this before, today I'm reading it as if it's the first time I've ever laid eyes on it. And today it makes more sense that it ever has. I've found the wisdom to know the difference between what I can and cannot change.
The Victim Triangle
The victim triangle, otherwise known as the Karpman drama triangle, is basically a social or psychological pattern of human behaviour we choose in our daily lives. One takes on the roll of the Victim, The Persecutor or the Rescuer, each with their own unhealthy and unstable consequences of self induced, toxic repetition.
The triangle is used in psychology to assist those in choosing the right behavioural approaches to their problems. In fact, I am quite au fait with this tool because one uses it in psychology sessions when discussing co-dependent relationships and the roles we take on within them.
After my previous post, and in case you missed it you can read all about my burn out here, I decided to detach from the drama by choosing to step out of the roles that I
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| Photo Credit : Google Images - David Emerald 2014 - www.PowerofTed.com |
Drama-lama no more!
You often hear about how people get pushed to breaking point, or as you'll read in the previous post my doctor called it "rock bottom, adrenal fatigue". It's basically when you take on so much, that your body literally cannot keep up with the stress you're under.
Here's what I was dealing with before I took my life back:
- Their mother not paying maintenance after numerous months of promises while the kids live with us full time. Not - one - shiny - little - contribution.
- Financial loans I had undertaken to 'carry' his kids and us, while the money came in from his side, in a couple of months. A couple more months - still nothing. This includes lunches the kids don't eat because now they are fussy eaters since I gave them choices and treats. Payment of annual school photographs and every other conceivable item that this household needed for a full year, waiting on the hope and prayers of....
- A partner with the best intentions (and heart) in the world to pay me back, or hell even just contribute more than his half of the rent and pull his weight while he found a higher paying job (while I found myself paying for everything including his fuel in his car every week for a month.
- Two small children under the age of 10, confused as hell, acting up and being generally bratty. One failing 2 of the school terms this year alone, getting into trouble with authority at school and the smallest literally just breaking everything he gets his hands on.
- Resentment - a lot of it - eating me up like a cancer from the inside out.
I'm sure you're reading the above thinking, "Hell's bells, is this woman mad, who gives up so much for so long and doesn't realise she's got herself a raw deal?", well my body gave in and my mind caught up later. And here I am.
I am not a victim. I am not a rescuer and I will no persecute or be persecuted any longer.
So, last week, while on the road to recovery mentally and emotionally as well as physically, I gave myself permission to not be the hero of this story. It is after all, not my responsibility, not my fault, not my doing, not even my duty to look after or even like these children. For a year, I've been carrying everyone and enabling everyone to just coast along and use me as a buffer from their drama, while I juggled pieces of broken communication, frustrated conversations and lack of funds. This, is supposed to be our dream come true. Instead, it's been a nightmare and I've allowed it. No more.
My steak in the ground
Sometimes you have to put your stake in the ground, in other words, make a big move. I chose to move in the direction of self preservation. I gave myself permission to leave the drama triangle and start living for myself, the bubbly, authentic and whole person I was before I chose this life, this drama, this man and his baggage.
Does this mean that I'm leaving? I don't have to leave him/them to be free from these toxic emotions, resentment and hurt. I just have to set boundaries - and so does he with her. Yes, I have given an ultimatum and I know what needs to be done, but I will not accept being at the bottom of the prosperity list, while everyone else thrives. This isn't a charity, this is a team effort and I don't really like anyone right now, not even the person I've become.
So here I am. I've booked movie nights with my girlfriends next week and I'm going to do a fun run with some of my friends at the end of the month. I'll be back at gym in a few weeks too. Unfortunately, if that excludes dad while he looks after his brood, that's his problem/duty/responsibility. It's not mean, it's not selfish, it's about being whole. I came into this as a whole person and I lost myself along the way.
If you need me, I'll be getting my own life back. There will be times for family, time for romance and time for everyone else. One cannot be whole, when one spreads oneself to breaking point, so it is time to find balance by putting myself first once again.
See you on the flip side of resentment, give yourself permission to live and free yourself from responsibilities that have nothing to do with you. My responsibility is to look after myself first, without burn out, fear, shame or destruction.
I choose life and everyone is about to benefit from it.
Wednesday 12 August 2015
The day my flame went out
It's been a while I know.
I was carrying on as normal with a slight bout of laryngitis last week, nothing unfamiliar to me, especially when I spend enough time around smokers at social events that my job requires me to be at.
The day before, I had found myself in tears at my office boardroom. A conflict with an overly pretentious colleague had us face to face and I wasn't in the mood to play. My usually diplomatic and peaceful temperament had left the building while my frustration whipped within me. This was, for a lack of a better explanation, an intervention brought on by my Director after a disgruntled phone call I had made earlier that day. My internal pressure cooker was working overtime, I could feel it building within me. I am not this person.
Watershed
For the first time in my adult life and in all my years in the corporate world, I couldn't stop crying. It may have seemed like a ploy to "turn on the waterworks" to gain sympathy in any other circumstance, but my heart was genuinely breaking and none of it had to do with my immediate situation. Months of frustration seemed to escape from my eyeballs, leaving everyone incredibly sympathetic to 'how badly I had taken the confrontation'. If only they knew, if only I knew what was really going on deep inside me, but all was to be revealed within the next 24 hours despite my ignorance.
The next morning my voice has dissipated to a croak and I had scheduled an appointment with my GP. Nipping this sniffle in the bud sooner rather than later, would be the difference between a slight sinus infection and full blown pneumonia which I'm very susceptible to, especially when my immune system has been compromised by internal stress. Your body is your compass and it's never wrong.
As I prepared for the day, I stood in the shower as the water ran down my face, my back and between my toes. I could literally feel the knot in my throat force it's way up and down my esophagus as I literally tried to swallow my pent up frustrations like a thick, dry paste. In that moment, I allowed myself to release it all. Please note the permission I had to grant myself to acknowledge my wits end, the permission to feel.
Months of resentment, frustration, chaos. Nothing really made sense, I had taken on Goliath and lost. I felt defeated and depleted with nothing more to give. I had taken on these children, their father, his baggage, their baggage, their close to psychotic mother who had contributed nothing, demanded everything and got away with it all and made it my own. I had the best intentions for them, for us. I was going to be the hero without actually trying to save anyone.
The debt had piled up. Dad didn't have cash, how could he when he was paying for the children's necessities, school fees and after care. He was relying on me for everything else, they were relying on me. I was the bank, the grocery provider, the one ensuring lunches were made with bread I had purchased. I was the entertainment, the provider of lunchbox luxuries and Sunday afternoon ice cream treats. I provided clothing, stationery, school books and toiletries. I made doctors appointments for overdue check ups and paid for medications they needed. I was the provider of multivitamins, new school socks and birthday presents. Even in the midst of our Saturday night card games , the ex messages us with sinister and ominous messages of manipulation. Is there no rest for the wicked. Is this my life.
I was done, exhausted, finished and the saddest part is that I didn't even realise it until I was face to face with the truth that came in the form of a medical practitioner I had never met.
My wake up call
As I got to the doctors room, I sat in the waiting room battling to withhold relentless tears that failed to cease from my swollen eyes. It was as if I had released a valve that connected my heart to my face and purged a torrent of salty resentment, fear, loss, hurt and guilt. I was cracking up.
I hadn't even made it back from the toilet visit I had made to blow my nose, when the doctor I was seeing (and never met before) guessed that I was her next patient. Most of the consultation was a blur but what I do recall I won't ever forget.
"By the sounds of things, you've got a lot on your plate. You've reached rock bottom, burn out my dear". She referred to my incessant shaking as 'adrenal fatigue', and then promptly prescribed a shopping list of medications to get me through as well as a contact number for a therapist. Above the IV bag containing a cocktail of vitamins and immune boosters, the most poignant message was that I needed to talk to someone, I needed support - real support. Although surrounded by moral support, I was doing this alone.
She had hit the nail on the head, I'd been feeling my way through this step mother process, completely in the dark and in unfamiliar surroundings that I've referred to and proudly embraced as my new life. I needed help, and while I had parents and friends that were supportive in their own way, no one could really save me from my own conflicts. This was a medley of toxic waste that was poisoning my soul.
The road to recovery
Parenting isn't easy and while I was feeling alone, dad finds himself in the docs office today after days of a weekend of migraines and blurred vision. Something is different and with enough nagging we get an appointment for him to see someone with immediate effect. The diagnosis is anxiety and stress induced hypertension (of course it is *rolls eyes*). We really have taken an emotional beating and neither of us even saw it coming. How the hell did we manage to crash and burn within a week of each other. What happened to the fun and the laughter and the best years of our lives. This is a living hell.
But the road to recovery is knowing what to take on and what simply isn't your battle. I've realised that even though I love these children, they are not my blood. I have bent over backwards, borrowed money, extended overdrafts and provided where their mother simply fails to do so. Often I wonder if she see's full custody as a way and means of gaining funds for her own personal interests.
I refuse to give any more 'airtime' to a woman that wants to play games, manipulate and break us down while we give 110% to 2 small children that have no idea how to express gratitude let alone comprehend the sacrifices I've made for them. Gourmet lunches prepped at night, school photographs purchased for their benefit, collection from school on the days that dad is running late and then fuel for his car that he cannot afford because he's stretched so thin financially. How is this fair, any of it.
We have but one life and it's has been overrun with anxieties and stresses that aren't even mine to start with. This is not my family, they are not my responsibility, yet I choose to provide, care, love. Does this make me a martyr? Do I care too much?
Perhaps I'm living through my own guilt, childhood issues and hurts by moving heaven and earth for two little beings that were strangers to me 12 months ago. But watch this space, I've got a game plan and I'm getting my life back!
In the meantime, there are tranquilizers, a week off work and a partner whose love makes it all worthwhile. We'll get through this, we'll figure it all out. Everything is already okay.
Love, my motivation and my undoing.
I was carrying on as normal with a slight bout of laryngitis last week, nothing unfamiliar to me, especially when I spend enough time around smokers at social events that my job requires me to be at.
The day before, I had found myself in tears at my office boardroom. A conflict with an overly pretentious colleague had us face to face and I wasn't in the mood to play. My usually diplomatic and peaceful temperament had left the building while my frustration whipped within me. This was, for a lack of a better explanation, an intervention brought on by my Director after a disgruntled phone call I had made earlier that day. My internal pressure cooker was working overtime, I could feel it building within me. I am not this person.
Watershed
For the first time in my adult life and in all my years in the corporate world, I couldn't stop crying. It may have seemed like a ploy to "turn on the waterworks" to gain sympathy in any other circumstance, but my heart was genuinely breaking and none of it had to do with my immediate situation. Months of frustration seemed to escape from my eyeballs, leaving everyone incredibly sympathetic to 'how badly I had taken the confrontation'. If only they knew, if only I knew what was really going on deep inside me, but all was to be revealed within the next 24 hours despite my ignorance.
The next morning my voice has dissipated to a croak and I had scheduled an appointment with my GP. Nipping this sniffle in the bud sooner rather than later, would be the difference between a slight sinus infection and full blown pneumonia which I'm very susceptible to, especially when my immune system has been compromised by internal stress. Your body is your compass and it's never wrong.
As I prepared for the day, I stood in the shower as the water ran down my face, my back and between my toes. I could literally feel the knot in my throat force it's way up and down my esophagus as I literally tried to swallow my pent up frustrations like a thick, dry paste. In that moment, I allowed myself to release it all. Please note the permission I had to grant myself to acknowledge my wits end, the permission to feel.
Months of resentment, frustration, chaos. Nothing really made sense, I had taken on Goliath and lost. I felt defeated and depleted with nothing more to give. I had taken on these children, their father, his baggage, their baggage, their close to psychotic mother who had contributed nothing, demanded everything and got away with it all and made it my own. I had the best intentions for them, for us. I was going to be the hero without actually trying to save anyone.
The debt had piled up. Dad didn't have cash, how could he when he was paying for the children's necessities, school fees and after care. He was relying on me for everything else, they were relying on me. I was the bank, the grocery provider, the one ensuring lunches were made with bread I had purchased. I was the entertainment, the provider of lunchbox luxuries and Sunday afternoon ice cream treats. I provided clothing, stationery, school books and toiletries. I made doctors appointments for overdue check ups and paid for medications they needed. I was the provider of multivitamins, new school socks and birthday presents. Even in the midst of our Saturday night card games , the ex messages us with sinister and ominous messages of manipulation. Is there no rest for the wicked. Is this my life.
I was done, exhausted, finished and the saddest part is that I didn't even realise it until I was face to face with the truth that came in the form of a medical practitioner I had never met.
My wake up call
As I got to the doctors room, I sat in the waiting room battling to withhold relentless tears that failed to cease from my swollen eyes. It was as if I had released a valve that connected my heart to my face and purged a torrent of salty resentment, fear, loss, hurt and guilt. I was cracking up.
I hadn't even made it back from the toilet visit I had made to blow my nose, when the doctor I was seeing (and never met before) guessed that I was her next patient. Most of the consultation was a blur but what I do recall I won't ever forget.
"By the sounds of things, you've got a lot on your plate. You've reached rock bottom, burn out my dear". She referred to my incessant shaking as 'adrenal fatigue', and then promptly prescribed a shopping list of medications to get me through as well as a contact number for a therapist. Above the IV bag containing a cocktail of vitamins and immune boosters, the most poignant message was that I needed to talk to someone, I needed support - real support. Although surrounded by moral support, I was doing this alone.
She had hit the nail on the head, I'd been feeling my way through this step mother process, completely in the dark and in unfamiliar surroundings that I've referred to and proudly embraced as my new life. I needed help, and while I had parents and friends that were supportive in their own way, no one could really save me from my own conflicts. This was a medley of toxic waste that was poisoning my soul.
The road to recovery
Parenting isn't easy and while I was feeling alone, dad finds himself in the docs office today after days of a weekend of migraines and blurred vision. Something is different and with enough nagging we get an appointment for him to see someone with immediate effect. The diagnosis is anxiety and stress induced hypertension (of course it is *rolls eyes*). We really have taken an emotional beating and neither of us even saw it coming. How the hell did we manage to crash and burn within a week of each other. What happened to the fun and the laughter and the best years of our lives. This is a living hell.
But the road to recovery is knowing what to take on and what simply isn't your battle. I've realised that even though I love these children, they are not my blood. I have bent over backwards, borrowed money, extended overdrafts and provided where their mother simply fails to do so. Often I wonder if she see's full custody as a way and means of gaining funds for her own personal interests.
I refuse to give any more 'airtime' to a woman that wants to play games, manipulate and break us down while we give 110% to 2 small children that have no idea how to express gratitude let alone comprehend the sacrifices I've made for them. Gourmet lunches prepped at night, school photographs purchased for their benefit, collection from school on the days that dad is running late and then fuel for his car that he cannot afford because he's stretched so thin financially. How is this fair, any of it.
We have but one life and it's has been overrun with anxieties and stresses that aren't even mine to start with. This is not my family, they are not my responsibility, yet I choose to provide, care, love. Does this make me a martyr? Do I care too much?
Perhaps I'm living through my own guilt, childhood issues and hurts by moving heaven and earth for two little beings that were strangers to me 12 months ago. But watch this space, I've got a game plan and I'm getting my life back!
In the meantime, there are tranquilizers, a week off work and a partner whose love makes it all worthwhile. We'll get through this, we'll figure it all out. Everything is already okay.
Love, my motivation and my undoing.
Tuesday 21 July 2015
We just killed the stork
If there's one thing I'm not shy about, it's discussing the human body - the good, bad and ugly. In fact, it is a career option that I've had since a child, but I can't divulge too much about myself so just believe me when I say I can do human anatomy - like a boss.
Today, we've agreed to tell our kids about the birds and the bee's. Yes, these two little treasures are about to hear about the facts of life and for the first time in my life I'm sitting at the dining table giggling like a school girl.
I can't do this - not with a straight face!
"Of all the things I need you to do," dad says, "I need you to have a straight face."
I have to sit, and look these two in the eyes and calmly explain how the male anatomy finds its way into the female anatomy and a baby is made. Factual, no nonsense information. We just killed the stork.
Like ripping off a plaster
It wasn't as bad as I thought it may be, although there were two points that stood out which I'll elaborate on shortly. Dad did a great job, he's so good at this kind of thing, perhaps I'm so lame because they are little men?
I sit upright beside him, 'just relax', I keep reminding myself and I nod sweetly in their direction.
Wrapping things up, excuse the pun, we cover disease, pregnancy, and the fact that the good old stork is but a myth. We cover animals mating habits, restrictions and privacy, masturbation and self love (the worth kind).
Before we know it, it's all over and as we end the conversation we revise what we've discussed. "So," dad says, "we respect our bodies and we only have sex when we are adults and we love one another. Are there any questions?"
Eldest looks sincerely at his father and says, "So dad, we can't have sex with our cousins?" I hold back the impending burst of laughter by biting down on my bottom lip. "NO! Especially not your cousins!!!", dad exclaims, "Only adults, can put their privates together, adults that love each other."
The little one sits across from me, repeating what dad has just said. He lifts each index finger and points one of each at us and brings them slowly together. "Daddy and aunty X, to-ge-th-errrrrrr" he says and places them side by side.
Game, set, match - and I'm finished !!
Today, we've agreed to tell our kids about the birds and the bee's. Yes, these two little treasures are about to hear about the facts of life and for the first time in my life I'm sitting at the dining table giggling like a school girl.
I can't do this - not with a straight face!
"Of all the things I need you to do," dad says, "I need you to have a straight face."
I have to sit, and look these two in the eyes and calmly explain how the male anatomy finds its way into the female anatomy and a baby is made. Factual, no nonsense information. We just killed the stork.
Like ripping off a plaster
It wasn't as bad as I thought it may be, although there were two points that stood out which I'll elaborate on shortly. Dad did a great job, he's so good at this kind of thing, perhaps I'm so lame because they are little men?
I sit upright beside him, 'just relax', I keep reminding myself and I nod sweetly in their direction.
Wrapping things up, excuse the pun, we cover disease, pregnancy, and the fact that the good old stork is but a myth. We cover animals mating habits, restrictions and privacy, masturbation and self love (the worth kind).
Before we know it, it's all over and as we end the conversation we revise what we've discussed. "So," dad says, "we respect our bodies and we only have sex when we are adults and we love one another. Are there any questions?"
Eldest looks sincerely at his father and says, "So dad, we can't have sex with our cousins?" I hold back the impending burst of laughter by biting down on my bottom lip. "NO! Especially not your cousins!!!", dad exclaims, "Only adults, can put their privates together, adults that love each other."
The little one sits across from me, repeating what dad has just said. He lifts each index finger and points one of each at us and brings them slowly together. "Daddy and aunty X, to-ge-th-errrrrrr" he says and places them side by side.
Game, set, match - and I'm finished !!
Her name starts with an 'S'
We have this silly thing, our invisible future baby that we
keep discussing. It started off with daddy, his wish list for our future includes a girl seeing that there are 2
boys already in the picture. A little girl that will be ours. She will be
perfect, beautiful, most wanted... and her name will be Scarlet.
Yesterday I found a mug at the local store, Pantone colours
with their names on the front. What did I find? Scarlet - in bright red. I take a pic and send to
daddy, a little joke between us, and we giggle through secretive messages, both smiling like Cheshire cats on the other side of the city. Right now, we’re at the point of certainty,
engagement talk and future car purchases with little Scarlet in consideration. It's like she already exists.
We know we’ll be together forever, this is it, I’m the one for him and he’s the
one for me and Scarlet will make our family of 4, a family of 5. A part of him
and a part of myself, but the time isn’t
now so until she arrives, we talk about her as if she’s going to manifest
herself one day. We'll greet her when she takes her first breath, as if she's lived with us for years before her conception. It’s a fun game, a romantic one, and will be even funnier if Scarlet
turns out to be Steven.
This evening, while standing at the kitchen counter, chopping carrots for
dinner, little arms wrap around my waist. A big sigh resonating from
behind me, followed by, “Love you”. The youngest coos sweetly and my face softens with a
smile.
“Please can we have a baby?”, he asks. “A baby?”, I calmly reply. "Maybe we should
ask daddy first?", I reply, almost choking on the piece carrot between my teeth.
“Really?”, he retorts excitedly.
“Yes indeed, go ask your dad”, at this stage I'm holding back an
outburst of laughter that has welled up from my belly and has stopped just before the back of my throat.
Dad stands at the table doing homework with the eldest.
“Daddy”,
says the youngest, “can aunty X please have a baby?”
“Sure boys, would you like a little brother or sister”, he
asks. The kitchen and dining table echo with the very certain response, “A
little sister daddy!”
A little sister it is, a little sister it may just be.
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