Sometimes you're so frustrating. You react with an irrationality that belies your name--The Rationalist. You have a battle that must be won, enemies that must be thwarted, arguments upon which hinge the destiny of all mankind.....and you are committed to your cause.
Fatigue can slowly overcome my affection for you.
And yet....
And yet....sometimes you need me. All you want is for me to rub your back, play a game or help you when you're sick......and I do.
I run my fingers through your disheveled hair, the weight of your head in my lap reminding me of that younger you perpetually climbing into bed with me in the middle of the night, scared by the shadowy monster drifting out of the air conditioning vent. I enjoy the quiet moment.
I carry you to your bed and prop up the pillows for you to lay on, telling you I'm sorry you can't breathe because of your cold. I kiss you and and comfort you. You welcome my loving help. I close the door and sigh, wishing it was always so easy to set your soul at peace, giving you respite from your imagined trials.
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Monday, August 20, 2007
The Finish Line
I tossed and turned in the still darkness. 5:30 am, in neon green, glowing in the dark. I closed my eyes and tried for thirty more minutes. 6:00 am. Time to get up.
Shuffling through a drawer in the dark, looking for a pair of shorts and T-shirt, I move quietly. Having found what I'm looking for, I tiptoe out and close the door to the bedroom, dressing in the living room.
The dog squints at me curiously and then lays her head back down on her bed with a snort. It's too early, even for her.
I begin assembling the breakfast I've planned and start the coffee brewing, disturbing the quiet with the gurgling coffee maker. Rinse the blueberries. Combine the pancake mix. Heat the pan. Ponder the importance of the day all the while.
Little feet trip through the house to bathroom. The night light glimmers on a boy who used to be an infant. His tall, slender stature is evidence of the time that has since passed. Countless, diapers changed, fevers nursed, half-eaten meals and hundreds of story books measured and weighed in the growth of a boy...who used to be an infant.
He trips back into his room, closing the door behind him. It's not 6:30 am, yet.
6:30am arrives, heralded by the excited chirping of two boys dressing themselves, making their beds, and leaping from their rooms to the kitchen.
"I knew she was making pancakes!"
"Not just pancakes....blueberry pancakes!"
DH comes out of the bedroom and hugs me, while the boys pile on for good measure.
We eat breakfast, make lunches, chat about what the day will be like, and enjoy the brief morning.
At 7:30 am, we head out to finish the last leg of a seven-year race. We round the bend and reach the finish line. The first day of school for Intuitive Monkey, our youngest.
Shuffling through a drawer in the dark, looking for a pair of shorts and T-shirt, I move quietly. Having found what I'm looking for, I tiptoe out and close the door to the bedroom, dressing in the living room.
The dog squints at me curiously and then lays her head back down on her bed with a snort. It's too early, even for her.
I begin assembling the breakfast I've planned and start the coffee brewing, disturbing the quiet with the gurgling coffee maker. Rinse the blueberries. Combine the pancake mix. Heat the pan. Ponder the importance of the day all the while.
Little feet trip through the house to bathroom. The night light glimmers on a boy who used to be an infant. His tall, slender stature is evidence of the time that has since passed. Countless, diapers changed, fevers nursed, half-eaten meals and hundreds of story books measured and weighed in the growth of a boy...who used to be an infant.
He trips back into his room, closing the door behind him. It's not 6:30 am, yet.
6:30am arrives, heralded by the excited chirping of two boys dressing themselves, making their beds, and leaping from their rooms to the kitchen.
"I knew she was making pancakes!"
"Not just pancakes....blueberry pancakes!"
DH comes out of the bedroom and hugs me, while the boys pile on for good measure.
We eat breakfast, make lunches, chat about what the day will be like, and enjoy the brief morning.
At 7:30 am, we head out to finish the last leg of a seven-year race. We round the bend and reach the finish line. The first day of school for Intuitive Monkey, our youngest.
Monday, August 13, 2007
The Countdown Begins
More mommy blogging about the kids starting school...I can't help it. It's a big deal to me.
7 days. That's all I have left before the kids start school.
Should I mention the fact that DH and I have bickered a lot this week? It would be nice if I could just say it's because he's unreasonable and purposely persecuting me, but that wouldn't exactly be true. You can believe that if you want to. I have been so caught up in my own mind-- wondering about what to do now, if I should get a job immediately, if anyone will hire me, how will I find childcare, how will we afford childcare, if I do work how will I find time to do everything else, what would happen to the dog, who would let her out during the day, ....on and on it goes--that I have been irritable and off-kilter, leading to more exasperated sighs, eye-rollings, and sarcastic comments than usual. Sorry, DH.
It has been so long since I have really been able to make these kinds of choices that I am feeling lost and uncertain. I am 33 years old and still trying to figure out what to do with my life. I gave the last seven years over to a very important project and now it's coming to completion.
I have decided to take at least 2 months before beginning the Great Job Search. I just need some time to figure out what it is I really want to do with this next phase in my life. I am too old to spend my time working in a nowhere job just to make ends meet. I want my next step forward to be in a purposeful direction.
Now, if someone would just tell which direction I should head towards it would make things a whole lot easier.
7 days. That's all I have left before the kids start school.
Should I mention the fact that DH and I have bickered a lot this week? It would be nice if I could just say it's because he's unreasonable and purposely persecuting me, but that wouldn't exactly be true. You can believe that if you want to. I have been so caught up in my own mind-- wondering about what to do now, if I should get a job immediately, if anyone will hire me, how will I find childcare, how will we afford childcare, if I do work how will I find time to do everything else, what would happen to the dog, who would let her out during the day, ....on and on it goes--that I have been irritable and off-kilter, leading to more exasperated sighs, eye-rollings, and sarcastic comments than usual. Sorry, DH.
It has been so long since I have really been able to make these kinds of choices that I am feeling lost and uncertain. I am 33 years old and still trying to figure out what to do with my life. I gave the last seven years over to a very important project and now it's coming to completion.
I have decided to take at least 2 months before beginning the Great Job Search. I just need some time to figure out what it is I really want to do with this next phase in my life. I am too old to spend my time working in a nowhere job just to make ends meet. I want my next step forward to be in a purposeful direction.
Now, if someone would just tell which direction I should head towards it would make things a whole lot easier.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Grace For The Failings
Parenting.
No matter how many fun, carefree moments you have with your children, the time you lost your temper and screamed like a crazy person is the one that lingers like the scent of rotting meat. Gazing back at you, eyes full of sadness, the child you so desperately love can crush you with a single look. After the anger and frustration pass, you'll play checkers with them, read them a book, apologize and tell them you love them, but you won't forget the failure--the inadequacy and impatience that bested you.
_____________________________________________________
Rushing in and out of the laundromat, thanks to a broken washing machine, my little boys chirped and cackled excitedly, going from washer to washer transfixed by the spinning clothes. Their curious queries about the mechanics, the timer, the compartments for soap had the earnest interest that only a child could have about a washing machine. We washed, dried and folded every towel, sheet, and blanket we owned, loading up the Corolla with the crisp mountain scent of freshly laundered linens.
Later in the day we headed to Wal-mart. The Rationalist was grumpy and argumentative, oozing sourness like so many lemonheads. I snapped at him several times while maneuvering the cart with the rhythmic wheel that pulled to the left. "Will you stop with the rudeness?!" I said. "I have had enough of your grumpiness!" I said. "That's it...No talking for five minutes from you!" I said. I was the official crazy-mom-in-Wal-Mart. There always has to be at least one and my time had come.
Arriving home in irritation, I unloaded the groceries and sent the boys to play while I threw together a hasty dinner. I gritted my teeth and made myself ignore the bickering between the them as they played checkers with a set that was missing a piece, leading to all sorts of recriminations about who really lost the essential item.
Dinner seemed to settle The Rationalist's spirits. He talked about his Jimmy Neutron computer game in between bites of roast beef and grapes. He pondered the list of school items we needed to get for his second grade class. He was pleasant. So was I.
After dinner, we combined a cake mix and licked the beaters, making plans for icing it later. The boys ran around the room, kicking the air like Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris. The tension left me. They bathed themselves, a new accomplishment, and came out ready to ice and eat the finished cake. They set to work, feverishly and meticulously frosting the individual pieces I had set before them, gobbling up each morsel when they were done.
"Mom, I don't feel good," said The Rationalist. "I feel like I'm going to throw up!"
The Rationalist hates throwing up.
He began to tremble and whimper. We went into the bathroom, seated ourselves before the toilet, and waited for the inevitable to happen.
"I'm scared," he said.
"It's OK, honey. You'll feel better afterward. "
"Will you pray for me?" he asked.
Of course I would...and did. At least three times he asked me to pray for him, the last time specifically that he wouldn't throw up. I complied each time, hoping that God was listening to these bathroom prayers for not throwing up.
After fifteen minutes, we moved to the couch in the living room, trash basket handy just in case. Intuitive Monkey had been sent to bed earlier when it had become apparent that I might be up all night with The Rationalist. The Rationalist and I lay on the couch in the dim lighting of the TV. I rubbed his back and he rested. Another fifteen minutes passed.
"How are you feeling?" I asked.
"Better...I think I'm OK now. I guess I'll go to bed."
I tucked him in, telling him to get me if he needed me, and closed the door.
Thank you, God.....for listening to no-throwing-up prayers for a seven year old boy.
Thanks too....that you cover over my failings as a parent, allowing my child to trust me to pray for him, forgetting the frustration I aimed his way earlier.
No matter how many fun, carefree moments you have with your children, the time you lost your temper and screamed like a crazy person is the one that lingers like the scent of rotting meat. Gazing back at you, eyes full of sadness, the child you so desperately love can crush you with a single look. After the anger and frustration pass, you'll play checkers with them, read them a book, apologize and tell them you love them, but you won't forget the failure--the inadequacy and impatience that bested you.
_____________________________________________________
Rushing in and out of the laundromat, thanks to a broken washing machine, my little boys chirped and cackled excitedly, going from washer to washer transfixed by the spinning clothes. Their curious queries about the mechanics, the timer, the compartments for soap had the earnest interest that only a child could have about a washing machine. We washed, dried and folded every towel, sheet, and blanket we owned, loading up the Corolla with the crisp mountain scent of freshly laundered linens.
Later in the day we headed to Wal-mart. The Rationalist was grumpy and argumentative, oozing sourness like so many lemonheads. I snapped at him several times while maneuvering the cart with the rhythmic wheel that pulled to the left. "Will you stop with the rudeness?!" I said. "I have had enough of your grumpiness!" I said. "That's it...No talking for five minutes from you!" I said. I was the official crazy-mom-in-Wal-Mart. There always has to be at least one and my time had come.
Arriving home in irritation, I unloaded the groceries and sent the boys to play while I threw together a hasty dinner. I gritted my teeth and made myself ignore the bickering between the them as they played checkers with a set that was missing a piece, leading to all sorts of recriminations about who really lost the essential item.
Dinner seemed to settle The Rationalist's spirits. He talked about his Jimmy Neutron computer game in between bites of roast beef and grapes. He pondered the list of school items we needed to get for his second grade class. He was pleasant. So was I.
After dinner, we combined a cake mix and licked the beaters, making plans for icing it later. The boys ran around the room, kicking the air like Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris. The tension left me. They bathed themselves, a new accomplishment, and came out ready to ice and eat the finished cake. They set to work, feverishly and meticulously frosting the individual pieces I had set before them, gobbling up each morsel when they were done.
"Mom, I don't feel good," said The Rationalist. "I feel like I'm going to throw up!"
The Rationalist hates throwing up.
He began to tremble and whimper. We went into the bathroom, seated ourselves before the toilet, and waited for the inevitable to happen.
"I'm scared," he said.
"It's OK, honey. You'll feel better afterward. "
"Will you pray for me?" he asked.
Of course I would...and did. At least three times he asked me to pray for him, the last time specifically that he wouldn't throw up. I complied each time, hoping that God was listening to these bathroom prayers for not throwing up.
After fifteen minutes, we moved to the couch in the living room, trash basket handy just in case. Intuitive Monkey had been sent to bed earlier when it had become apparent that I might be up all night with The Rationalist. The Rationalist and I lay on the couch in the dim lighting of the TV. I rubbed his back and he rested. Another fifteen minutes passed.
"How are you feeling?" I asked.
"Better...I think I'm OK now. I guess I'll go to bed."
I tucked him in, telling him to get me if he needed me, and closed the door.
Thank you, God.....for listening to no-throwing-up prayers for a seven year old boy.
Thanks too....that you cover over my failings as a parent, allowing my child to trust me to pray for him, forgetting the frustration I aimed his way earlier.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Things I've Done Right....
Usually my head swirls with all the things I have done/am doing/will do wrong in this whole molding-human-life thing. Evading mother-guilt is a constant preoccupation. Yesterday, all my insufficiencies melted away in the warm sun as I watched my boys at the park.
Things I've done right:
1. I taught my children how to make friends.
When J1 started kindergarten last year, J2 was left at home with just me. While I spent time with him each day, I couldn't play with him every moment of the day. I would take him to the park and, after pushing him on the swings for a while, tell him to go find someone to play with. I taught him how to introduce himself, how to ask another child if he/she wanted to play, and how not to let rejection bother him.
We have gone to three different parks over the past week and at each one my boys have found or formed a group of kids to play hide-and-seek or tag. They feel no self-consciousness in approaching other children. I am proud of them.
2. I answer all the questions they have.
Oh, the thousands of questions I have been asked over the past seven years--dumb ones, profound ones, silly ones and unanswerable ones. If I know the answer; I explain it to them. This has led to some pretty interesting conversations.
3. I have taught them to do what they can for themselves.
They are only 5 and almost 7, but they already have small responsibilities around the house and enjoy doing things for themselves. Now if I could just teach them how to scrub a toilet, life would be complete. :-)
4. I have taught them to enjoy books.
We have read, read, and read 'til our throats were dry and tired. Now, I watch my oldest sit and read books just because he wants to. Another proud moment.
I am not perfect by any means, but I have done a few things right.
Things I've done right:
1. I taught my children how to make friends.
When J1 started kindergarten last year, J2 was left at home with just me. While I spent time with him each day, I couldn't play with him every moment of the day. I would take him to the park and, after pushing him on the swings for a while, tell him to go find someone to play with. I taught him how to introduce himself, how to ask another child if he/she wanted to play, and how not to let rejection bother him.
We have gone to three different parks over the past week and at each one my boys have found or formed a group of kids to play hide-and-seek or tag. They feel no self-consciousness in approaching other children. I am proud of them.
2. I answer all the questions they have.
Oh, the thousands of questions I have been asked over the past seven years--dumb ones, profound ones, silly ones and unanswerable ones. If I know the answer; I explain it to them. This has led to some pretty interesting conversations.
3. I have taught them to do what they can for themselves.
They are only 5 and almost 7, but they already have small responsibilities around the house and enjoy doing things for themselves. Now if I could just teach them how to scrub a toilet, life would be complete. :-)
4. I have taught them to enjoy books.
We have read, read, and read 'til our throats were dry and tired. Now, I watch my oldest sit and read books just because he wants to. Another proud moment.
I am not perfect by any means, but I have done a few things right.
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