Sunday, September 23, 2007

During the time when no one wants me

9/23/07

Tonight the kids are out of the house for a few hours. It's been nice. No one needs me right now, no one calls on me to referee an argument, decide a fate, fix a snack or whatever else I am usually called to do. Tonight, I and I alone decide what's next.

I did yoga for about an hour, listened to some music online, drank a cup of coffee, talked to my mom on the phone (for 104 minutes) and now I write.

There is nothing especially eventful about my evening, nothing that changes the course of my life and that's the kick--nothingness, life in the context of nothingness, in the absence of obligation or requisites. I serve only myself during this time.

This is quite a change for a mom, a person fashioned by her culture and her children to provide, answer, listen, nurture, sympathize--pay attention when you could absolutely care less. There are days when I will stop what I'm doing to observe the latest Lego creation with mustered astonishment and pride and I pull it off pretty well. There are other days when I look in the direction of the Lego creation but I don't see it and my performance is more of a challenge.

Why do I feel like I have to care? Why do I find it so hard, in fact, impossible to say, "Ya know what? Legos just don't ring my bell and I have other things to do right now that I find to be more important than multi-colored plastic blocks that snap together." Well, for one, I'd be a schmuck if I EVER dared to speak that way to my children. So, at times I must feign an interest because it means something to them and my interest shapes how they see themselves in that moment and quite possibly, as a person in general. That's what mothers do.

Who else will celebrate their 104,556,789th colored picture if you won't? Who will commend the architectural complexities of their Lego high rise if you don't? Who will time their sprint to the end of the street, watch them catch the ball in their glove or listen as they share a captivating snippet from a story they're reading, if not mom? It's why these evenings are so restorative for me, my time to hear only myself, to please only myself and to revel in the silence where the only noise is music I play too loud because I'm the only one listening (and I don't have to bother myself with fears of damaging their delicate inner ear or being on guard for inappropriate lyrics).

The bottom line is really this: I do care but I need those breaks from having to care in order to keep the "care" genuine and pure, not obligatory or forced. I'm shaping humans here but I am merely human myself and one with needs of her own.


9/26/07

Alright, I failed again--life gave me lemons and I squeezed them in my eyes. I could not even pull off caring today as I dragged my butt around in service of my kids.

I had three hours of sleep last night, went in to work for most of the day, left to meet up with a friend at the local community art center who was graciously supervising my children and her own as they crafted for two hours. When we left there, the kids and I swung by our house (which has become a rest area in the speedway of our lives)had a quick bite to eat and left for my daughter's dance rehearsal which overlapped with my son's theater rehearsal by 30 minutes (one hour when you add in drive time)--at 10:00 this evening, we were finally on our way home.

Despite a few comments about being a chaperon and wanting my time back, I fared well and I think they did to--I mean, hey, their interests were fully supported today.

My son asked to play a game when we got home. I spared him from my "do you have any idea how tired I am from doing all that I did for you today" lecture and just said, "no".

I managed to keep the car somewhere in between three lanes on my way home and kept my dirty little mood to myself. When we turned onto our street, I told the kids to go inside, brush their teeth and get in bed.

Inside, they did as I asked and I kissed their little faces before sending them to bed. Now I take this time to restore before another go of it tomorrow.

Do not mistake my tone for disinterest or contempt. I enjoy their well-roundedness. I adore watching my son act and my daughter dance--they each have amazing gifts and, on most days, I'm delighted to be along for their ride. I just need some balance, I am human and one with needs of her own.

Saturday, September 22, 2007

Freaking out

I completed my last course in the Master of Sociology program May of 2006. Since that time, I have (allegedly) been working on my thesis. I was hard core at first, then the slacking off came and finally, the cessation. I'm so ashamed but I'm also terrified. How can I begin again and really finish what I started?

I have little self-discipline, I suppose. When I started the thesis route, I was enrolled in thesis courses--empty courses designed to allow the student and the professor meeting time to discuss the progress of the student and the project. That was cool. I designed my project, received approval from the review board, interviewed my participants, researched the literature and analyzed my transcripts. That is about where I hit the wall.

My time was becoming my own again, I was enjoying the days and nights with my children, enjoying an open schedule again--I had taken an intense course load to finish in a "reasonable" amount of time and for several years, I was consumed in school and had limited time for other things. With my time as my own, we would go to parks, read, start and finish fun projects, bake cookies, whatever we wanted--all without the looming cloud of homework or research for mommy. I began to enjoy this absence of stress and commitment.

Have I become lazy and/unmotivated? Maybe a little.

But I think it's less to do with my level of motivation and more to do with fear. It's been so long since I acquainted myself with the research that I fear the size of the project I am up against. What if I have to read the books or articles again? That scares the shit out of me!

Bottom line, I have to start somewhere--I need to pay the fuckin' 10 bucks a month and get my library privileges back at the University. Not like I didn't pay them enough money in the days I attended--whatever. At this point, I'll do what I have to do, I'll do whatever it takes--what else can I do? Not get this degree? Have $50,000 in student loans for a master's size education and have no masters? No fucking way man.

I wish I had a cool, chilled relationship with my thesis advisor--don't get me wrong, she's great! Her insight is keen and she has this way of getting me to see my own point and to clarify my muddled ideas. It's really quite amazing. BUT she's a machine. I wish I had her dedication and discipline but I'm at the other end of the spectrum. Furthermore, she's put so much of HER time into this project that admitting my flailing around to her admits that I've wasted her time and mine.

I'm all alone and it sucks.

I'll get through this crazy month first and start somewhere. Even if it means that I spend the first month reviewing old literature. What else can I do? I worked too hard to get to this point. I deserve that damn degree.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

A bit about the day...

I got to sleep in a bit this morning. Had to rise at 8:00 to page in but went back to bed until about 10:00--that was nice. I was up late doing some writing, still trying to polish up my submission for my first community column, "A Mother's Journey".

Made Americano's for Jen and I on our new Magnifica--an extremely expensive espresso machine that we only own because it was a gift from her mother. It's cool, I call her Maggie.

One little bit had cereal and the other had grape tomatoes and cheese cubes, so that was an easy enough breakfast. I reheated stir-fry from last night for my brunch and made a cream of potato soup--I made a huge batch and discovered via the Internet that freezing is not recommended for this particular soup. Great. We will be nice and sick of potato soup in about three days. I don't know, it's pretty good, so maybe not.

I was able to make it to dance class for the daughter bit, she was beautiful and I was glad to be there.

Now I'm sitting in front of the computer, drinking coffee, listening to Pandora and free writing on the blog. It's nice.

Last night, I caught up on pictures. The digital camera is my demise because I keep them stored in my Picassa and fail to print actual copies. I have just been printing enough to hang on the walls, to keep at least those frames current, but have failed to keep the photo books as current. So I have 200 pics being mailed to me from June 2005 through December 2005. I know. Yikes! It has to be done though. Now I just need to organize and order January 2006 to present and I will feel complete, in that respect anyway.

I am committing to do yoga this evening. It's hard though, to achieve any sort of blissful abandon with my pager by my side, knowing that I could be paged out at any time. Ah well. I need to try, at least.

Suppose I'll check in later and update myself on myself.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Days when I feel like a steaming shit-pile

So I am tempted to say that it started with discovering that the cooler I was about to pack, had not been unpacked since last week when we used it, thus the freezer packs that I needed to be frozen RIGHT NOW were sitting in a thin layer of moisture at the bottom of the cooler and the blue goo inside flowed freely from side to side. Fuck. There goes the tuna salad and cracker idea I had as a way to invent a meal out of the only ingredients in the kitchen. I grab a couple of tangerines and "borrow" all the cash the kids have in their banks because we are clearly going to have to eat somewhere on our break--a measly $10.00.

We are leaving for our homeschoolers Club Day--a day at the beach and that is no day for skimping on snacks and cold liquids. I am tired and my irritation mounts with every moment coming at me. I move past the cooler issue and continue boiling the eggs that I was going to use for tuna salad and decide that they, along with a half of a pear and a half of an apple each, can be breakfast instead. I ask my daughter to clean the table before breakfast because it was not cleaned the night before and she asks me for Windex.

We have a wooden table.

"Windex? What the *uck do you need Windex for?"
"To clean the table."

And because I have now lost my sanity in the vast emptiness of the kitchen and have traded personalities with a psycho living in the corners of my mind, I ask on what planet we use glass cleaner on a wood table?

She replies that this is what Jen had her use yesterday.

Now two people will die.

I go outside to where Jen is trying to break up a fight between a bike rack and her trunk to inquire if she had, indeed, instructed our daughter to clean the WOOD table with glass cleaner.

Affirmative.

I yell expletives and begin a tirade to the effect of chemicals in glass cleaner and the finish on the wood table, slam the door and yell that I cannot handle being the only one in the house with common sense--sense, mind you, that is clearly on display for the duration of this tantrum, which lasts well into our car ride to the beach.

I am at the sink washing dishes, periodically shouting how many minutes we have before we MUST leave the house as the kids eat their pieced-together breakfast in the den. I continue to mumble about glass cleaner, wood furniture and the stress of being the sole possessor of sense in this house.

I storm from one end of the house to the next, with only a moderate sense of how ridiculous I appear, throwing our beach stuff together in the empty cooler-with-no-purpose-so-now-it's-a-bag bag. I pack the sunscreen, already anticipating the feel of the greasy-meets-beach-sand grit coating on top of my skin like I would anticipate the feel of a steaming shit-pile squishing between my toes.

I shower and order the kids to pack the car. I hate myself and my voice as I hear it but this does not register with me in any way, doesn't calm my bellowing at all.

We drive in silence. Not a word. I am so disgusted with myself there are no words.

I pull into my parking space in the beachfront lot. I look out on all the faces. Last week, their smiles warmed and welcomed me. Today, their smiles irritate and mock my sullen mood. I take a deep breath, vow to fake my way through this tortured day and walk on over.

I manage a few smiles, I admire the waters of the ocean, sink in the calming sand, adore my children as they play, but all in all, I'm crawling through this day and anticipating my pajamas and a nap on the sofa at home.

Lunchtime comes and I am reminded why I suck so bad today. All the prepared, smiling mothers skip over to their cars and pull their giant coolers out, clearly free of last week's leftovers, and packed with full lunches and drinks for their families.

I am such a shit pile.

Not only do they have food for their children, they have boogie boards and other such water toys.

Even better.

I look at my own precious children, so much deserving another mother at this moment and I just want to float away in the ocean, to exchange myself for someone else, one of those other better prepared mothers. I ask if we can just go. They are all for it, they are hungry and hot.

I fake a few more smiles to the moms who cannot help but be so perfect. I throw a couple more hugs around and we are off. A few errands and I pull into a Chick-Fil-A for our "lunch"--mother of the year, man. For the next few miles, my children eat lunch out of their laps--fried waffle shaped potatoes.

More sickening? They are thanking me. To these unsuspecting children with a dung heap for a mom, this is a treat. The perspective issue is really at work here.

I stuff my own face and don't even brush away the crumbs littering my shirt and lap--why bother? They are indicative of the negligence shadowing my every move, action and word today.

Home. Finally. I can hide within the walls that comfort me when I suck. I get a refreshing power nap speckled with little voices interrupting me every few minutes and then I rise. Ready for more.

Later that evening, following a trip to the grocery store where I wrote a check that I knew would not clear until at least the next afternoon--hours after our direct deposit hits the account, I ask my daughter to wipe the table down. She jokingly says she will not use Windex and we all have a good laugh--mommy's back.

Then she says:
"This morning Jen and I realized that it was not Windex that I used to clean the table. It was Simple Green but we weren't going to say anything just in case that was worse."

Monday, September 10, 2007

Frog and Toad

These two amphibians really speak to me--the kids as well. Together, the kids and I had the most endearing story time tonight. First, I read a collection of Frog and Toad and then, the kids read to me from another collection.

Frog and Toad are two friends who really look out for each other and enjoy experiencing life together, whether flying a kite, raking leaves, walking together, cleaning up, telling spooky stories or sledding in the snow. And they really balance each other out--Toad is a soft pessimist and Frog has an unshakable, unwavering positive look on life.

"Days Together with Frog and Toad" was my favorite book as a child because of the simplicity in their lives and their friendship. It was the simplicity missing from my own life as a child--I had so much complexity and confusion to contend with that I was often rescuing myself and had little time to just "be". But it is this simplicity that I nurture in and treasure with my children, in our lives and our relationship. We are often enraptured by the little things. Just today, we all went outside because I wanted to share an insect with them that I had never seen. They too were thrilled and amazed.

It was a blissful day followed by a blissful night and we really needed that time together as I have had so much interference in my smooth running, simple little world lately--many added responsibilities that, while temporary, are twiddling with my sanity and balance. I need my simplicity restored!

Three weeks to go. I can do this.

Today was a good day.

I am thankful for my children.
I am thankful for their voices.
I am thankful for strange little insects.
I am thankful for Frog and Toad.