Slump

I'm terrified, I'm in the mother of all slumps.  Summer is finally showing itself, the kids are done school, no more lunches, no more tight schedules, no more homework or backpacks.  I always look forward to this time of year.  When I can finally shut down, slow down and unwind from the year's tightening grip.  But this year it feels different.

The big kids are older, they aren't around too much, the little kid, well, she's still little, and me, well, I sit and wait.  I wait for some kind of epiphany, some kind sign that will point me in the direction I need to go, but nothing.  I think I've spent the better part of the last 13 years running on auto pilot, just doing what needs to be done.  I've run around like a crazy person year after year, without any kind of a break, and now I am staring face to face at one (well kind of), and I don't know what the hell to do with it.  The longer I sit and wait the more difficult it becomes to dig myself back out of this pit.

My creativity is in the toilet at the moment and I'm not sure how to get it back.  I still do the day to day stuff of most mothers do, tidy, complain, clean, complain, cook, complain and finally do it all over again.  It just seems like it's missing something, chaos maybe, I don't know.  It seems the more I used to have on the go and on my plate the easier it was to get through the days.  My heart raced, I had more purpose than emptying the dishwasher or changing the beds.  

Now the days somehow don't feel long enough, but at the same time feel sort of endless.  How the hell can that be, I ask myself?  But there it is.  I want to sit quietly and read, I want to be in a room full of exciting people, I want to draw, I want to sing, to dance, to feel more alive, and for some reason I want it all at once.  I know that 's impossible, I know it's slightly irrational (well more than slightly), but it doesn't make me want any of it any less.

I want purpose, and I already know that people will be thinking, "well you already have purpose, and a very important fulfilling purpose, in being a mother".  Well that's all well and good, but sometimes, hearing that, or thinking that yourself, just doesn't cut it.  I am a mother, and there are many pieces of it that I enjoy and dare I say love, but then there are other parts, parts that leave you feeling a little disillusioned, for lack of a better description.  One can only do and redo certain things so many times without feeling like they've somehow lost it.

Somedays, it's all one can do just to get up, put one foot in front of the other, go through the motions of the day, go to bed that night with the knowledge that tomorrow you'll get up and do all of it again, and probably in the same order.

So slumped I am.  I'm sure I'll get out of it one day, hopefully anyway.  Until then I'm glad I can say it, feel it and do what I can to fight it, or maybe I'll learn to embrace it.  God that's a scary thought.

Despair

Today I just want to give up. I want to slink home to my bedroom, turn off the lights and close the drapes and crawl under the covers. Maybe I will never come out again. I can't do this. I can't be a great mom and a brilliant employee and a loving, sexy partner all at once. I can't seem to get even one of them right, because when I try the other plates all drop. I am like the lame, creepy juggler at the carnival that everyone is embarrassed to watch because they know he is going to drop everything. I am tired and heart-wrenchingly sad and so desperate to just quit.

Exhaustion

Exhaustion comes in all shapes and sizes. My source of exhaustion, I mean bone tired, can't move another muscle exhaustion, just happens to come disguised as a sweet little girl, all twenty five pounds of her. Oh my God, I don't know how I could ever have had two small children under two years old, and actually have managed.

Maybe my memory isn't that great, but truly, honestly, cross-my-heart, I never, ever, remember feeling this exhausted. By the time my first child was 20 months old, my second was five months old...I know, insanity. But for some reason, it worked, rather smoothly, and with relative order, most of the time. Now I have only one small person to contend with and I can't even seem to spend 10 consecutive minutes sitting for a meal.

It has to be something to do with age, and being too tired to really give a crap most of the time. Not like when I was in my twenties, and keeping things in control seemed to be so much more important, plus I guess I had the energy. I could hold out longer, put up with a hell of a lot more than I can now. Surprisingly, I think my patience may have been better (and really I'm not the most patient person in the world). I wanted to win then, be a really good mom, who did most things on some kind of a schedule. Now, I'm too tired to even think about planning a schedule, let alone carrying one out.

A number of my friends have had children after 35 and they all seem to concur, that the child or children they have after 35 seem to be a little more difficult to deal with. I guess if it's one's first child they don't really have anything to measure it by. It's not that I remember everything as being perfect, running smoothly all of the time. On the contrary, I was close to berserk those first three years or so, but man did I rule with an iron will, and fist.

Now my iron fist, has gotten a little fluffy and my will is waning. Mostly I'm too tired to argue too long, and frankly I can't stand the noise of it anymore. So, more often than not, I cave, I just give up. I feed my crazy child, spoonfuls of food as she zings by my chair. I don't often ensure that she has all of the food groups each day, I do my best but, mostly I am just freakin' happy that she has something in her tummy by bedtime.

Oh, my poor old body is getting tired. My arms feel like lead, my eyes are heavy by 8pm and the thought of picking up one more little disaster she has left behind makes me want to curl up into a ball and cry.

I don't know what I was thinking. Did I really believe that running around after another small child so many years after the first would be easy? I actually, do believe I was delusional enough to think, "come on, I've done it before, how much harder could it be now?" Well it is harder, much, much harder. Now my recovery isn't as quick, a couple of sleepless nights or in my case sleepless years really does a number on you.

Everyday I look in the mirror hoping things are going to start to look up, they don't. Instead I know another day is just around the corner, and by this time again tomorrow, I'll still be as exhausted as I am today.

It is so fucking unfair

There are so many tragedies of divorce. It was the single most difficult thing I have had to do in my life to decide to end our nuclear family, knowing that I would not see my children all of the time. I spend those days without them aching for them, missing them so deeply and completely that I feel physical pain. But here is the true tragedy; regardless of how much I missed them, how much they missed me, as soon as we are together we step right back into the function and dysfunction of a 'regular' family. It can be literally within minutes of seeing them again that we have fallen into the patterns of sibling fights and parental frustration, of not listening and consequences, of "but its not my mess' and 'because I said so'. And I am so sad and so angry. Shouldn't we all be on our best behaviour? Shouldn't we recognize how precious and tenuous our time is? And I feel that it is all of us. I know that I can set the expectation and the mood and influence much of the interaction, but I can't do it all. And mostly I fuck it up. They are girls and they at the age where they are needing to challenge and they are aware and yet unaware of the role they play in the family. I am so desperately sad that this is what our time has become and I can't help believing it would be different somehow if we were in a nuclear family.

I'm Afraid

I''m afraid I am losing them. They seem to be slipping away, like memories I try desperately to hang onto. There are times when I want nothing more, but for them to be away from me, so I can breathe, have space to feel alive like I once did. But then there are these desperate, terrifying moments that tell me they've moved too far to come back. I'm swimming in a dark cold pond, only my face is above the water, I can only hear murmurs, voices I used to recognize are changing.

My husband tells me it's normal, they are just growing up. Inside, I know this is true, but it doesn't take the sting away. I have so little time. It is usually chopped up into small bundles I try to share with everyone, but I always seem to run out. Their baby sister takes so much from them, and they lover her all the same. It used to be just the three of us, and they had me all to themselves. Do they miss me, us? I know they are happy. This is more about me, my fears at what I'm missing, losing, or what I've already lost.

I watch them getting taller, their bodies changing everyday. They are people now, where they used to be kids. They no longer need everything from me, for which I am deliriously happy. But sometimes I want time to slow, to take in the moments I've rushed through.

I want to tell them how proud I am to be their mother, and how hard it has been to be their mother. How to be a mother, you wish away so much, and after it passes you want a do-over, maybe to get it right the next time. I'm just afraid I guess, afraid of what's to come.

Where Have I Gone?

I'm disappearing. In fact, I'm nearly invisible now. 

There was a time when I was smart and beautiful and funny and charming and brave. But now, I'm not. Now, I'm someone's mom. Now, I'm a driver, a cleaner, a cook, a moderator, an occasional friend, and an absolute oppressor. 

How strange and sad it is to try to see myself through my children's eyes. To me, I'm still the wild-haired girl who danced all night, flirted mercilessly, drank gin, read, talked passionately about politics, laughed long and loud, loved sex, and chased dreams. They don't see that girl though. They laugh and blush at the idea she ever existed, and beg me not to tell their friends. They're reject her. And when they allow that, possibly, she was, they're ashamed. 

So, where have I gone? How long ago did I leave? 

Long way off

I don't know if it's age. I don't remember ever feeling this tired with two small kids. I was in my twenties, so maybe that's the trick, quit while you're ahead. Who knew one tiny little person could wear you out so much. I am too tired to even think about eating.

The sink is full of dishes, from kids coming and going with friends all afternoon. The kitchen sink is plugged, and there are clothes in both the washer and dryer. Just thinking about it makes me want to curl up, cover my head and never come out. Maybe when I find the courage to rear my head, it will all be done.

I stood outside today watching my little girl run from one thing to the next, barely able to move. It amazes me how two tiny little legs can travel so far in one afternoon. God, my arms feel too heavy to lift, as does my whole body. I'm thinking it is definitely CMS...what else could it be?

I have been in and out of the car five times today, doing up and undoing a car seat, hauling a small child on one hip. Slinging bags, snacks, blankies, a dropped toy or shoe. I never seem to come back home with less than I left with. How is that, where does all of the shit come from????

I gather up older kids, friends in tow. Take them here and there. I run out to pick up the forgotten milk, just to race home again and remember a forgotten appointment, I have a whole six minutes to get to it.

Sometimes it just feels like it's too much for one person. What's too much? Oh yeah, I still have to feed the cats, let the dog out, feed the lizards, and the fish too. And I guess if it isn't too much, I should probably think about feeding myself. Rest is a long way off.

If you could read my mind, love, what a tale my thoughts could tell...

..Yah, and social services would be ringing my doorbell before I finished posting.

I try so hard to not be the grumpy mom. I smile, I consciously lower and soften my voice as a trained reaction to the inane standoff that inevitably happens when we are say,I don't know, doing THE EXACT same fucking thing that we do every morning! But underneath the smile, the kind, soft voice, reminding them to put on their shoes and their coats, I am cussing, shouting, committing horrific acts of violence and even having insane conversations with my other personalities.


"Honey, please put down the truck and go put your shoes on".

PUT YOUR FUCKING SHOES ON. HOW FUCKING HARD CAN IT BE? No, I don't give a flying fuck about your stupid fucking picture, put it the fuck down and put on your fucking coat you little shit. Or you know what I am going to take your little fucking shoes and I am going to throw them in the garbage along with all of the other stupid fucking shit you leave around the house. PUT YOUR FUCKING SHOES ON.