Archive for the ‘Me Myself’ Category
January 05 2011
When it was just the 2 of us, before the noise of children, there were many times I felt stagnant. I’d come home from the bustle of work to a quiet house, a quiet night, interrupted only by the amount of conversation we allowed. It was easy to get swallowed up, like a tunnel getting trapped in.
Then along came my oldest son, and with him came the cries. As all babies do, he slept most of his first few months. But when he was awake, he was present, filling the house in a way it hadn’t been before. As he got older, his voice grew as well. The same for his siblings, one by one. In their own unique tone and energy, swelling in magnitude with each passing day. That once quiet house soon became a very loud home.
These days there are children running between legs and screeching through halls. They scream at one another at the top of their lungs. Toys crash into a stranded pile. Beeps and boops and sirens and repeated songs until batteries wear out. Constant talk and questions and requests. Hearty laughter that can quickly turn to cries. Steady motion. Even when the walls fall still, I’m waiting for chaos to begin again. It’s behind every corner.
“Shhhh…”
It seems I spend my days trying to revert back to that semblence of tranquility from a time before, when it threatened to swallow me whole. I hush and I seperate and I tune out. The main task of my job is about keeping peace, but there is only so little of me and so much of them.
“You need to whisper.”
On those exceptionally rare occasions when I do find a reticent moment, the goal I’ve sought after, I’m lost within myself again. That tunnel is long and steep, silence overwhelming, even moreso now that I’ve been on the other side. Until a voice helps me find my way out. That voice is usually followed by a scream and a demand and then some cries. And I’m back to shhhing, hushing in vain, searching again for that ubiquitous quiet to get trapped in.
December 01 2010
Last winter, we wandered into a thrift shop, as we sometimes like to do. The boys, of course, head first in the direction of toys. They dig through those and usually come away with at least one new treasure to toss into the pile at home. But it’s well worth it if it buys even a moment of happiness for 25 cents.
I don’t usually scour for clothes in thrift stores, or really anywhere for that matter. I’d much rather peruse housewares or kids stuff. This day, however, as were almost through checkout, a chunky knit shawl-style sweater caught my eye.
It was soft. Unbelievably soft and comfortable and appeared much more expensive than the $3.00 I bought it for. My luck usually isn’t that good. Even the woman working the register remarked on my glorious find. “We just put that out”, she confessed with a hint of envy. Right place, right time, maybe I should have purchased a lottery ticket after.
I wore that super soft, comfortable sweater layered with pride until the warm weather of spring began to rear it’s rainy head, when it was sadly banished to the back of my closet. Every now and then, I’d gaze at it longingly while vulnerable in the bare sleeves of warmer months’ tops.
Then, this week, with a biting chill once again in the air, I was at last able to retrieve my much missed sweater from the dark. I slipped it on and instantly felt warm again; home, protected, cozy.
I’ve never been a summer girl. You can take your blazing sun, I’d much rather have the soft comfort of being bundled up in the cold. Welcome, December.
November 23 2010
Dear Mirena,
How are you? I hope this letter finds you well. We’ve been through some times, you and I. On the surface, our courtship was wonderful. In fact, I barely even remember you’re there on most occasions. The promises you made when we first got together after the birth of my daughter have been kept. It’s been almost too good to be true, actually.
At first, we were so giddy together. You’ve never given me any trouble, aside from some light spotting on occasion. You seem to like surprises and I’ve learned to go with the flow. Pardon my pun.
Recently, however, I’ve began taking more stock in my feelings. The truth of the matter is, I think you’re making me crazy. Moody, upset, irritable, lack of interest. I wouldn’t say depressed, exactly, but definitely not happy. Not to mention the acne of an oily 14 year old girl, my hair falling out in sprawling clumps, and a perpetually bloated 4 month pregnant appearance that by all accounts should have gone away by now. It’s your fault I’m ugly and mean, Mirena.
Upon doing some research, I found that you were like this with a lot of girls. I don’t know why I never put the two together before. You could have at least warned of your incompatible ways. It might have saved me from a few, let’s just call them “episodes”.
Which is why I scheduled an appointment to have you removed from my life. It’s not you, it’s me. Well, it is you, actually. Or at least I hope it is. Because I’m really looking forward to feeling like myself again.
It was fun while it lasted, kind of.
Me
November 05 2010
When I was little, I used to love staring at the stars. My parents live in a somewhat secluded area, separated from their neighbors by a large yard, and the sky around there is an open wonderland. The big dipper, constellations, peppered specks like paint; I used to study it in the way of an artistic masterpiece. It was magic.
I can’t say when it happened, but the stars, somehow, stopped shining as bright.
My boys share a small room with their bunkbed placed against a single large window. They like to keep the shade open a notch at night, to see outside. Buzz has recently taken to noticing the stars and the moon before bed.
“Come on, Mommy”, he urges, “I see a star.”
With barely a glance back, I reply, “I see it, too.”
“I see the moon”, he continues.
Sure enough, he does. But do I? It’s been a long day, I don’t have time for this, I think in tired exasperation, and begin an attempt to hush him to sleep. Meanwhile, he’s still reaching and fascinated at the brazen points of twinkling night, brightly flaring up the sky in his confiding brown eyes.
I remember that awe, I remember that wonder, it hasn’t been that long ago. When did I start being so dismissive in the face of innocent admiration? I’ve been so consumed with just getting by, but it takes only a minute to look up.
I need to take a lesson from my son and start appreciating the stars again.
September 27 2010
Whatever my kids were passing around the last few weeks, I caught this past weekend. I spent Saturday trying in vain to ward off a sore throat, coming down with chills by the time I ventured to bed. When Sunday rolled around, I was depleted. My throat hurt something fierce and, barely able to sleep the night previous, I was truly exhausted.
It’s very seldom I take naps during the day. Someone has to be up to watch the kids, obviously, and there’s too much to do. But on weekends, when the husband is home, I tend to pass on the opportunity because it doesn’t achieve a lot of satisfaction. Kids are screaming at me from outside the door and there’s too much noise, along with my mind running a mile a minute with a laundry list of items I still need to finish. If I do manage a couple minutes of shut-eye, I only feel worse after. It’s not worth it.
Except it was worth it yesterday, when I was just so tired I could barely stay awake at 2 in the afternoon. Making it to bedtime without a brief repose would be impossible.
Finding a quiet moment to lie down, I nestled my head against the pillow, relishing in the comfort. I was so close to sleep when I heard him run in the room.
“Mommy… Mommy!… MOMMY!”, progressively louder.
I opened my eyes to find Jedi standing at the foot of the bed. “What?”, I muttered.
“I have to go potty!”
Ah, the sweet sounds my dreams are made of.
