Blah.

Monday, April 22, 2013

It's funny and a little interesting.
I'll start a post at the beginning of a week,
often based on a small shift in my brain,
a subtle transition from one room to the next.
Often, well, recently anyways, 
from a place full of light, joy, perspective, positivity.
Maybe just riding the wave of a beautiful, effortless weekend,
easily propelled forward by my "calm" (for the moment,) mind and lighthearted, curious thoughts.
However, if I sit on it long enough,
wait for it, wait for it. . .
how easily in the mind of a hormonal woman, a mother,
those original happy thoughts and attitude can quickly lose steam.  
How my mood of the moment can snatch all of that up and flip it on its back.
Or come up from behind and sweep my legs out from underneath me.
Damn it.
All that was good, and sweet and lovely and grateful,
fizzling out, then transforming and reconfiguring into a heavy brain fog.
I started out this post a short week or two ago, raging.  
Moody as hell.  Temperamental as all get out.  
Downright scary to be around.
My typical grasp on being "present" having loosened and disappeared.
Leaving me scouring my cupboards for chocolate and a blanket to hide under.
Then Boston.  
The never-ending challenge in our world, 
when separated from an actual tragedy, by space,
but witness to the horror,
to process the unimaginable.  Not just as a parent, but as a human.
Learning to accept and surrender to the FACT, 
that so many beautiful moments in life, 
will and are linked arm in arm with pain.
Then Texas.  Then fear.  Our safety and security, yet again, uprooted and tossed aside.
Then guilt for being so angry and annoyed at, well, nothing at all.
Then snow.  MORE snow.  Rain.  Gloom.  Cold and wind.
Then a nasty sinus infection.
Me, then him.
Cold, Flu or the worst illness you can imagine.
I don't care.
When your baby's down?  So are you.
Then a broken washing machine.
Then crumpled fish crackers in my bed.
Then giving up on a "juice cleanse" 8 hours in to it, because, well, I just love cheeseburgers too much.  
EPIC fail of the week, as I sit in the drive through line at Culver's.
Then "issues" at school with a particular child.
Then questioning all decisions we've ever made. . .about anything.
Life piling up on itself, because I opened the door.
Then having to pull the snow boots out AGAIN.  For a THIRD time!
Charlie, taking heed from MY angst and discord with the weather and the world and myself,  
almost in tears as harsh rain and snow and wind pummeled his face as he stumbled out of preschool,
"Mom!  What IS this?!  Is it rain?  Is it snow?  It hurts!"
He yelled, padding his heavy rain boots through the slush to the car.
"It's bullshit, is what it is son."
No.  I didn't say that.  But I thought it.  Because I was so angry.
Then a shopping to trip to Target, a "trip."  
Because I HAD to get out of the house, despite how crummy I felt and how crummy the weather and how crummy the world.
Tired of being house-bound with a raw nose and throbbing head, 
but really, shouldn't be permitted to leave until I'm appropriate for viewing.
Thinking, although it isn't Mexico, I might find some refuge in the familiar florescent lights, the brightly displayed banners,
feel some respite gripping my angry hands around the hard red, plastic of a shopping cart.
Not so much.  Just more whining.  More begging.  More anger.
More frustration with life.
Then the way my kids pound down the stairs like a herd elephants. The way they snuff snot up their noses instead of blowing it out.
Then to go downstairs to heat up some leftover chicken,
leaving Grace and Charlie in the bath (just for a second!)
to flood the God damn bathroom.
Slow drips from the kitchen ceiling, alerting me to the sitch upstairs.
"What the $&#$?!?!?!"
The microwave dings to an end.
As if to signal, "Done yet?  Had enough?"
MOTHER.OF.GOD
Grace broke a frame, charlie spilled a full glass of water on our carpet.  And then a full bowl of cereal.  AND a glass of juice.  Again.
Then enjoying some Sunday chocolate and dropped some in my lap,
which proceeded to melt in my crotch. . .onto our new couch.
My husband walking in from round one of weekend hockey, to find me scrubbing frantically at the cushions.
Of course so he #1.  Doesn't know I spilled on the new couch.
#2.  Doesn't bust me eating chocolate alone, while he was gone.
"What'd ya' spill?  Chocolate?"
DAMN IT.  "Yes." 
{And in case the above scenario leaves you questioning the controlling nature of my husband?  There is none.  Just one of those "I-don't-want-to-be-caught-doing-this moments because I'm a little ashamed with myself.}
Like when you buy something and just kinda of "forget" to tell your husband?
"Is that new?  When did you get that?"  
"Oh.  This old thing?  Been in my closet forever.  What?  It has.  Just haven't worn it yet."
Really?  Hiding chocolate?
It's the little games we play as married couples. 
Funny how beautifully we can be skipping through life,
but how quickly, if we're not careful, we can get tripped up in misery of our own making.  

Most days?  Life is really great.  It is.  
Other days?  Like the above?  It feels like one big slew of jokes.
Haphazardly strung together, but connected and seemingly, 
without end.
The jabs keep coming.  And yes, in the grand scheme of things, they're not painful and barely leave a mark and really, 
are just minor inconveniences that ruffle your feathers
and throw a weighty wrench in your tightly knit routine. 
The truth of life, if you haven't caught on,
is that it keeps showing up.  
To show you the most ugly and often hidden and ignored sides of your self, 
beckoning them to the surface, for you to face.
You don't learn how to get rid of it all, 
you learn how to be in it. 
To fix, change and confront what you can.
Acknowledge and accept what you can't, the best you can.
Despite all that's been broken, spilled, reshaped, sucked in, tucked under, wiped clean this past week,
there are lessons in it all.
We are often quick to blame everyone but ourselves.
Our children for being "naughty."
Our spouses for not being enough.
But rarely, I believe now, is it their fault.  
They are merely reflections of our attitudes, 
our current state, 
sometimes our worst selves.
Model and reacting to all they see in us.
We have to check ourselves.
We learn to discipline OUR foibles as well as theirs.
As mothers, women, wives, WE start over.
Put our legs up the wall.  
(No.  Literally.  Have you tried?  A great restorative yoga pose when you feel like you need some "grounding" or need to chill out.  Try it.  You don't have to be a self-proclaimed "Yogi" to do it. 
Back your butt up against a wall, put your feet up, close your eyes, rest your hands on your belly, feel your breathe for 5 minutes.) 

"I'm sorry I called you guys idiots.  That wasn't a very nice thing for mommy to say." 
"It's okay, mom.  Apology accepted.  And I'm sorry we flooded the bathroom.  Again."  They replied.
Let your kids hear you apologize and be vulnerable with them and admit when you're wrong.  Ask for help.
Try again.  Learn from mistakes.  Love.
Wishing you a "conscious" week.
Namaste.



1 comments:

B. Holmes said...

Thanx again Liz, I so needed to read this and know all moms have these days or weeks. Last week was that for me, too much going on and feeling on edge. Sad to say the most relaxed I got last week was during a dental cleaning, just laying there, forced not to move for 20+ minutes. I left there feeling a weight lifted and went for a walk (thankfully in the sunshine). What a difference! Take Care and here's to "mom time" whenever you can find it,even if it's in a dental chair...

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