Friday, March 4, 2011
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
The Confessional!
Hey,
it's me. thought it was time to write again. I know I promised to write when we were in Clare that time, but I got lazy I think. Nothing much going on a the moment. The fire is flickering, the cherubs are tucked under their bed wraps and I am sitting in silence.
I have to say that I am finding the ticking of the clock so comforting. Sometimes it can be the loneliest sound. Others, like now, there is a sense of peacefulness from being able to hear it. Even if it is actually reminding me that it isnt working and that ticking I am hearing is just a tease!
Another one of those days. Did you ever think that our lives would be like this when we were sipping roasting hot chocolates in the college cafe. Or pushing our dungarees out in front light to create pregnant shadows! I am living the dream. We are both living our dreams. Why does it not always feel like that, eh? I wonder if there are people in the world who wake up every morning and jump out of bed. Their lives are so good that they just can't wait to get to them. I don't jump out of bed. Do you?? This morning I fell out of bed and rambled down to sitting room, turned on the television and fell asleep again. Slightly irreponsible. But my television starved children didnt move. I felt incredibly guilty for doing that.
'
What is it with this whole guilt thing. It eats me alive. Like, really. I feel like the Piranha Guilt's prey. Chew, chew, chew. I'm sure people who work and shove their kid into a creche all day suffer from guilt. Maybe they don't. But I feel because I am home there are all these things i should be doing to justify being here. It is so much more obvious if I am not being involved in my children's lives and I have only myself to blame. Didn't do any one on one play today. Too much DVD glue-dom. Read a book for a little extra than I should have. My pee didn't last THAT long. Guilt, guilt, guilt. Half white, half brown bread. Why couldn't I just go brown. More than 4 TV channels. My goodness. I'm RUINING these little ones. How do you get rid of guilt. How can I just accept myself for the parent that I am? There always seems to be someone doing it better. My children get me. That's it. Sometimes I feel sorry for them. Some people seem like they were just born to raise children. They just seem to know what to do. Why am I not like that even though this is always what I wanted to do.
Sorry. Rambling on here. But you know what I mean, don't you?! Or am I the only one who feels like this! Even, I was thinking about swaddling today. Don't ask me why. But there are these people who have these brand new babies. They never had one before and their little bundle is perfectly swaddled. Her clothes are clean and face is sparkling and bibs are ironed and she perpetually smells of Johnsons and Johnsons. Me, I could never get that swaddling deal. I just could not do it. The corners always fell out. The blanket wasn't right. Whatever. My babies always looked sloppy. Thrown together and falling out of themselves. Bibs were never fully clean. That is, if they were wearing one. I tended to just go for the washing the clothes thing, rather than bibs. Not sure why. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Anyway. How are you? How is the new house. Does it feel nice to have your own space again? Phew......you can't beat that feeling really. It feels a little hollow at the beginning I think, though. You it will just be you and yours coming through the door. No other conversations or surprises. You'll probably almost miss the tension. Well, maybe not that. You've had some funny living situations over the years haven't you. When you think about it!!
Talk soon. Looking forward to this weekend.
E
it's me. thought it was time to write again. I know I promised to write when we were in Clare that time, but I got lazy I think. Nothing much going on a the moment. The fire is flickering, the cherubs are tucked under their bed wraps and I am sitting in silence.
I have to say that I am finding the ticking of the clock so comforting. Sometimes it can be the loneliest sound. Others, like now, there is a sense of peacefulness from being able to hear it. Even if it is actually reminding me that it isnt working and that ticking I am hearing is just a tease!
Another one of those days. Did you ever think that our lives would be like this when we were sipping roasting hot chocolates in the college cafe. Or pushing our dungarees out in front light to create pregnant shadows! I am living the dream. We are both living our dreams. Why does it not always feel like that, eh? I wonder if there are people in the world who wake up every morning and jump out of bed. Their lives are so good that they just can't wait to get to them. I don't jump out of bed. Do you?? This morning I fell out of bed and rambled down to sitting room, turned on the television and fell asleep again. Slightly irreponsible. But my television starved children didnt move. I felt incredibly guilty for doing that.
'
What is it with this whole guilt thing. It eats me alive. Like, really. I feel like the Piranha Guilt's prey. Chew, chew, chew. I'm sure people who work and shove their kid into a creche all day suffer from guilt. Maybe they don't. But I feel because I am home there are all these things i should be doing to justify being here. It is so much more obvious if I am not being involved in my children's lives and I have only myself to blame. Didn't do any one on one play today. Too much DVD glue-dom. Read a book for a little extra than I should have. My pee didn't last THAT long. Guilt, guilt, guilt. Half white, half brown bread. Why couldn't I just go brown. More than 4 TV channels. My goodness. I'm RUINING these little ones. How do you get rid of guilt. How can I just accept myself for the parent that I am? There always seems to be someone doing it better. My children get me. That's it. Sometimes I feel sorry for them. Some people seem like they were just born to raise children. They just seem to know what to do. Why am I not like that even though this is always what I wanted to do.
Sorry. Rambling on here. But you know what I mean, don't you?! Or am I the only one who feels like this! Even, I was thinking about swaddling today. Don't ask me why. But there are these people who have these brand new babies. They never had one before and their little bundle is perfectly swaddled. Her clothes are clean and face is sparkling and bibs are ironed and she perpetually smells of Johnsons and Johnsons. Me, I could never get that swaddling deal. I just could not do it. The corners always fell out. The blanket wasn't right. Whatever. My babies always looked sloppy. Thrown together and falling out of themselves. Bibs were never fully clean. That is, if they were wearing one. I tended to just go for the washing the clothes thing, rather than bibs. Not sure why. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Anyway. How are you? How is the new house. Does it feel nice to have your own space again? Phew......you can't beat that feeling really. It feels a little hollow at the beginning I think, though. You it will just be you and yours coming through the door. No other conversations or surprises. You'll probably almost miss the tension. Well, maybe not that. You've had some funny living situations over the years haven't you. When you think about it!!
Talk soon. Looking forward to this weekend.
E
Monday, October 13, 2008
Park Life
You can go either way when you are an older parent. That's what I think. I stalk when I'm at the park and such stalking provides me with a lot of judgements...or am...observances!
Option 1. Her husband owns his own business which she occasionally helps out in. She is pencil thin wearing the latest fashion, at the park. Heeled boots and capris with the obligatory Baby Bjorn over cashmere sweater. Hair is styled. Glasses are designer. Eyes are slits. Cheekbones would slice. Lips are tightened into a narrow smile. Two boys in tow with flowery names. Billy or Charlie or Fillie.Hes a pale, long haired 4 year old with boat shoes and good clothes. Geared up in his Ralph Lauren rugby shirt with collar up. Red faced and bratty. She spends her time wandering around hoping that one of the local mums from Coffee Morning will appear to pass the monotony. Barley (the son!) is tearing around like a lunatic and she just keeps at him to 'take it easy'. After about 10 minutes she announces that it was time to be thinking about leaving. Clothes are still at the dry cleaners after all. Barley moans. She says he can go down the slide one more time. He takes his time at the top and her pencil thin voices says 'Today...Barley....come onnn'. Where's the joy woman? Barley knows no difference.
Option 2. Her husband is a pig farmer who does a bit of digging on the side. For some reason they are loaded. Noone can quite explain it. She is wearing a practical wind sheeter. Some tattered runners and desperately forgotten jeans. Her hair is cut short and her face has had very little knowledge of make up down through the years. She laughs and runs and chats. Her children chant at her to push them. She does so with gusto. She could be 40. She could be 50. Hard to tell behind the ruddieness. A son and a daughter. Names like Donna and Damian and Marie and Bridget. Family names. Saints names. She is probably driving a Passat. A good and dirty one with a big roaring diesel engine. The children skip around making friends. They stay until there is little light left. Damians school uniform is ruined. Oh well. Mam will take care of it.
It struck me. My children won;t remember that I looked good. They will remember whether I was fun or not.
Option 1. Her husband owns his own business which she occasionally helps out in. She is pencil thin wearing the latest fashion, at the park. Heeled boots and capris with the obligatory Baby Bjorn over cashmere sweater. Hair is styled. Glasses are designer. Eyes are slits. Cheekbones would slice. Lips are tightened into a narrow smile. Two boys in tow with flowery names. Billy or Charlie or Fillie.Hes a pale, long haired 4 year old with boat shoes and good clothes. Geared up in his Ralph Lauren rugby shirt with collar up. Red faced and bratty. She spends her time wandering around hoping that one of the local mums from Coffee Morning will appear to pass the monotony. Barley (the son!) is tearing around like a lunatic and she just keeps at him to 'take it easy'. After about 10 minutes she announces that it was time to be thinking about leaving. Clothes are still at the dry cleaners after all. Barley moans. She says he can go down the slide one more time. He takes his time at the top and her pencil thin voices says 'Today...Barley....come onnn'. Where's the joy woman? Barley knows no difference.
Option 2. Her husband is a pig farmer who does a bit of digging on the side. For some reason they are loaded. Noone can quite explain it. She is wearing a practical wind sheeter. Some tattered runners and desperately forgotten jeans. Her hair is cut short and her face has had very little knowledge of make up down through the years. She laughs and runs and chats. Her children chant at her to push them. She does so with gusto. She could be 40. She could be 50. Hard to tell behind the ruddieness. A son and a daughter. Names like Donna and Damian and Marie and Bridget. Family names. Saints names. She is probably driving a Passat. A good and dirty one with a big roaring diesel engine. The children skip around making friends. They stay until there is little light left. Damians school uniform is ruined. Oh well. Mam will take care of it.
It struck me. My children won;t remember that I looked good. They will remember whether I was fun or not.
Simple
Beauty in its most simplistic form seems to me, the most beautiful. Why is it that as people we don't seem to buy into this theory. I am looking at a solitary sunflower beaming from my mantelpiece. Nothing added. Just pure. And it is radiant. Shining forth in its naturally stunning way.
If God made everything and he called it all good. Why have we found a way to make humans, the apple of his eye, those made in his image, a created thing in constant need of repair and change. In magazines we read all the time about how noone is completely happy with themselves. Elle McPherson thinks her tummy is too round, Victoria Beckham doesn't like her skin etc etc. We are comforted by this strangely. If the supreme beauties need work well I am perfectly justified in being completely unhappy with how I look sans make up and expensive clothing.
Did ugliness come about as part of the great fall of man. Has sin caused spotty skin and protruding noses? What about metabolism? Are skinny people closer to God?
So we go to the gym, buy rakes of new clothes, spend gold bullions on make up and hair straighteners and still aren't happy. At the end of the day, do I believe that God made me beautiful, that he made me perfect, that he created me and thought it was good. Like the solitary sunflower blossoming in its perfect simplicity. God looks at us both and sees beauty. Because he created both. And as the artist he is proud of his canvas. No matter what angle he chooses it to be shown at.
Or - maybe this is just an argument ugly people use. A bubble burst somewhere. I heard it.
If God made everything and he called it all good. Why have we found a way to make humans, the apple of his eye, those made in his image, a created thing in constant need of repair and change. In magazines we read all the time about how noone is completely happy with themselves. Elle McPherson thinks her tummy is too round, Victoria Beckham doesn't like her skin etc etc. We are comforted by this strangely. If the supreme beauties need work well I am perfectly justified in being completely unhappy with how I look sans make up and expensive clothing.
Did ugliness come about as part of the great fall of man. Has sin caused spotty skin and protruding noses? What about metabolism? Are skinny people closer to God?
So we go to the gym, buy rakes of new clothes, spend gold bullions on make up and hair straighteners and still aren't happy. At the end of the day, do I believe that God made me beautiful, that he made me perfect, that he created me and thought it was good. Like the solitary sunflower blossoming in its perfect simplicity. God looks at us both and sees beauty. Because he created both. And as the artist he is proud of his canvas. No matter what angle he chooses it to be shown at.
Or - maybe this is just an argument ugly people use. A bubble burst somewhere. I heard it.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Delusions of Reality
i am sitting here. just had my hand to my face and got the smell of baby wipe. when will that smell not be a part of my life anymore I wonder. i take it for granted so much now. will i miss it when it's gone? or will i not even be able to remember what it smelled like. much like labour pains. how painful were they anyway...it wasn't that bad was it?
delusions that help you get through every day. getting up 5am was okay wasn't it. it didnt feel like it at the time but i only feel a little tired now. delusion. cleaning up endless crumbs/toys/dirty bums/spilled drinks is not that bad. what else would i be doing. delusion! living every day for 8pm is perfectly normal isn't it. delusion.
but really. all these delusions seem to be a God given mechanism for coping. if i accepted each and every reality as a stark one then i would be at work. because the truth hurts. if i don't have that delusional perspective, i am seeing too clearly and too painfully. not that being at home and having two beautiful children is painful but there are times when it just feels like it is a bit much. a bit overwhelming and at times a bit underwhelming. what do i actually do all day. groundhog day just imitated life. i am 28 years old and noone else i know is doing this. the list of realities goes on. and yet, much like knowing that God is real even though I cant see him, I know that what I am doing is my delusional reality. the place where i actually want to be. in my heart and in my soul. i chose this life. and i am content with my choice. but the reality is that contentment does not always mean happiness. it just means peace for the moment. i think.
i am no philosopher. i can barely string a coherent thought together without my head physically hurting! my delusional reality = my contentment. and i am at peace with that. at this moment!
delusions that help you get through every day. getting up 5am was okay wasn't it. it didnt feel like it at the time but i only feel a little tired now. delusion. cleaning up endless crumbs/toys/dirty bums/spilled drinks is not that bad. what else would i be doing. delusion! living every day for 8pm is perfectly normal isn't it. delusion.
but really. all these delusions seem to be a God given mechanism for coping. if i accepted each and every reality as a stark one then i would be at work. because the truth hurts. if i don't have that delusional perspective, i am seeing too clearly and too painfully. not that being at home and having two beautiful children is painful but there are times when it just feels like it is a bit much. a bit overwhelming and at times a bit underwhelming. what do i actually do all day. groundhog day just imitated life. i am 28 years old and noone else i know is doing this. the list of realities goes on. and yet, much like knowing that God is real even though I cant see him, I know that what I am doing is my delusional reality. the place where i actually want to be. in my heart and in my soul. i chose this life. and i am content with my choice. but the reality is that contentment does not always mean happiness. it just means peace for the moment. i think.
i am no philosopher. i can barely string a coherent thought together without my head physically hurting! my delusional reality = my contentment. and i am at peace with that. at this moment!
Monday, September 8, 2008
brilliance
I had a thought of brilliance earlier today. Now it's gone. That happens too often. I have taken to attempting to complete a simplex crossword every night before I go to sleep in order to stimulate some sort of brainal activity. I don't think it's working. Partly to do with the fact that I am having trouble actually completing the crosswords without cheating. Or even coming anywhere near completing it.
If they had a measurement for how much your brain actually functions or how much it has diminished over time, I wonder what my read would be. I think I had some functioning neurons a few years ago but since I have stopped using my brain largely, even the simplest of things seem overly complicated. When I read something, be it a blog or a complicated newspaper article, anything that's not just factual - I start to get all fuzzy and muddled. I can almost hear my brain blowing out steam and getting red in the face.
I refuse to be drawn into the whole hand held computer thing. That somehow a little plastic wand tapping on a computer screen will now make me smart. I may be smart but I am also now someone who has a handheld computer. I'll take the brain steaming over tip-tapping on a bus seat.
I had a good way of ending this. But I've forgotten it.
If they had a measurement for how much your brain actually functions or how much it has diminished over time, I wonder what my read would be. I think I had some functioning neurons a few years ago but since I have stopped using my brain largely, even the simplest of things seem overly complicated. When I read something, be it a blog or a complicated newspaper article, anything that's not just factual - I start to get all fuzzy and muddled. I can almost hear my brain blowing out steam and getting red in the face.
I refuse to be drawn into the whole hand held computer thing. That somehow a little plastic wand tapping on a computer screen will now make me smart. I may be smart but I am also now someone who has a handheld computer. I'll take the brain steaming over tip-tapping on a bus seat.
I had a good way of ending this. But I've forgotten it.
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