On mothering

It never occured to me that perhaps I need to mother myself. I know that I take care of myself, but being mothered is different than being taken care of. I've always thought: "I had a mother and she mothered me so I don't need to look to anyone else for mothering." But maybe she didn't mother me quite the way I needed to be mothered. She was a great mother in lots of ways, but perhaps not completely in the ways each of her children needed and this isn't her fault. I do not blame her and will never hold it against her. Sometimes I feel like I need to defend her still.

And I dreamt about her last night. I was talking to her. And then this morning my daughter said she saw me talking to "grandma." I clarified that it was my mother and she said yes.

And then I asked my daughter if she was ready to eat breakfast.

That's the way things work sometimes. Life goes on.

The Tourist

I am walking through London with headphones on as I listen to "The Tourist" by Radiohead. Do I know what life will bring? 12 years later I will be married with a child. Where will I be?

Thoughts of a different life. A former one. What if. What if there is more. What if this is it.

Happiness is so elusive.

When I am old, what is this all for? I will be there for my daughter. I will retire to help her through this transition that I am currently in. It's hard, but will that make it better?

I am sitting at my desk at work listening to "The Tourist" by Radiohead and I am nostalgic. Life had so much in store from me. Would it have hit me like a ton of bricks had I known? I could have never known.

Lessons for the New Year

Caelin is finally asleep. I had to let her cry it out. She's 22-months old and lately has not been sleeping well. Sleep regression. Who's regressing? She's sound asleep now. Peace . . .

I sit here with laundry that needs to be dried and folded, dishes that need to be put in the dishwasher, rooms and bathrooms that should be cleaned.

My nails should be filed and painted (forget about the toes), my hair should be blow-dried and flat ironed. Oh, I should really get to at least 7000 steps. I'm at 5707. Why don't I get up and walk around the house for 10 minutes. Remember when my body was tight after doing Barre three days a week last summer? What about that? How did I make time for that then? I miss those arms.

By the way, I need to be more creative. Take 15 minutes each day doing something creative. Too tired? Not an excuse. Creativity should be like breathing. No, I cannot watch Mariah's World tonight. Okay, maybe I can, but do I really want to spend $1.99 to watch it on Amazon Prime?

Speaking of money, we aren't saving nearly enough. And we should really pay off the credit cards. We shouldn't carry a balance on those things. What's our plan? Will things always be this way?

Nothing is getting done tonight. I thought about writing about my New Year's Resolutions, but that's not getting done either. 

You see, before I became a mother, I learned a rather tough lesson about trying to control things. Now, my precious time and all the control and order I thought I had is out of the damn window. I had grand plans this past weekend, but Caelin spent the last day of 2016 with a bug and I spent the first (2nd and 3rd . . .) with a bug as well and my plans all went out of the window. I had no choice. No chance at productivity. I was a zombie. 

So now I sit here. I have to return to the grind of work tomorrow and there's a billion things I need/should/oughta do, but I'm not doing any of it. Today I did manage to straighten up a little and run to Target (still feeling like quite the zombie). That's enough.

I'm going to sit here on this couch and let my clothes get wrinkly, leave the dishes in the sink and I'm going to chill the fuck out. I'm going to buy Mariah's World and no one is going to tell me any different.

There's my lesson today. And there's my 15 minutes of creative expression. And no, I am not getting to more than 5807 steps today and that's quite all right with me.