I've really been struggling with ny blog and with so many things in my life. This morning it came to me – I find it impossible to be honest, I mean completely, soul baringly, painfully truthful. The kind of truth that haunts you when you read it or see it. It's beauty is terrifying to me. I'm not sure what I am scared of…well, I think I am. I am so fucking scared of anyone judging me as a mother. I want to be the very best – an impossible dream. I am not the best, no where near it. But, holy crap I love my kids and I am so fearful of ever losing them in any way.
So, I've been struggling. I read so many great blogs like this one and this one. I want to be able to do that, I want to write really great things. I think the difference is that, in general, my life is good; it's just all those fucking little day-to-day things that are wearing me down. Bills, money, my daughters allergies, chronic hospital visits for my two youngest and their asthma, Toby's Apraxia – paying for the damn speech therapy that he so desperately needs yet eats up any hope we EVER have for a holiday, all the prescriptions, my fat tummy that ain't going anywhere, the chronic diarrea (mine), the fact that I will never be as young and beautiful as I used to be before I started having children and I will never again be the focus of all the songs I love listening to, my husband still lusts over me but mine ebbs and flows, my love for him is still so strong it's painful – mostly because how the hell could I ever do all this without my best friend? Mostly, I want to write like I used to.
I've been depressed recently and well, several times in my life. It makes no sense really, it's beautiful outside the flowers are blooming, my children are beautiful.
Actually I do know why. I love writing and wanted to write everday, but life gets in the way, really. Eliza is sick again and her asthma is acting up and I keep worrying that she is going to end up in the hospital again. I want to start jogging again, but I have no time. Parker is, at this moment, screaming at me to stop typing! Not really, as he can't talk he's actually just screaming "BOOOBEEE" and pulling at my top. Why I armed him with that word is a mystery to me.
More later
My son, Toby, is so cute. He's in kindergarten and five years old. He never really went to preschool or anything; so he never really had any friends until this year. He's a tender-hearted little guy and really had trouble with that whole seperation anxiety thing. Having said that, he's totally embraced the whole buddies thing. He's actually turned out to be quite popular. My kids attend an Independant school that has very small classes and multi-age groupings. His class is 12 kids, five kindies and seven grade one's.
Anyways, at dinner Grandpa was here and was teasing Toby about all the girls liking him. It was really one of those melt your heart moments. Toby was so cute – embarassed and blushing. It was really sweet.
I promised myself i would write every day in my new blog, rain or shine, pneumonia or lice. And so here I am soon to be midnight and breaking the only other rule, rule #2 no drinking and blogging.
Shane, my beautiful one (husband) is off on a business trip tomorrow to (holy crap) West Edmonton Mall!! I personally have never been, but I hear there's 2 or 3 gap's there, a zoo, an amusement park. Lord knows what else, but it is so far removed from everything I believe in. What do I believe in? I am a staunch 'not a hippy' don't look like one that's for sure. But I do believe in supporting the local economy – think globally, act locally – that has always worked for me even if the first time I heard it was from the multi-national Body Shop. Anyway's I am more likely to purchase a $25 Playmobil gift at my local toy store, The Red Balloon Toy Shoppe, than any $10 piece of crap at Walmart, I'll even shell out $5 more for a card and wrap at Red Balloon just to avoid a visit to the dreaded W.
So, rule #2 – gone to crap. I enjoyed a nice bottle of red wine with Shane and a couple of sweet treats and now I am tryiing pretty desperately to get some real thoughts down before I too join the snore's I hear through the baby monitor.
I think it won't work. I was asked to be president of my children's school next year! That's the highlight of today. I thought a lot about my brother, Chase, today. I should talk about that – oh yeah, not to mention my two other totally perfect kids Tristan and Toby. They are just more complicated and thus need a little more thought before I attempt to put them in words.
Anyhow, this is my really pathetic attempt at drinking and blogging.
Why is it so hard to communicate? I've had a tough time recently getting my point across, I'm a communication wimp. Today, for example, I let another parent at the school steal $44 from me. How did that happen? Well, I was put in charge of the evil task of selling chocolates for fundraising. Each family had to sell one box of chocolates. Sounds simple, no. People hate selling chocolate and in turn hate the person that is making them sell chocolates. I asked nicely and not so nicely for the money to be returned two weeks ago, if you had a real problem you could return chocolates too – two weeks ago. The time allowed to return any unsold choclates to the distributor has come and gone. So, as of today there is still $1000 owing to me. One parent came to me today and said "I have some chocolates and some money for you, can I give that to you now?" My inner voice is saying "no, you moron, I asked for that money two weeks ago. You owe me cash – no chocolate." Outer voice "oh, okay". Wimp, blithering nonsense talking loser. That's me. So now, I have more chocolates and nothing to do with them but eat them – hello ass. And someone, me, has to make up that $44. I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me.
Last night, my adoring beautiful husband was feeling the need for a little hanky panky. I was wishy washy on that subject, wanting instead to watch Amber and Rob screw everybody else in The Amazing Race. So, he gives me alittle back scratch and proceeds to flip my enormous lactating breast out of my bra. A feeling that drives me crazy, not with wanton lust, but with uncomfortable anger. Until my baby decides he doesn't need that particular part of my anatomy umpteen times a day, they belong to him. They are off limits to my husband. I thought he knew that. So, instead of nicely redirecting his attentions I spazzed. Flipped out. Sent us both to bed mad, rejected, depressed. Oh yeah, I'm a loser baby.
I have no tact and will seemingly never learn the fine art of communication.