Anybody who is friends with me on Facebook knows that my profile pic is, as a rule, of my legs or torso, never my face.
It has become a fun little thing for me. Late at night, usually after work, when i don't have the kids i start taking pictures with photo booth. There are many, many pictures. If i'm lucky i get one that i like. (like the one above from last night.)
I'm thinking i need to put all of these leg pictures into one place. An evolution of the leggy self-portrait. The silly things i do to entertain myself and keep from feeling alone.
I am coming back for you, leave the house after supper
meet me at Low Gap, I will come with two horses, one in each
hand, they will be striped with darkness and the shadow
of deep wells.
"The Jesse James Poems" Paulette Jiles
The one thing i fail to learn, year in, year out, is that expectations will get you nothing. Expectations will give you sleepless nights and stomach aches, longing and doubt, disappointment.
My birthday weekend turned out to be full of antibiotics and changes of plans and making do with what was on hand.
The kids and i had a great time together, which at the end of the day when i look in my heart and think of what i truly want – it is special moments and memories with them. We played laser tag and hung out with family. I was a little off because of a nasty infection, but my sister, the doctor, quickly sorted me out. I was a little off because i had expected to see friends and have some time to myself and my dreams. I was a little off.
The kids mirrored my mood, my mood swings. We all swung high to low, glee to anger. It was a challenging weekend. I have to remind myself that holidays are especially difficult for them. We are not together as a nuclear family, we are together as a new family. Post-nuclear.
I have to learn to limit my expectations to what they can handle, what is best for them. Save my dreaming for my time without them.
When i was in the hospital all i could think about was the ways i was letting my children down. That is the curse of motherhood made worse by depression.
Look at all those other moms on their blogs i would think. They bake. They sew. They garden. They do crafts, with their kids! As much as i love blogging it has this way of making you feel insufficient as a mother. Sometimes i feel like it's a competition to see who has the best house, the best craft room, the best photos of their projects. What happened to just being a mom? Why is it so damn hard for me to even think about those things?
I am not crafty by nature. I love to cook, but my kids hate food. I don't love to bake – too much mess, too many calories.
I used to love looking at all the pretty houses and pretty things people made. Now it just makes me feel more like a failure or give me this desire to compete.
That's not what i want. I want to hear all your stories. I want to hear celebrations of the terrible days and the whimsical days of motherhood.
So. Today we drove to victoria and had lunch with dad, then we went to the evil giant mall which made it all too clear to me how ragamuffin my kids are, we visited the giant toy store where we wandered every aisle and my kids marvelled at all the stuff, rode the bikes, sat in the cars, played with the trains, and then we left. They asked for nothing. The mere adventure of seeing ALL THAT STUFF was enough for them. Then we came home and drove over to their school and while i did some painting on one of the portables and a little work in the garden they played happily. For hours.
That's it. Now they are sitting at home watching shane's new band record some songs.
It is such a simple life. But, today, i am very happy for it.
I have been overwhelmingly busy.
The thing is? As kids get bigger the activities get bigger and longer and later.
My days begin with a running start at 7am and the race continues straight through to midnight. Even later if i write.
Things don't seem destined to slow down. I think more hours need to be added to the day.
Or less sleep required.
Welcome 2007.
I hope this year is a good year.