Kill the Bird

So where the hell have I been, anyway?

Let's see.

I've been running. A lot, consistently. I've been running for several years now but only recently have I begun to take it seriously: doing tempo runs, interval training, long, meandering, meditative Sunday runs. God, I love the Sunday runs--the 7 or 8 or 10 miles up and down St. Charles Avenue, as the street car clangs past and people stumble by with their dogs and mugs of coffee and the church bells ring and the world seems new. It's beautiful and exhausting and I look forward to it, without fail, every week. So that's good.

I've been struggling. Of course--what parent worth his or her salt doesn't struggle? The evenings are particularly hard. I leave work and pick up my kids and we come home and I start dinner and they both need so much. They need me, more than anything--my presence, my attention, my affection, my lap. I strongly suspect that if I made the mistake of lying down on the floor on a weekday evening that they would swarm and literally devour me, bit by bit. So I try not to put myself in that position; I try to stay busy, to distract, to entertain, to structure, but eventually I give in to my urge to just enjoy my children and fuck--I lay down on the floor. They swarm. They devour. I tickle and poke. They giggle. I laugh. They laugh harder and swarm closer. It's uncomfortable but wonderful and I give myself over to it, the painful parts and the beautiful parts;I let them swarm, I let them nibble; I give and give until they run out of steam and then I send them off to bed and sit and think about everything I could have done differently, and better.

I struggle.

During a long-ish run the other day a song came on my i-Pod mix that I had not heard--or maybe I'd heard but not paid attention to--in quite a while. If you like Tori Amos, you might remember these lyrics that caught my ear:

I know a cat named Easter,
he says Will you ever learn?
You're just an empty cage, girl
If you kill the bird...

2 years ago, not long after I started this blog, I wrote a post about gathering and scattering, how I felt as though motherhood had relegated me to the latter occupation. I remember that time, how I felt both immensely content and intensely sad, and how confusing it was. I think I understand it better now; I understand that motherhood involves both an evolution and a loss of Self, that it requires both selflessness and self-awareness, self-sacrifice and self-care. So where is my Self in all of this?

Situations I Would Like to Avoid

1. While stuck in traffic I become enraged at another driver; I proceed to scream obscenities at said Driver, I give Driver the finger and honk my horn in maniacal fashion. Driver's face comes into view and I realize that Driver is a therapy client.

2. Sydney has a tantrum in the middle of Whole Foods wherein she manages to take down an entire display of jarred pasta sauce. As I kneel beside her flailing figure, covered in splattered sauce and pleading with my child to please calm the fuck down, a fellow shopper walks by and I realize that it is one of my therapy clients.

3. After a particularly vigorous workout I retire to the gym's locker room, where I proceed to change back into my street clothes. I am naked for a brief moment, as is the woman at the locker next to me, who I suddenly recognize as one of my therapy clients. *

4. After utilizing a public restroom I neglect to wash my hands. As I push open the door I realize the woman standing at the sink is one of my therapy clients.

5. I am nursing Evan on a bench in the mall when he decides to pull away from the boob to look around. A stream of breastmilk shoots in an arc above his tiny head, puddling on the bench beside us. As I lean over to wipe up the milk, breast exposed, a therapy client walks by. *

6. After one too many glasses of wine at a wedding (or other social function), I hit the dance floor with an uncontrollable urge to bust the Funky Chicken. Guess who's watching from the other side of the room?


* Already happened.

"We reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals"

Yes, we do.

Or I do, anyway.

Try as I might, I cannot seem to find words sufficient to describe how I felt yesterday, as President Obama (clumsily) took the oath and became the 44 th president of our country. I've come to realize something about myself: that I am much more adept at describing my own negative emotional states than I am at relating more pleasant--optimistic, hopeful, content--affective states. I'll save the deep analytical work for my therapist, but let it be known that one of my resolutions for the New Year is to find a way to write and talk about my happy feelings without feeling or sounding like Joel Osteen.

My favorite synopsis of the day's events and emotions came from my 3 year-old, when asked to tell Mommy (for the 500th time since November 4th) who the President of our country is:

Sydney: "Obama."

Me: "President Obama."

S: "We had computers at school to watch Obama."

M: "You did? Did the kids get to watch, or just the teachers?"

S: "Kids got to watch, but some kids didn't want to so they drawed [sic] instead."

M: "Did you watch or draw?"

S: "Both."

Merry Effing Christmas

12/21: Evan falls out of bed onto hardwood floor, hits head. Cries briefly, falls asleep (passes out?) Starts projectile vomiting two hours later.

12/22: After projectile vomiting all over his (horrified) sister, Evan pays a visit to Children's Hospital for his First CT Scan. There's one for the baby book. Doctors find no evidence of fractures or swelling, and he is sent home with a new binky and a small stuffed reindeer.

12/23: Noticeably subdued, off his feed.

12/24: Running fever, poor appetite, in distress. Unhappy baby.

12/25: Fever, poor appetite, crying. Fever breaks midday and he seems to perk up a bit.

12/26: Mommy wakes up exhausted with upset stomach. Too much Christmas? Maybe. Goes for a fast 4 1/2 mile run anyway, spends the rest of the day in a downward spiral of nausea and bone-crushing fatigue.

12/27: see above (minus the running)

12/28: ditto

12/29: Mommy wakes up with slightly less nausea but an eye full of pink (what the experts refer to as "conjuctivitis"). Evan engaged in a full-blown and impressively voracious growth spurt--eating every 1-2 hours all night and day.

12/30: ???

On the Bright Side:

• Wonderful husband
  
• Happy, healthy (knocking the crap out of wood) 3 year-old who met the holiday with sheer joy, generosity of spirit, and love for everyone around her. What a tremendous gift, in a year that's been filled with behavioral challenges and illness of every sort.
• At least I'm not pregnant.

Update

• Evan: 4 1/2 months old, rolling over, smiling, cooing, chuckling, charming the pants off everyone. Not sleeping, though, which is pretty much the opposite of charming.
• Sydney: 3 years and 3 months old, coloring inside the lines, drawing representational figures, counting to 14, pedaling a bike, swinging without having to be pushed, expressing an interest in learning to read, eating like a horse, interested in what's healthy and what's not (my favorite from the healthy list: "a little bit of wine"), potty training, charming the socks off everyone (most of the time). Occasionally pooping in panties, which is pretty much the opposite of charming.
• Chrissie: 33 years and 3 weeks old, rolling over, smiling, occasionally chuckling, potty trained, not sleeping much, running like crazy and feeling good about it, not reading as much as she wants to, not cooking as much as she wants to, not altogether charming most of the time. Back to work and feeling...hmm.

She said it, I didn't

Overheard just a few moments ago:

Cade, attempting to get Sydney to brush her teeth: "Open. Open your mouth."

Sydney, mouth clamped tightly shut: "Mm-mm." (Translation: No way, not now, not ever.)

Cade, exhasperated: "Open. Your. Mouth."

Sydney, shaking head wildly: "MM-MM."

Cade, rhetorically: "Hey--who's in charge here?"

Sydney, after a moment's pause: "Umm...Mommy?"

File under 'IRONY'