The Death of Me

As I walked down the stairs, with a basket of laundry and almost killed myself on a backpack that was at the bottom, I wondered, briefly, if there was a drop off centre for unwanted children nearby.  There is seriously no reason I can think of that we are still going through this "pushing" stage on their chores.  I know it's supposed to happen.  I know I'm just supposed to keep pushing through it.  But what if it does kill me?

Homework and three chores a night is all I demand. Not ask, DEMAND.  And without the attitude, if you please.  I am really in over my head - and with the teenage years rapidly approaching, I can't help but think I might not make it.  Maybe I'll be done in by haphazardly strewn shoes on the stairs.  Perhaps it will be a car, or Lego.  I could get myself tangled in one of my own housecoat ties that Hunter refuses to leave on my actual housecoat. 

Or maybe I will forget how to breathe after one of the times I'm holding my breath to keep from screaming blue murder.  Or, once I lose it, maybe I'll have an aneurism or a stroke.  Heart attack?  Definitely an option.  After tonight, I know I might slip on soup that didn't quite make it into the toilet but somebody didn't see the need to wipe up.  And don't even get me started about what else I might slip on in the bathroom that three young boys use all the time.  The water stagnating in the tub might break my fall, or we could add accidental drowning to the list of possibilities - after I've fallen , knocked myself unconscious and landed head first in it.

Then of course there is always starvation.  There's always a little hand out for anything I make for myself.  Tonight it was buttered bread to eat with my soup.  Maybe tomorrow it will be my whole plate.  Oh yes, as a mother, I think there are plenty of ways to die a sudden death at the hands of my children.  However likely, I happen to be aware of the constant danger and must be vigilant.  I need to stay strong because I think I plan on running away after Hunter moves out. 

It's Either Really Smart or Really Not

It's a sunny afternoon.  There's a sense of urgency as I pull up to a stop sign; or maybe it's just impatience.  I've never been this way before and there was no sign indicating "right turn only" so I accidentally pull out too far and back up before I realize I have my own lane.  There isn't much traffic but enough that I was concerned about merging into it.  The sun is shining in my eyes as I watch to the left, looking for a safe time to go forward.  Even though the lane is open to me at this point, I'm watching to make sure I don't cut someone off who might be attempting to move over.

Finally, I pull out and head toward the bridge.  Everything looks completely normal until I am almost above it - the ground has eroded just before the bridge.  We make it onto the bridge but get out of the vehicle.  Rather than take the time to consider what any of this means, I run towards the far end and can see that there is a chasm between the bridge and the land.  I'm pulling the red Radio Flyer wagon and I figure I can make it if I jump.  Leaping off, I realize that I am nowhere near close enough and fall towards the river that appears to be hundreds of feet below.

That is how I woke up yesterday morning and it's of some import for two reasons: one; I haven't remembered my dreams for months or years (and I used to, vividly); and two, ho-ly crap. 

There are two sides to the debate on what, if anything, dreams mean.  The scientific explanation is that our subconscious is working through our random thought process and utilizing our waking sensory experiences - and they are meaningless.  The other, older side, holds the view that our dreams can tell us something, either about ourselves or the future.  I've always believed a little bit of both. 

Credit: cosmosmagazine.com

We can attach any sort of meaning we want to anything at all; superstitions, beliefs, or just being open to attempting to understand something that we didn't understand before.  Though I've definitely had meaningless dreams, I don't count this as one of them. On the one hand, I wonder if it is a testament to how quickly I'm going and I need to slow down and think through my future actions.  It could also mean that I've failed.  Or it could just mean that I'm scared of failing.  Thanks to science, I used to consider them to be about the present and about me, my thoughts, my fears and all of that.  I still do.  Since I'm quite often the main actor, no one could convince me otherwise.

However, I also take the position that our dreams are windows to the subconscious and can tell us something important: usually about what we fear.  I don't think of this as a past tense dream.  Instead, I think I'm telling me to slow down and consider my next steps.  Of course, that's what I've been spending the last three weeks thinking about anyway (and hence, it is just a visualization of my thoughts).  But that's why it means something to me.  My intention certainly isn't to jump off and hope to land on something.  I don't think.  But I am definitely impatient and perhaps I'm telling myself that I have to be patient or it will be like jumping off a bridge when I actually didn't have to.

Sorry I haven't been around much

I feel like I need to apologize for not writing lately; I've been preoccupied with job hunting.  It's not my most favourite thing to do and I have to admit, I've been feeling awfully down about the whole thing.  My apology though, is because I really didn't feel like sharing.

I'm not positive about what people like to read from me, though if I count plus ones, it's kid stuff. Since I wasn't able to separate the cloud of inadequacy, I wasn't interested in writing about kid stuff because as they say, "the cup runneth over".  You know how there are those times, when everything seems to be going wrong? Well that has been me, for about three weeks, and I hated to admit it.

Right at this moment, I feel as if I'm being pulled in so many directions and there is no working compass.  I want to be home more for the kids but I need to work. I went to school to gain opportunities but there are few opportunities in town that utilize my education and allow me to still be around.  There are plenty of opportunities in the city but that requires a commute and likely a decline in family happiness.  I went to school so I would never have to be a file clerk again and now I find myself looking at these jobs as an opportunity to be home at a decent hour- and it makes me want to scream.

So here I am, have been, frustrated over the aforementioned issues and adding to this what feels like absolute selfishness because I refuse to apply for the jobs that would allow me to be home at a decent hour but that I would definitely despise every minute of the day.  Now, I have a line on one job, in town, that requires my education and that I would excel at because it is something I have experience in and something I have a passion for - but it's covering a leave of absence and may be "three weeks or three months... or more".  I hope I get it anyway.

The problem is that I've never had this problem before- this intense desire to be at home.  I'm fighting with it.  I feel like if I have or pursue a career, I'm not being a good mom.  If I don't, my kids can't have extracurricular activities and I'm constantly out of money (and maybe not being a good mom?) - I feel torn.  

Add to all of this that my student loan payments are scheduled to end in 110 months or something like that and I'm like- I'll be fifty??? What the f-ing f was I thinking????!!! 

Um, and then hub found this in the freezer. It's wine. Frozen. It's a wine Popsicle.  I will just have to deal with one thing at a time. Wish me luck.

Crabby Much Hunter?

Did you know that there is a law that is in direct contradiction with your personal liberties that says you are not at liberty to enslave yourself?  Yet, we are encouraged to reproduce.  If that gives you any sort of indication about what is to come, then, good. 

Hunter was grumpy with me after I made the ill-thought out decision to give him the oatmeal he asked for.  In his defense, he said "Mom, can you make me some sugar porridge" and handed me a packet of apple porridge.  I saw this, after I emptied it into a bowl.  I hesitated but gave it to him anyway. 

"Mom, does that have apples in it?" He asked with slight confusion.  "Yes" I answered, knowing full well what was coming next. "Oh, man!" He sighed and hung his head.  I made him brown sugar porridge instead.  But I got him a new spoon. "But Mom..." he sighed; and hung his head.  I removed the offending cutlery and placed the bowl in front of him.

"Mom, can you get me some water?" He asked.  "In an Ironman cup?" I checked the cupboard and saw that there were no clean Ironman cups to be found. "I don't have an Ironman cup, but will this (boring plain coloured cup) be okay?" I hoped.  "But I want an Ironman cup!" He cried; and hung his head.  "They aren't clean and you don't want a dirty cup do you?" I asked sweetly.  He sighed.  His head hanging low and his bangs danced on top of his porridge.  "No." He said finally and I brought him water in a boring cup.

"Mom, my porridge is too hot!" He said sadly and then he hung his head. "You have to blow on it" I reminded him.  "Ohhh," he sighed. "Can you do it?" And I stood there, wondering when I became such a gopher as to bow to a demanding three year old who had yet to say please or thank you this morning.  Maybe I stood too long because he then took a bite of his porridge and said "Mmmm. This is real good Mom. You're so nice to me." And I wonder how they know when they've gone too far and need to make up for it; but I'm ever so happy that they do.