It’s during times like this – when I’m overwhelmed and fragile, close to shattering in to a thousand million pieces – that this feeling washes over me. It’s this sharp, sudden sense of clarity, this feeling of yes, I get it. What you were saying to me all those years? I get it now. It makes me want to call her to tell her, breathless and apologetic,

I get it now.

We were at battle for so long, her and me. For years, ours was a relationship framed by a tumultuous flurry of addiction, emotion and control. We would argue and rage at one another, hurling words like weapons before slinking off to lick wounds raw and exposed. I can see myself now, standing before her, watching the smoky-blue ribbon of cigarette smoke swirl above her head. She would stare at me for a long time before she’d say, in a quiet, defeated voice,

Wait until you have children.

And I, flush with anger and steely teenage arrogance, would throw the sharpest knife I possibly could,

You probably won’t be here by the time I have children.

(Water under the bridge and all, it was an awful thing to say.)

(Those words belonged to me; I’m sorry I gave them to you.)

(I’m sorry.)

The times when she would stand in my bedroom door and watch me sleep before padding across the room to brush hair from my eyes and kiss my head, whisper her love to me. I would stay still, keep my eyes shut, my breath even. Pretend to be asleep.

I didn’t get it then.

When she was sick, nearing the end, her eyes would well up and she would stare at me so hard I wondered if she could see my soul. She’d tell me how much she loved me and I knew intently that her love for me – a mother’s love for her child – was far beyond what I, childless and soon to be motherless, could comprehend. But standing there, on the cusp of The Rest of My Life, I knew that kind of love was something that, one day, I’d understand.

And now I do.

I’m fragile right now, teetery. Things have been less mundane and more chaotic lately; I feel pulled in every which way possible, at times as though I’m barely keeping my head above water. I’m treading, I’m getting tired, and I’m wishing there were an island close by that I could swim to for a bit of a break. It all seems to happen at once, suddenly my plate is full and hello, I didn’t order all of this shit, could I get a refund? But there are no refunds, there’s just keep on going, get through this day so you can wake up and face the next. Keep on keepin’ on, girl, one foot in front of the other. One step at a time.

Its so cliché, but, you know, yes. One step at a time.

And through all of this, in the back of my mind I hear this soft little voice. It’s saying the same thing, over and over:

I get it now, Mum. I get it.

25 Comments | In: life, in general, motherhood, my mama | tags: coping, realizations, stuff in my head. | #

I’ve been listening to a lot of Radiohead lately.

I do that sometimes, pick one band and put them on constant replay, usually during periods of time in my life. Periods of time, as in, that shit was rough; that was a rough time for me. When my mother got her liver transplant, Arrested Development held me up. I listened to a lot of Massive Attack when I was pregnant with Julia; I kept Stadium Arcadium on constant replay when I decided to quit the ‘net a few years ago. Throw Down Your Arms got us through Oliver’s infancy.

So lately it’s been Radiohead, heavy rotation. Sometimes I close my eyes and dissolve in to the music, in to the sounds, the words and the melody, and completely detach.

I'd tell all my friends but they'd never believe me,
They'd think that I'd finally lost it completely.

This summer has been the prelude to some major change: the summer before Oliver starts Maternelle (a.k.a. Junior Kindergarten) and Julia starts Grade One. Grade ONE! This was my last summer with a child at home with me; the last summer I had before having to get off my ass and do something about my unemployment.

Everything’s shifting. Everything’s changing. My kids are getting older; they are less my babies and more kids, with personalities and character, opinions and attitude. Julia has recently become a bit of an emotional cyclone; she’s dished out healthy portions of flounce and lip and has started (finally?) defending herself against her brother, a kid known to take his moniker, Muscle Boy, too far at times. He’s all knees and elbows, Muscle Boy Oliver, with his chipped tooth, skinned knees and big, bright eyes. He’s no baby anymore, but he’s my baby, my baby, most likely my last child.

I’m so incredibly proud of them, of the people they are turning in to, and at the same time I’m totally fucking dumbfounded at how big they are; by time, and how fast it goes by.

How quickly things change.

And it wears me out, it wears me out.

I feel like this summer has been the build-up to change, big change. I’ve had so much on my mind this last handful of weeks; I haven’t felt like myself and it’s brought me to a standstill, really, when it comes to writing. I’ve felt muted and self-conscious, which has drummed up a certain sense of apathy about writing in general. It’s like there’s all of these thoughts swirling within me, things that are happening that are completely, rather frustratingly at times, out of my control. And no matter how hard I try to put my thoughts in to words (or how badly I want to), they just don’t come out.

I wish that I was bulletproof.

Or maybe underneath it all I’m just in defense mode, because if I type out the words they’re right there in front of me, staring me down. And somehow, that makes them more of a reality:

Both my kids are at school full-time/holy shit/I need to find a job/but I’m scared/it’s been almost ten years!/my kids are growing up/they’re changing/I’m changing/everything is changing/I love what I have but/I didn’t think this would be so hard sometimes/I’m tired/I’m content, but/at times, I don’t like the person I’ve become/I don’t know if I can be the kind of writer I want to be/I miss my mother but sometimes I am so relieved that it’s all over/I think I have self-esteem issues/and control issues/ones that are probably deep-seeded/sometimes I feel completely unappreciated/some days I just don’t want to/some days it’s all just too fucking much.

It gets so loud up there in my head sometimes, you know, with the thoughts and whatnot. There’s something about Radiohead that shoulders me, lifts me away from the noise, albeit temporarily, and that’s where I’m at right now, I guess: temporarily lifted.

There are better things to talk about
Be constructive
Bear witness
We can use
Be constructive
With yer blues

30 Comments | In: life, in general, motherhood, parenting | tags: change, coping, heavy rotation, music, Radiohead, what gets me through. | #