Easter Sunday, “YES YES YES” I convinced Alan to take Jack and Fiona to peets. The babies would NOT take their nap. This is the FIRST TIME I’ve had the house to myself. I have to speed type. It’s 9:05AM, the first thing I do is grab my Sunshine and fill her up. The second thing I say is “FUCK the Haters” sorry if that sounds krass. I started writing this piece trying to explain how I got here. (Erased it all) I live in Marin in a house, I didn’t start off here. I started at the bottom and so did my husband. I’m just an artist who worked retail my whole life. That’s it. I’m the same person I’ve always been, but waaaayyyyy cooler. It’s like I lost all my street cred when I got married. I’ve been accused of not being a feminist anymore, of not being punk rock anymore, of, (now this is my interpretation of course) “Living a traditional Marin Normal Lifestyle” Whatever the fuck that means. Like I think that’s better or they think it’s better than????? I don’t know. Ah that felt good. “Fuck’ Em”. Am I aloud to cuss on the internet? Can the title of my piece be Fuck Em? Easter Sunday. That sounds very anti-religious. “No offense”, that phrase doesn’t mean anything on the internet, in fact saying “no offense” means I probably already offended someone. Not on purpose, never on purpose but out of ignorance, absent mindedness or simple mistake of word choice. Because that’s all the internet is, just words. From random people. But these words are taken so seriously. I’m meandering. I realize I’m treading in very dangerous waters in many oceans. That’s who I am. Family, painting and writing. The End
Month: April 2015
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A piece of banana falls on the floor, pick it up, slips out of my hand, lands on the high chair leg. I don’t bend down a second time to pick it up. I just sneezed, crumbs from my mouth flew all over my key board. But the Center Island needs to stay clean, “Alan, please just help me keep the Center Island clean this weekend, no clutter. “ I say last night. I missed the babies yesterday. O.K. this time I am going to another room to finish writing while Alan reads Jack and Fiona books. Now I’m ready to share my deepest and darkest secrets. Sitting in this room, my collection of art books, a lump forms in my throat as I write that. I love and miss my books. I don’t buy as many as I used to, I don’t get to as many shows or museums as I used to. That is the next frontier, bring Jack and Fiona to art galleries and museums. It sucks because a lot of museums around here don’t allow double strollers. They’re getting too heavy for front carriers. I need a friend to accompany us, volunteers? It’s so easy to let circumstances and other people’s opinions dictate how I spend my time. Last night we watched a documentary on Ron Hubbard and Dianetics. I kept having flashbacks. I think he tried to brainwash me. It was Richard. He also drilled Freud into me. Sitting in front of the library in Sea Cliff, N.Y., Richard questioning me, quizzing me on Freud. He was an asshole, Richard that is. We hitchhiked across America together. I lost contact with him many years ago, and the last time I spoke to him he was a born again Christian. I’m not religious, I’m pretty sure that’s been clear from the beginning, in fact I consider myself a non-militant atheist. I also want to say I respect everyone’s religious beliefs. I’ve been down the road in a quest for answers, Dianetics, the Christians who looked like hippies, the Church of the Nazarene, Eldridge Cleaver, the Beat poets, Paganism, the Goddess religions, etc… Eight months ago we baptized Jack and Fiona at the Catholic Church in San Rafael. Beautiful church, very nice priest. We had to go to a class beforehand. We get there a bit late. I’m feeling very uncomfortable. Alan’s Irish, his whole family is Catholic, some practicing. The Deacon goes around the table and asks “What brought you here?” my face gets hot and red, what will I say? “My husband’s family is Catholic so we are baptizing the babies, I’m not religious.” The amount of thought I put into that whole Baptizing thing was ridiculous. I didn’t even want to do it at all. I warned Alan WAY in advance though, before we ever had kids. I’m telling them the truth if they ask, “I don’t believe in God, you have to make your own decision.” I can hear Alan and the babies in the living room. I want to go in and visit, but I think it’s important that Alan has alone time with Jack and Fiona. But I have to go get a hug, be right back. I got my cuddles, they are so cute. Now they are down for their morning nap. To Do: Clean Kitchen, Clean Closet, Paint, Walk Billy. This is one of the most difficult things, deciding what to do when the babies take a nap. The best advice I could give to moms of twins is have a P.O.A. (Plan of action) for naptimes or they will be awake and nothing on the list is checked of. What will make me feel happiest? What is most important to do right now? Paint! Even if it’s just for a half hour. The End
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I’ve got a smile on my face, I can feel my body heating up, the music pumping, and it’s good, I push myself hard, don’t know how long I have. Missed this, feels awesome. I’m lucky, I get to do the whole class, without anyone coming and getting me because of an inconsolable child. I walk into play center, Jack is just starting to cry when I arrive. I grab him and hug him, he’s fine after a second and starts running around. Fiona enjoys herself the whole time she’s here. I’m feeling great. This is a huge accomplishment for us. I started prepping the day before. A reservation made for Play Center, A diaper bag stocked with extra clothes, diapers, squeeze packs of food. The day of I add: fresh food, bottles, water, hats, shoes, toys, hearing aid case, books, (This is seriously what’s in the diaper bag, maybe I went a little over board). Oh, and Tiger and Blue Bear, their lovies, it made all the difference in the world to Jack having Blue Bear. The morning nap is perfect. We’re packed and ready to go, I even dressed the babies in cute clothes. (We usually wear PJ’S) We leave at 10:50, I want to get there early to get us settled in. Traffic! UGH!! It’s gridlock, I try the backway, down Drake, we move at a snail pace for 30 minutes. I’m frustrated, but still have hope. Time is ticking, I’m thinking of a backup plan, I can take a half hour swim (I actually brought my swimsuit) Jack and Fiona are starting to fuss. This really sucks. It’s 11:20, I still have a glimmer of hope as I drive onto the freeway ramp to 101, only two exits and I’m home free. The traffic loosens up, I pull into the parking lot and get a spot right in front. This is crazy. I get the babies into the stroller, roll into Play Center, sign Jack and Fiona in, get to spin only five minutes late and have a great workout. I feel so proud of myself and my children. I feel a new sense of freedom. I buy another $10 smoothie (feeling guilty) sit outside in the sunshine, feed the babies quesadilla and drink my kale and avocado. When I wake up this morning the first thought, I can’t believe It’s time to do it all again. But then I remember, Ramona’s working today, it’s Friday! YEA!
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 