Everything counts, memories never die

“Thank-you, my mom made it, this is the hat she was wearing when she died” 

Did I just say that out loud?

Did I really just say that with the intention that everyone in the room heard me? I hope I didn’t make them uncomfortable, the teachers at Fiona’s school. They said they liked my hat. 

“It has senitimental value, I hope I never loose it”

“You won’t”

I am glad they think I won’t loose my purple crochet hat, the one I found in the hospital locker with my moms pants, shirt, and sneakers. The things she wore as she took her last breath. Memories like that just don’t disappear.  They remain inside sleeping until somebody or something, some mood or rainy weather wake the memory up.  Maybe it’s the time of the year, January-damp and cold, still dark, still winter. I’ll miss it when it’s gone. 

Jack and Fiona are challenging as ever. I find raising children, gets harder and harder as time goes by. I think this will be the most challenging year yet, from two to three, everything counts. Everything I say, everything I feed them, everything I teach them. Sometimes it feels like they are completely out of control. Sometimes it feels like they are the sweetest babies that were ever born. Sometimes they seem like brats. Sometimes I have the energy to meet with any parenting demand, sometimes I feel like punching a wall. I take a deep breath and can’t believe all the things going on around me. 

Yesterday I did yoga. The teacher said “relax, then relax a little more. ” I did, I was so grateful to be in that room on my mat for the next hour and fifteen minutes. 

The monitor is still quiet. I painted today and made some kick ass collages. When I came in I was surprised at my frags I had created during my last session. I was under the impression I made shit, except for the pieces I loved. I didn’t realize I had been self-loathing lately, but maybe I have, I am. I feel kind of crappy, emotionally drained, and have big stress zits, the kind that hurt super bad under thr skin but don’t pop. I have no idea why I’m like this, I am a truly emotional person. 

I’m OK though. I’m going to work on some GAP stuff for our show at the SFIAF in May. Some stiching, I wish I could share them but I can’t. Not until the show. 

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About Dirty Laundry Blog

Thoughts on Motherhood Through the Eyes of an Artist