Naptime, the kettle just finished boiling, I pour the hot water over my stress relief tea bag, sit down, and take a bite of my chocolate chip cookie. It’s 2:37 PM Sunday afternoon, Jack and Fiona just went to sleep thirty minutes ago, the latest they’ve ever stayed up. I don’t understand how they have so much energy. Right before I put them down Jack was running in circles, Fiona kept walking away from me, when I said “It’s time for your nap” she said “no”. When I put them down I had no problems, Fiona wanted to keep her new pink sparkly Hello Kitty sneakers with her, she fussed when I took them off her, but both babies went right to sleep. They were tired even though when I asked them, “Are you tired?” they kept saying “No” and running in circles.
Today I woke up early, early enough to drink a hot cup of coffee and peanut butter toast, early enough to see the sky still dark, with light blue horizontal streaks, see the yellow and blue lights scattering the valley below, and the quiet shadows cast on the walls around me. A shadow of my apron strap twisting and turning, delicate like a ribbon. The shadow of my hand , my pen on the piece of paper on which I write. Early enough to notice my reflection in the window merging with the outside world creating another dimension, that slowly disappeared as the darkness of dawn turned into the light of morning. My dog resting on the carpet and the babies still asleep in their beds. These are the moments I can stand back, look, observe. The moments before the chaos, before the speed my two year old twins demand. They aren’t really two yet, we have two months to go. Am I trying to hurry time?
Last night on my way to bed I went in the nursery to turn off the lights and I found Jack asleep on the floor. Fiona was cozy in her bed with all her teddies. I scooped Jack up and lay him on his bed with his teddies. I imagined him going and going and going until he just dropped down and fell asleep. His feet never stop moving. He got a new pair of shoes today, they are spider man sneakers that light up when he walks. He was so proud and happy, he kept walking around looking at the lights flashing. He’s a good kid. They both are.
When I was looking for a pen to write with this morning I came across a 00 Kolinsky red sable paint brush from Utrecht. I can’t remember when I bought it, or what for. It makes tiny little marks, a place I feel uncomfortable going, into tiny little mark making, tiny little pictures. I want to experiment with this tiny little paint brush, maybe make tiny little marks on a big piece of paper. Tiny little moments, my tiny little place on this earth, my tiny little life moving quickly. Maybe making the tiny marks would be good practice for staying present. For being fully aware of each passing second. Sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour, and so on, how many marks would that be? Could that be? Do the tiny little marks make up one big mark? Will it teach me how much time I really do have when I slow down?
I don’t know what I love more, a quiet morning or a quiet afternoon, both are beautiful. Tomorrow is a studio day, I am really looking forward to it. I’ll start work on my DADA drypoints and stitching, but I won’t post any photos of those. They will only be revealed after the show opens in May. When I looked at the picture I made on New Years Day, the one I am posting with this blog I was shocked. It was so moody, but I was feeling very moody that day. But today I feel better.
Month: January 2016
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“Ehh is that poop ?”
I touch it, a dark brownish chunk on the stair, hard on the outside, but still moist on the inside, I smell the tip of my finger,
“Yes, that’s poop”
Yesterday I woke up to Fiona’s diaper blow out, last night Jack said,
“Poo poo”
I was in the kitchen cleaning up, I thought he wanted to try out the potty on his own, It looked like he was trying to hold it, but when we got to the bathroom and I pulled off his pants his diaper was halfway off, poop was covering his butt, legs, feet, and pants. Some of it must have fallen out on the stair.
Now ,the babies are playing nice together, Alan is having his breakfast in the kitchen. I am drinking my coffee on the stairs, hoping I can gain a few more minutes to write without any questions asked of me, a few minutes gained to finish my coffee and write.
But no, Jacks crying, asking for things, Alans done with his breakfast. I woke up late from a sleepless night, no quiet solitude. Jack’s crying at the baby fence.
“I’m writing Jack, go play with Fiona.”
He cries, I give them both apples, as they throw them on the carpet I get pissed, the first time I explain,
“Apples are food, not balls, there are people starving in the world”
Just now Fiona throws her Apple down the stairs. I give up.
“I’m tired of telling you guys what to do, it’s getting annoying”
Fiona then throws her tiger down the stairs, as if I’m goung to get up and get it for her. They need to learn how to play on their own.
This is what happens after days with no me time, no studio time, constant telling what to do, what not to do. Constantly being surrounded by high volume. I can hear the comments now, “you’ll miss it when it’s gone” people always say things like that. This may be true but that doesn’t change how I feel right now, it doesn’t make things less difficult.
It has nothing to do with how I feel about Jack and Fiona. It’s a personal need for alone time that has nothing to do with anything but that.I try to use my mindfulness techniques, my goal of being present to get through the times of my role as housewife without breaks. It is still difficult, I find myself torn in half, frustrated, just wanting to run down to my studio and paint as I answer questions, give suggestions, clean the floor, change diapers.
I have sat here successfully and wrote this, finished my coffee, while Alan did the dishes for me, probably sensing my potty fatigue, while telling Jack and Fiona “don’t do that” or “play nice together” trying to ignore the smell of a huge poop in Fiona’s pants.
Next week will be back to normal again. I’ll have my studio time back. I’ll try my best to be present and get through the rest of the holiday without studio time, without cracking.
Time to change a very poopy diaper.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 