It feels like it’s been so long since I’ve written. With an erratic nap schedule, erratic moods, erratic everything, erratic everything, I’ve given myself permission to lay off the S.O.P. and go with the flow of energy, absorbing the mind fatigue like a sponge in milk. Like the sponge I use daily to wipe up all the dirt and grime spread evenly through our house and car like green grass on the spring hills. My insides feeling pressure and pain as I battle like a trooper searching for relaxation, light, time, and a clearing of the fog of drama that has entered my delicate soul. True inconsistences between me and other parts of my world, the big beautiful cluster fuck of reality. But I sit here now within the fire, the burning of my bra, they did it for a reason you know, not just to protest for women’s freedom, but also because bras wrap tight around the ribs, digging in, leaving a red mark, insulating toxins, growing cancer, they knew it was just an extension of the Chasity belt. I’m not playing their games anymore, the games of patriarchy. That is what this comes down to for me, that erratic unease, unrest, dis-satisfaction with the system, with reality. My fight goes way beyond student loan reimbursements, I mean am I gonna get a refund for working full time, putting myself through college, will I get a refund of the money I used from my savings account that I paid for graduate school with? Fuck a phone call buzzing on my stupid IPhone, now my conversation is broken, now I have to check my message. What I’m proposing is a respect for myself. For my practice. I cannot be on-call. I propose a total respect for women. I want all the judgements about people based on their appearances, their dress, to go away. I want people to get off the fucken band wagon and think for themselves, I want the ugliness to go away. I want women to finally be viewed and treated as human, not sex objects, I want women to be able to walk around braless anytime anywhere without it meaning anything, it’s not slutty or dykey, or trashy. It’s our body. The only reason that our bodies are looked at in this way is because of advertisement, brainwashing, Barbie’s, look at what the world has done to women. We’ve been used and now we are paying for it. The bra has to go. Only wear during exercise when you don’t want jumping squirrels in your tops. It’s bullshit.
Category: change
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“Mmmmmmmmmmm, this is a DAMN good cup of coffee” it’s ten to seven Friday morning. My poor baby Jack has been coughing since I woke up. I have been hoping he’ll fall back asleep. Fiona is quiet. The house is still asleep, Alan is gone to work, Maureen is asleep in the guest room. She is leaving back to Ireland on Sunday. Jack and Fiona have really taken to her, last night when Alan brought her home we were in the nursery getting our pajamas on.
“Grandma’s here”
“Grandma!!”
A screech of excitement from Fiona. I open the door and both babies rush up the stairs,
“Grandma”
“Grandma”
Fiona grabs the toy bus Maureen gave her for x-mas, she holds it up. Maureen gives both babies hugs and kisses, they accept her affection. This is nice.
We all hang out together and watch an episode of Pee Wee’s Playhouse. I realized something sitting on the couch last night, Alan had taken some photos of Maureen, the babies, and I. He handed me his phone to look at them. The Intro song to Pee Wee’s Playhouse was playing, which I like alot, and Alan and His mom were having a conversation.
“Did you know that Jen?” Alan asks.
“I didn’t hear anything you guys were saying”
I think this upsets my husband, things like this happen on a regular basis. I need to explain I can only handle so much input at any given time. Looking at the photos and listening to music was my max, I couldn’t also pay attention to a conversation. The same thing happens if I’m cooking dinner, the babies are in their high chairs and need constant “guidance” I suppose is a good word for, “don’t throw your food on the floor” “give that back to your brother/sister”
And listening to:
“Down”
“All done”
To: a flat out crying whining session.
Alan asks me questions, he wants answers to this or that , he takes my shortness as bitchyness but I don’t mean it like that. I’m just suffering at that point with information overload. My brain can only handle two things at a time, but loves it when it’s only one thing at a time.
Like:
Cooking dinner
Feeding the babies
Getting dressed
Painting
Writing
Having a conversation
Ect. Ect. Ect.
So this I know now, need to communicate with husband. Problem solved.
I realized something else about myself yesterday. I’ve been getting frusterated by the babies behaviors on things that only matter to me, not them. For example, every night, day, since they’ve been born I always try to make their sleeping quarters cozy and nice with little blankets and pillows and their favorite stuffed animals propped up in the bed ever so special, with different books each night. Since we converted the beds I’ve still been doing this. We would get out of the bath, Jack and Fiona would tear the bed apart, throw everything on the floor and start jumping. I would get mad, keep remaking their beds, say goodnight, leave the room, bang, bang, bump, thump. In the morning everything would be on the floor again. Last night I left their beds clear. I folded the blankets, put them on the floor, put the favorite stuffed animals and pillows on the futon where I read books, and when they got out of the bath and ran to jump on their beds I wasn’t stressed at all. I felt a great relief and felt silly, The nest is my thing, not theirs.
As I put them to bed last night I stayed a little longer. We read books, then turned off the lights and snuggled together on the futon with all the stuffed animals. I rubbed their little heads and feet, we whispered the goodnight song to all the toys and people we know, although this was mainly just between Jack and I because Fiona can’t hear whispering without her hearing aids on. But she enjoyed cuddling.
“Goodnight all the people we know” I said.
“Goodnight peoples” Jack said.
“Danny, Grandma,Leopard, panda bear, billy, daddy, linda, ava, tyson, lindsay” I whispered, Jack reapeated all the names back and added more, “Bruce” oh, how sweet, he still remembers Bruce only after meeting him twice. Technically Bruce is like a grandpa, he was my only father figure for most of my life. Somehow Jack knows this, he connects to Bruce on a very deep level.
We live and we learn. As I’ve been writing Jacks stopped coughing, I hope he gets some nice rest this morning.
We have more house guests coming today for the weekend, Alans friend from Ireland and his new wife. It outta be interesting. I’m just going with it. Going forward I’m really going to focus on not letting these little disruptions rattle my brain. I have no idea why newlyweds would want to stay at a house with toddlers for their weekend in San Francisco? Alan doesn’t even talk to this friend, ever. If I was them I’d stay in the city. There’s so much to see and do. Maybe the wifes pregnant?
Anyhow here’s to the weekend and learning and living.
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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.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 