I’m sitting here at my kitchen table looking out the window at the giant Sycamore tree, full of leaves fluttering in the wind. I’ve been watching this tree grow for eight years. I was training for the Folsom Olympic length triathlon the year the Sycamore was planted. I would ride my bike up the steep hill, seeing the Sycamore as I approached the top. My legs would be weak and my skin salty from sweat. I felt strong that year. It was right before I received the diagnosis of “Infertile” and six months before my mom died. The tree started growing in a five gallon bucket to what it is now, HUGE. Things have changed so much since then. Now it’s late July and within a month the leaves will begin to turn orange. Fall is always an exciting time, it reminds me of my anticipation about a new painting class or about obsessing over projects I want to start. I looked forward to critiques and meeting new artists. I have a collection of work in folders and frames from all the semesters of classes I’ve taken for the past eight years I’ve lived in this house. Many of those semesters I felt I was living a double life, trying to get pregnant and start a family, never talking about it to anyone. Consumed with “next steps” on the road of fertility treatments. When that wasn’t taking over my entire existence I focused on developing my portfolio to get into grad school. Sometimes I would also be training for a 10K. I’ve been working on something, some kind of major project all these years. Last year I didn’t take a class, but felt like I was in school with my six month old twins. I read all the books about development I could and taught the babies everything I was learning. I had to learn all about Fiona’s hearing loss and how to teach her language. I was also busy working on myself, going to therapy, healing from all the trauma I had been through and becoming “Me” again with my new responsibility. Now Jack and Fiona are enjoying spending more time with other kids away from home. In the fall they will be at Early Start three mornings a week. (Fiona’s school for hearing loss, vision loss, and mobility issues) Jack gets to go too, as a sibling. I’m done with therapy for now. I want to take an art class but I looked through every school and art center’s catalogue in my area and found nothing. I am ready to connect with my art life outside these four walls. But maybe it’s not time yet. I will miss that new class feeling this fall and meeting people. I always feel like I need to have a plan, to accomplish something, finish something. Maybe I need restraints and restrictions, somewhere or someone to be accountable to and now that’s me. Life is different today for me than it was when that tree was planted, I’m different now, but I still want to learn and grow. I am learning and growing as a mom though. Jack and Fiona just woke up from their nap. I change their diapers and for now, I will enjoy lunch with my biggest project. We eat quesadillas, three bean salad, raspberries, apples, and chocolate chips. I turn on the wiggles and we sing while we finish our lunch. Next we play, I read Dear Zoo, and later we will take Billy for a walk and continue watching the sycamore tree grow a little bigger and the leaves turn orange.
Category: motherhood
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This will be one of those blog posts that people read and say “oh my gosh, you seem really stressed!” I do feel stressed today and I just can’t understand why Jack and Fiona can’t understand the toilet bowl cleaner and plunger are grost! Fiona had a HUGE poopy diaper, I have her on the changing table trying to clean her up and Jacks messing with the black rubber plunger. “NO Jack! That’s the most yucky thing you could possibly do!” He completely ignores me. I have a tantrum, “NO! Stop! WHY!” All while cleaning Fiona and keeping her still on the changing table. Snapping. It’s the most difficult time in a while with the double whammy of PMS and Perimenopause. I try not to talk too much about these issues to spare any male readers of this subject that is uniquely woman. But today I say screw it, sorry men I’m gonna lay a few things out there, I deserve a rant now and again. My first thought is “It’s not fair” this hormone stuff women have to go through. It’s extremely difficult, especially now with kids. I don’t think my husband understands how I feel, he just thinks I’m either in a bad mood or mad at him. I may be wrong of course, I haven’t asked him. When he asks how I slept I just say fine, I spare him the details of hourly episodes of extreme heat all up and down my legs and cheeks, sweat beads down my chest as I lay still and quiet in the night. Hormone fluctuations suck! What’s worst is the way I feel about the subject, or at least how I’ve been made to feel about the subject. With the “It’s just PMS” or “It sucks getting older” just writing these things off because only half the population gets them and they pass in time. Then I’m back to “normal” again. But PMS and Perimenopause are normal. It’s most uncomfortable for me but I constantly feel guilty about feeling this way, not being my bubbly self.
I have the added stress this week of my dad being in town. He called last night when he was dropped off at the motel by my brother. He said he was calling to say “Thank you for the accommodations.” But what he really wanted was Alan to go to his motel, pick him up, take him to store, “To get hangers for one thing” and drive him back to the motel. After holding the phone away from my mouth to have one of the best uncontrollable laughs I’ve had in a long time, I said “No, sorry.” I told him he could walk, it’s across the street, but he said Betty’s breathing problem prevented them from doing that. I’m going to pick them up today and drop them off at the store while I do Yoga. I’m dreading this week. I rarely dread weeks, it usually only happens around family stuff. I’ll be fine though, I just might feel guilty because I am not going to be my dad and Betty’s personal taxi cab or event planner. I just can’t do it, especially with jack and Fiona. It’s too much.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 