Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes

We take a sip of coffee at the same time, playing footsies under the table. It’s 6:30AM, my Son and I.

December 9th, 2016
Fiona sits on my lap, leaning the side of her head onto my chest as the audiologist looks in her ears, first the left, then the right, gently pushing a small piece of cotton with a string attached in each ear. Jack watches and pretends he is a doctor looking in my ears with a plastic toy. Fiona is perfectly still as the audiologist mixes the putty and squirts some in each of her ears. We sit and wait for the putty to harden. Fiona examines my hands. First, she holds my pinky fingers, then turns my hand over, running her fingers down the creases, spending extra time on a cut on my thumb, feeling the scab that has formed. Jack plays with the collection of toys in the doctor’s office that have now become familiar to him. I am in awe of the difference from the last time we came to get ear molds. Jack was all over the place, going behind the desk, under the desk, opening the door to the office, walking out, into storage closets. I had to keep going after him. I was expecting a version of this behavior today, but he stays quiet and respectful of his sisters visit to the audiologist to get new ear molds. Are we entering a new phase? As we play footsies under the table, I’m typing, Jack’s watching Blippi on the ipad. He has been waking up at the same time I do every morning. We both take a sip of coffee, (his is diluted with cream) I imagine us in the future having coffee together in some foreign country, maybe Cuba. Fiona is still sleeping, she needs a lot more sleep than Jack.

It’s a foggy morning, the greens and rust colors on the trees outside sit gently against the light grey winter sky. Last night we sat on the couch and listened to Christmas songs. We put a wreath on the front door that has red and gold decorations and LED lights. It felt good. This morning I have a couple hours of help, this feels good. I took Billy for her walk and took my shower, now I sit in my bedroom alone, quiet. I still have the lightness and inspiration from my walk. In the backyard, my eyes delighted by the colors, on the fig tree. The ground covered with large, beautiful, green gold leaves, some remain scattered on the light ash colored branches. I gasp, Billy looks at me, I explain to her the beauty I see. Does she understand? We walk up the trail and the streams are finally trickling water down the hillside. I practice taking my deep breaths, feeling like I have all the time in the world, feeling calm. Is it my medicine kicking in? Is it just a natural shift in mood? Is it my detachment from politics? Something has changed. It feels good.

I have at least an hour to go work in my studio now, then more time during nap time. That makes me happy.
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The Path feels good under my feet

December 7th, 2016
Nice hot cup of coffee. Yum. Grateful to be in a warm house. It’s a cold morning. On our walk to school this morning I try to show Jack and Fiona steam coming out of my mouth when I breath. “Look” I say. Jack tries to imitate me, but with fish lips. Fiona sucks her thumb with Tiny in one hand and with her other hand she holds onto mine tight as we walk. Jack runs ahead, wanting to go off in another direction. “No Jack, we’re going to school” I tell him. He’s o.k. with this. Billy wants to sniff, she pulls me, I feel a frustration, I’m holding Fiona’s hand, I’m holding the lunch box, Billy’s leash tangles around Fiona and I. Stay calm, deep breath. “Billy, stop it” I say, untangling the leash. We get to the classroom, warm, colorful, welcoming. I’m at ease. I’m early, I hang for a little longer than normal, Jack shows me a truck book, he wants me to read “Just one book”, Fiona shows me the felt Santa Claus, she takes off his head and puts it back, takes off his arm and puts it back. It’s so sweet, children are so sweet.

I head out, walking down the path with Billy, my feet get wet from the dampness in the grass, my hands are freezing, I switch back and forth with the leash in one hand and the other hand in my jacket pocket. I feel good, a mood swing. I’ll take it, no need to overly analyze the good days. Even last night as I woke up hourly with heat running down my neck and back, flip off the blankets, back to cold, cover back up, go back to sleep, repeat. I laugh to myself, this is ridiculous! But it’s happening, naturally, my body “withdrawing from estrogen”, an article a friend shared with me. Describing perimenopause/menopause being like withdrawing from drugs, my body is having estrogen withdraws. “Estrogen regulates temperature in our bodies”. It makes sense, perfect sense, it still sucks! But I can do it. I’ve gone through withdraws before, it only took two weeks, this could take ten years. This is life.

The path feels good under my feet, I decide to walk to the giant oak tree. It’s not a long hike, but it’s enjoyable. I walk through a section of the trail that always makes me pause. There’s old pieces of oak branches on the sides of the trail with white lichen, broken brittle ends, a dry creek with rocks and stones, trees cover above, and silence surrounds me. It feels like I enter another place, a hiking trail like I used to go on, before the babies were born. The parts of the hike that I would get to after an hour of hiking. But here I am close to houses, a road not far away. Why is this spot so magical? I get to the giant oak tree and feel another bit of peace, I stand for a moment, not long enough because it’s damn cold. I walk back wondering things like, “why aren’t there “women’s centers”? Places to go, have coffee, meet with other women. Offer Yoga classes and resources on dealing with our unique changing bodies. A support center, a gathering center, a children’s area for playdates. It would be cool. I think about trying to start a group, then I stop myself. I’m not doing that anymore. I’m not trying to organize anything or be part of any groups. It only sounds like a good idea. My focus is painting, writing, and raising Jack and Fiona. I get to the end of my walk and pass a conglomerate of fence posts, barbed wire, chains, and locks. I think about how old it must be, all the ways this blockade was made to prevent vehicles from driving onto the trail. I wonder who has the keys for the locks and if they are still alive. How many different people worked on this, and now it sits here old and rusty, with no purpose anymore.

It’s almost time to pick up Jack and Fiona now. I can hear the freeway humming, I will be part of that hum soon. “Go faster” Jack will say. They’ll want to go to the park, but it’s freezing! But if I don’t take them somewhere I need to tire them out in the house so they will take a nap. What to do, what to do? At least they both woke up super early! They should be tired.
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Red wine. News. Red wine. Call Me.

December 5th, 2016
I’m warmer now, I have on the heater and am drinking a glass of red wine. My children are sleeping, it’s 3:39PM. I hope I have enough time to write: before they wake up, before my husband gets home. Chills run down my back, the top of my left hand is icy cold, outdoors is gloomy and cold. (this weather doesn’t suit me) The trees are losing their leaves, I can see through one tree to the next revealing a complexity of colors. I’ve already decided to order pizza for dinner, haven’t been to the store, don’t plan on going. Especially not after drinking wine. The other day I’m in the grocery store, no bra, painting clothes on, paint on my hands. “Do you know if they have any more pies?” a lady asks me. “Yes, I think there are some in the freezer.” I say. She is uncomfortably familiar to me, am I like her? I wonder. She seems a little crazy, she looks a little crazy. I continue shopping and over by the yogurt area the manager comes up to me to hand me the pie. I tell him, “She’s over there, in the blue shirt, brown hair”. I think he must view us the same, we are oddly similar, even the store manager sees it.

We got on the ferry yesterday, Jack, Fiona, Alan, and I, the Sunday Ferry to the city. I hold Jacks hand, he pulls me from one end of the ship to the other and again and again. We don’t make it past the Ferry terminal, we eat, have coffee, and I buy a few books. It’s too hard, even with my husband there. One minute Jacks right beside me, the next minute he’s somewhere else. It’s nerve racking. We wait for the 12:40 Ferry back to Marin. On the way, back I read all four of the new books to Jack and Fiona. I feel good, I’m a good mom. No ipad, iphone, not for us. I feel like a rebel, a revolutionary, just because I have good old fashioned books. I decide I won’t be taking any more excursions like this for a while. It was a good experience, but just too stressful with toddlers.

I worked in my studio for a short while today, I could go all day if I had a babysitter. I need to. I am so distraught. I need to work, do the only thing that makes sense to me. The ever-present struggle. Today I felt a strange feeling, maybe not so strange, not so unusual. I felt that way when everything changes, the way when something is changing, when it starts to be hard to know who I am. I’ve been reading the news, not participating in any discussions, but staying informed. It’s grim. So Grim. I am practicing sitting with my feelings, living with the uncomfortable feelings. I can’t do anything about any of it, I can only weep and sink into a hole of sadness and despair. I started reading a cheesy book of cheesy quotes before I go to bed, the kind of quotes that talk about how great my body is and how lucky I am to be alive. It helps. Focus on me, each moment, be grateful. I am. I love the babies so much, and am finding myself torn between wanting more time to myself, them driving me crazy, and feeling totally depressed because of how fast they are growing and how those babies are gone, except from my memories and the pictures we look at.

As December moves on maybe I get the sadness from my mom’s death, it’s right around the corner. I don’t want to go to the stores or drive around city streets, feeling the rush and madness of the holiday season. I’m all for getting together and drinking wine, I even want to write x-mas cards and buy a few presents. Meet a friend for a holiday breakfast with Mimosas! But it’s too crazy out there for me. This year I don’t even care about God, I mean last year I was so concerned that I am an atheist and my husband’s families Catholic, and “Oh the tragedy” But this year I don’t even care about that, at all. I’m an atheist, I don’t believe in God and that’s that. I don’t feel guilty about Santa, Jack and Fiona can think what they want. We’re having fun with Santa stories and imagination, and that’s all it is. But it feels like one holiday after another. I feel like x-mas last year wasn’t a year ago. Oh no, and now I want more wine.

O-Well. I feel better. Definitely Better. Warmer. It’s getting dark already. It’s only 4:12pm. This weather doesn’t suit me. Winter is hard. This winter is hard. Wine is good. Wine is good. Red wine. Dark thoughts. I started wondering if China fired a bomb could it hit America? I am really concerned for the world. I almost called an on-line psychologist today, just to talk. I felt I needed to talk. Can you believe I have no one to call? No one to talk to? I need to sit with these feelings. I need to live with my uncomfortable feelings. They are part of me. They are part of life. I shouldn’t have read the news today. Maybe I shouldn’t read the news for the next four years. Am I crazy? I have no one to talk to. No one like me. I shouldn’t be drinking red wine. I’m a bad, bad person. O-well. Call me.
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We take a sip of coffee at the same time, playing footsies under the table. It’s 6:30AM, my Son and I.

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The Path feels good under my feet

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Red wine. News. Red wine. Call Me.

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