Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes

I don’t want to be the crocodile mom

June 16th, 2016
I’m sure she’s fine, I think to myself, but I tip toe into the room, both babies sound asleep, arms relaxed, I get close to Fiona, she’s breathing normal, she’s fine just like I thought. I just had that fear, “am I like the parent who let her kid get eaten by an alligator?” I don’t want to be that parent, even though in my heart of hearts I know anyone can become that parent, anything can happen to our kids no matter how close we watch, how careful we are. Playing in the creek today, a section not too deep, Fiona decided to swim, I look and she’s facedown moving her arms and legs like she’s doing the breath stroke. At first I thought she was fine, that she actually figured out how to swim, I hesitated running into the creek to grab her, I thought she would find her way up, then I thought “Oh shit, is my child drowning in front of my eyes and I’m just sitting here?” I ran into the creek, grabbed her, pat her back thinking she would cough up water and not a drop! She held her breath the whole time, which she has been practicing in the tub. She’s fearless! But I have to teach them both how to swim now! Especially Fiona. I think she’s a natural born swimmer. I learned water safety at a very young age, we lived in San Diego and my dad was a sailor so I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know how to tread water and float on my back. It was non-negotiable. So much to teach them. Everyone’s always talking about which pre-school they should send their kids to, I’m thinking basic survival skills, things they won’t learn in a pre-school. There’s so much stuff they need to know about life. If the sign says “Don’t go swimming, there’s crocodiles” You don’t go in. I need to teach my kids this stuff. “Jack don’t run off, you need to stay in my sight, someone could snatch you” I tell him. You gotta teach them. I gotta teach them how to swim before I’m “that mom” Some things I can prepare for, like preventing drowning!!!

We made it home safe and after all good play sessions they are sound asleep taking a much needed nap. It’s almost 3:00PM, usually they would be waking up at this time, I wonder how long they would sleep, (If I let them) Even though I’d love the time off I’ll wake them up soon so they won’t stay up too late tonight. I do need to take a little while in my studio. Just work in my notebooks. It’s been awhile, it feels anyhow, that I’ve worked in my studio. I don’t feel deprived though, I was able to facilitate tons of creativity at the playdate on Tuesday. I let the kids go wild, we made cards for all the teachers, the kids all got covered in paint and rinsed off in the little kiddie pool, I realized being with kids, especially doing art or going hiking does fill my creative side. It’s a welcome feeling, I used to be so connected with kids and connected with my inner child, my quest for knowledge, my curiosity. Everyone always teased me for asking “Why” all the time. Alan calls me “Teachers pet” because he knows how many questions I ask my teachers when I’m taking classes. I feel like some of that “essential me” has been shamed out of me through the years. I feel like I lost my deep connection with children when I went through years of infertility, maybe I wasn’t meant to be around kids. I feel like all the years I dreamed of becoming a teacher, took the MSAT and CBEST, then was somehow re-routed into other stuff, told it was the worst job ever, didn’t pay well, ect, that affected me. Lately I’ve been thinking about it again, I’m good at it, I connect with kids. But then I wonder, will that take away from my own art practice? Or is that an art practice in itself? I feel my zest for life returning in an organic way. Even though I couldn’t get pregnant and it took so long to become a mom, I feel like I’m right where I need to be, but possibly can dig a little deeper, can give myself, some of myself to my community, to the children, to the future in a different way, an additional way, to accompany my personal art and writing practice. It’s kind of funny, the first job I had in college was in special education, and I was going to get my special education teaching certificate, that was over twenty years ago. Now I have a daughter with hearing loss, I am learning sign language. Is it fate? Was it fate my mom died when she did? Is it fate I am sitting here now after a near death experience with my child (that’s an exaggeration) writing publicly? Hello World, Here I am.
Share this:
Tweet
Email
Print
WhatsApp
Like Loading…
The value of Coyote Poop

June 15th, 2016
It’s so quiet right now, almost too quiet. The babies are both sleeping, it’s 1:58 Wednesday afternoon. We had a busy morning, school, sign language class, hike after school, the wind blew hard which made the babies extra tired! Then home, getting from the car to the nursery, changing diapers, checking for ticks, leaving the nursery not sure if the nap would happen, and here I am. It’s too quiet now. As I put on my pajamas, yes I put on my pajamas this early, my mind starts to race, I see the lunch bag that needs to be put away, clothes that need washing, I think about the floors that need cleaning after yesterday’s playdate, but I catch myself, I remind myself, “I do too much” There’s always things to do, that doesn’t mean I should do them. As we walk up the dirt trail I think about last night ‘s bedtime story, which wasn’t really a story, but an investigation, we were looking through one of Fiona’s favorite books, “Encyclopedia of Mammals” and spent a lot of time in the snake section. I especially emphasized the rattlesnake, “If you see a snake and hear a rattle, (I make the movement with my finger and make the rattle sound), walk away. Do not get near it, it bites” I wonder today if they remember what I told them last night. We walk by horse poop and coyote poop, both of which I point out to the babies. “Eat it?” Fiona asks. “No, it’s poop, but Billy might eat the horse poop or roll in it”. I don’t know why, but I’ll never forget the time my mom showed me what coyote poop looked like as we were hiking on Mount Palomar, I was older than Jack and Fiona at the time, probably around eleven, but I remember her showing me the rabbit fur in the poop. For some reason that’s one of my favorite moments. I think it influenced the way I’ve lived my life; the way I respond to the world. I can feel her presence near me on that trail, not so unlike the dirt trail me and my babies hike on today. I wonder if it was how she bent down to show me something, something that many people just walk over. We stopped and imagined the coyote being there before us. Just as I did today. My mom never stopped noticing different animal droppings on our hikes and I guess I don’t either, and the way it’s going neither will Jack or Fiona.

This past weekend was date night! We went out and saw a movie, “The Lobster” a brilliant and weird and disturbing Film, then we went to eat at the new French Restaurant, Le Comptoir, we didn’t have reservations, so we sat at a community table, which is super fun! We ate too much and drank too much wine and finished it off with a glass of port. When we left I had to pee bad, we walked to our car to drop off some cheeses we purchased in the French store, I could feel my pants starting to get damp. I walked behind a bush in the parking lot and there was a woman on the other side of the fence.

“I’m really sorry, I have to pee, do you mind?” I say.

“No, I just did myself “she replies.

I pull down my pants, squat, and pee. I can hear the lady talking to herself. She lost her last twenty dollars, she is looking through her stuff, she can’t find it. I hear her talking about being able to get back to her family. Alan is waiting for me up on the sidewalk. I grab my purse; I think I have a twenty but I only have fifteen. I tell Alan I’ll be right back and walk down to where the lady is. She’s wearing white shorts and has several bags. She’s still talking to herself and she sounds really upset, I almost think she’s starting to cry. I hand her the fifteen dollars, tell her that’s all I have, and she says “Thank-you, Thank-you so much” I give her a hug and she hugs back. She keeps telling me how thankful she is. I ask her if she’s O.K., “Are you sure you’ll be OK?” I ask. “Yes” she says. Alan and I walk up to the park, it’s a clear night and feels good to be out. I start thinking about the time I lost my last twenty dollars. Sitting on the rocks at the bay, peering into the water, I had a little beaded change purse in my hand. I think my grandma had given it to me. We were about to go score and that twenty was going to buy me a quarter. I was so upset. I kept looking for it, I thought I could find it in the water, but it had sunk deep under the rocks somewhere. I remember the feeling so well of being out there with no money, with a strange collection of things to carry around, some invisible, things no one can see but me. Knowing I wasn’t going to be able to buy my drugs. Total devastation. Why is that memory imbedded in my mind?

It’s getting close to the end of naptime and I feel like I need a nap now! They say it’s supposed to rain tomorrow, it’s hard to believe, but it sure would be nice. It’s still so quiet, I wish I would have had time for my studio today. But now It’s time to clean and cook. I can hear Jack and Fiona starting to chatter. It’s time to go through the house emptying trash bins and dirty diapers. Time to vacuum and do dishes. It’s time.
Share this:
Tweet
Email
Print
WhatsApp
Like Loading…
Putting the Pieces together

June 10th, 2016
Finally, I can sit down and begin to write. It’s 10:33AM Friday morning. Babysitter day. Everyone is at the park so I have the whole house to myself. I was able to finish cleaning last night after I put the babies to bed. I started in the afternoon. Vacuuming, with my new progressive vacuum cleaner from Sears, I got the model the professional cleaning ladies use, the canister style. Jack wouldn’t take his nap so I let him watch excavator videos on the I-Pad as I begun to clean. I kept thinking he’s so good. I woke Fiona up early from her nap, and even when both babies were upstairs I continued to do little chunks of cleaning, in between we ate snacks, played in the sand box, picked plums, then bath time and bedtime. I came up and still had to mop, as I pushed the mop over the tiles, and the wood I felt an ease inside me. A relaxation. Now as I sit here typing in my clean house I feel that same lightness. What is it about a clean house? What is it about a dirty house? And how come some people can live in a messy, dirty house, and it doesn’t bother them, but others feel depressed with a messy house? I know the mindfulness techniques, the ones where you try to let it go, not worry about dirty dishes in the sink. Or toys all over the floor. I try to do this but I can only go so long. There’s another Buddhist philosophy, or would it be Feng Shi? I heard that it’s not good to have tons of clutter under your bed, that it would clutter your dreams and make your life feel cluttered. I think that’s true. Maybe cleaning helps us purge and move forward from one day to the next. Be able to fully be in the present, instead of held back by yesterday’s dirty habits. The chimes are blowing outside, the birds are chirping, it’s a beautiful day. I already laid down some marks in my studio. I’m going to take breaks in between layers today. Write, take Billy for a walk, work on some etchings, those take time. I want some new ones for my show in September. I’ve got so much good stuff for that show. And I’m making more and more every day.

I’m over my worrying over who reads what and what they think. Today, as I started working in my notebooks I realized that I have almost fully embraced who I am. My studio showed me that. None of the things matter that I worry about, the cost, the trying to justify what I do, that I am an artist whether I sell or not. It’s no reason not to do it. There’s also no way to explain to someone who doesn’t have a passion that requires ridiculous amounts of money for supplies, makes a mess, makes no money, takes lots of time, and makes a person crazy. Or is the artist born crazy? My mom was an artist too. I miss her so much. I think I’d be less crazy if she were still around for me to talk to. Before my mom died, when people told me one of their loved ones had passed I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how they felt. When I went through losing someone so close to me, who meant the world to me, who was so much part of my life, unexpectedly gone the next day, it was a feeling that could only be learned through experience. There would be no way to explain that to someone who hadn’t gone through losing someone in that way. I think a lot of things in life are like that. We beat ourselves up trying to explain things to people who will never understand, unless they go through it themselves.

Well my technique isn’t working so well yet. I worked more in my studio and I feel like everything is already over worked!!! Maybe there’s no way to get around that. It’s just part of the process. It’s just past noon now. Starting to feel anxious because I know everyone will be back from the park soon. I need to make myself scarce, if the babies see me they might not want to take a nap. They are getting so big. They are starting to understand things I say. Yesterday I saw them sitting on a step in the backyard together, it was so cute. I wish I could have got a picture. They looked like they were contemplating life. Earlier in the day Fiona and I were swinging on the hammock and Jack was walking around it, Fiona said, “Jack, watch your head” which is quite an accomplishment for her. I was impressed. They impress me every day. I’ve learned too that with toddlers you have to be willing to say no and let them cry. They get over it so fast, but the more I give in to things like watching Mickey Mouse or eating candy, which are the two things they constantly whine about, the worse they are. They may keep asking all day long, but the more I say no the quicker they move onto playing something else, like going outside and playing in the sand box. It’s hard because I feel bad when they cry, but I know it’s just an automatic response for them, they are always trying to figure me out. They want to learn how to control me and they know using their emotions is an effective strategy! The sad face! I hope they had tons of fun at the park today. My alone time is almost over. I thoroughly enjoyed it! I need more of this.
Share this:
Tweet
Email
Print
WhatsApp
Like Loading…

I don’t want to be the crocodile mom

Share this:

The value of Coyote Poop

Share this:

Putting the Pieces together

Share this: