Out the kitchen window I see a fawn. Light brown, head turned back in my direction. She had crossed the black asphalt to reach a patch of flowers. I felt like a roommate who waits till everyone leaves the house before coming out. Grabbing a stick of cheddar cheese and a Braeburn apple. I felt like I was staying home sick from work. Jack and Fiona are at the Zoo with the babysitter, who is scheduled to work till 4. Only my dog is in the house. We took a walk yesterday after we dropped off Jack and Fiona to school. Normally we take a nice long city park hike around. We pass through a park and down the city streets. Yesterday, when we crossed the street and walked behind the little babies’ playground, my legs were killing me, especially my right. FUCK just blurted out of my mouth. I was so scared they would see me. At first, I walked low, trying to hide behind the shrub and fence, then thought, o-well if they did, my legs are killing me. Billy and I bypassed the parks, we did a short ten minute around the block. I just pet Billy while walking up the stairs earlier, before when I saw the deer outside and got my water, cheese, and apple, I felt the lump on her chest. All the lumps are getting bigger, she’s an old dog. I thought I didn’t feel guilty anymore about taking her for such a short walk yesterday, I felt like we are both getting old and she’s probably tired and achy just like me.
Tag: dogs
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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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“Billy!!” I yell. I can feel my heart beat pounding from the climb up the trail. She was right by me, but we left Jack and Fiona at the park with Alan at the bottom of the hill. I saw her ears turn when she heard Fiona cry. Her face with a look of great concern. “Jen!” I hear Alan call for me. “Shoot” I say to myself, Billy’s all the way at the bottom of the hill by the park. A bit of sadness emerges from deep inside, especially strong because of my mood lately, “Billy loves the babies more than me now.” I think. My best friend, my dog, she’s left me here to hike the trail alone so she can go guard Jack and Fiona at the park. How utterly sad. I walk back down to the park to get her and Alan suggests we all take the street walk together, the babies aren’t having that much fun at the park anyhow. I take Jack by the hand and we walk along the side of the street with Billy, his dog. He gets a close up look at the flowers, mailboxes, tree trunks, car wheels, and a feel for the ground he’s usually removed from. We walk about, I’m totally guessing, 200 feet, then I put him in his stroller. It’s a nice walk, beautiful morning, the air is fresh, the sky blue, and the birds are chirping.
I’m working in my studio this morning when the babies take their nap no matter what. It’s been too long and maybe that’s why I feel depressed and like I’m disappearing. Or maybe I’m not depressed, maybe I’m just worn out, I don’t know. Or maybe it’s perimenopause? I don’t know, but it’s sad. Jack and Fiona are changing fast now. They are becoming very independent as well as dependent. They run from me when I say “come here” and they cling to me as I walk away. Sometimes I’m just too tired to be teaching and disciplining all the time. I can’t imagine having more than two kids that just seems crazy to me. How can one person do it? My hat goes off to the parents I know who are doing it! I just put the babies down for their nap, yea! My new nanny is supposed to do a trial/training day today, guess what? She just texted me and said she’ll be ten minutes late because her car won’t start. This totally sucks, the first day she was supposed to come for an interview she called and asked to reschedule for the following day, I obliged. The next day she called and said she was running late because she forgot she had to bring snacks to Sunday school in the morning. I let it slide. This isn’t a good start. My gut instinct says call her and tell her not to come. But that would be mean huh? Or would it. How does she know she’ll be exactly ten minutes late? The text says, “I will be ten minutes late car wont start” That was sent at 9:56, she’s supposed to be here at ten. That already doesn’t add up. Well she’s here now, yea, had a good explanation, is really nice, so I guess I’ll give her another pass! Now to my studio!!!!
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 