Murky Waters. Today. Loss. Death. Strange quiet highways. Nap Time. Jack and Fiona will be up soon. House still quiet. Today is the anniversary of my mom’s death. Paintings Murky and dark. Mind murky and dark. News not good. It’s impossible to remove myself from politics and what’s happening in the world. I try to not get affected by it and think, “Maybe it’s going to be O.K.” But then I hear another piece of the puzzle. The picture on the puzzle says War. I hung out with some friends the other day, people I don’t know super well. I started picking up on some things so I asked them who they voted for. “Trump”, my legs get weak. I turn pale. So many thoughts are running through my head. They are nice people and they said they did it for fiscal reasons. They are two out of three people I know who voted for Trump. I’m stumped up on Trump. I think what’s going on in politics is frightening and extremely sad. Today I thought about a conversation I had with my friend’s Israeli mom, she told me Trump was her pick for US president. I asked her why, she said “He will protect Israel.” When I heard the news today about David Friedman becoming the US ambassador to Israel, I realized Palestine was the next Target. It’s sad. We are in a War, and America’s not the good guy. A lot of people around the world are dying and suffering because of us. Trumps agenda will have lots of collateral damage. He’ll align himself with the most powerful, most rich men of the world. They are power hungry, they do not care who they take down along the way. Guns and money always win.
Tag: melancholy
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I cradled Jacks wet body in my arms, his head relaxed with a smile, his hair damp on his forehead. I moved him around in the water, swoosh, swoosh. I couldn’t feel my own body, I couldn’t tell if the water was warm or cold. My feet didn’t send any messages about the bottom, was it soft and muddy or firm. Were there reeds or rocks? We moved down the river as the sun moved down behind the trees creating shadows on the surface of the sepia colored water. When the water became opaque from the disappearing light I woke up.
Now I’m on my second cup of coffee, it’s 6:38AM, Jack and Fiona still asleep. I have a case of melancholia this morning, maybe a bit of sentimentality. Dog, baby, the Lego creations Jack made yesterday, they make me so sad to look at them, feeling the loss already. I feel the day they no longer play with sweet little toys, they’ve grown up so fast already and it hasn’t even been two years. They’re still babies, but they’re almost like little kids. It’s going by so fast, one day moves into the next without a still moment. I’m stuck on the freeway on a stretch of road that always has traffic but today it’s clear, I look at the odometer and I’m going 80MPH in a 55MPH zone, my car swerving into the next lane, I take my foot off the accelerator, I slow down. But it happens again, over and over, where is the traffic? Why is there no traffic? I need to slow down, I need time to slow down. But it doesn’t and it won’t.
Yesterday as I sat on the couch with the babies, all caught up with my chores, painting, and writing (to my surprise because I was so tired) I felt totally relaxed. I thought about how I could be if I had nothing else pulling me, if I just took care of the babies, the household. I could be with them all the time, have lots of energy, not be stressed. But then I thought that’s total bullshit. I would still be stressed and probably depressed if I had no sense of self, something other than being a mom and wife. I don’t think I could survive like that, unless I was born with a totally different composition. But I wasn’t. I feel like every decision I make counts. Time is so precious. People often say they worry about me, I don’t think anyone needs to worry about me. I wonder how they live a stress free life though. Are they so less stressed? Do they have things so much more together than I do? Do they not have any conflicting emotions?
I’ve always been like this, a deep thinker, a tortured soul. Am I the only one who at just twenty months of their children’s lives is already lamenting the day they are grown or the day I am dead? I doubt it, but maybe other people wouldn’t offer it up, put their emotions, worries, and fears outside their own heads.
My heart is starting to beat faster, maybe I’ve drank too much coffee now! It still sounds quiet in the nursery, but its 7:08AM and they will be up soon. Bottles ready, time to make some breakfast for Jack and Fiona. I love the moment every morning when I open their bedroom door and say, “Good Morning Babies” and that makes me cry too because that is a fleeting thing. It won’t be long until they are out of their cribs and can get up and out of their room on their own. Their need of me will become less and less. Today I will relish in it, our morning routine. “I love you babies.” I will say over and over again.
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Oh no, oh no, oh no. I’m in my refuge. My studio. My heart aches, a tear wells in my left eye when I think of this place as that place, a safe place, my place, me and me alone. Jack and Fiona are taking their nap. We went to Early Start this morning. Once again I went through all the questions and answers with myself, “should we go? Stay home? Are they sick? Are they contagious?” I think I’m going to stop asking myself that because I’ve noticed parents bringing their kids to school and the gym who are totally snotty, obviously sick. When I picked Fiona and Jack up, Fiona had just finished her lunch and I heard that sound, the explosion from the butt sound. I took her to change her diaper and it was definitely ria. Jack needed me three times last night, “MAMA MAMA MAMA” his nose won’t stop running and he’s drooling like crazy. I’ve been sad and depressed being pulled in so many directions, not enough for anyones needs to be met, I’ve begun to question my sanity again. Do I have what my mom had? Does it get worse with age? Am I crazy? But when I get in here and start working, start painting, I feel completely sane. Should I take drugs to get through the rest of my life? Hahaha! Maybe.
People always tell me, “I wanted twins” “I always wished I had twins” or “I want twins” They think it is easier, even people who have had twins always tell me it’s easier/gets easier. It’s not true for me. The reason is not the much harder physical work load, it’s the inability to ever really be with one baby, developing a bond, a relationship. Hugging and cuddling, being close. It’s not possible when they are both around because neither one will stand for it. The one not being given attention cries and whines. It’s super stressful and sad. Today someone said it only “lasts eighteen more years.” That made me even sadder because I felt them both slip away at that very moment, missing everything about their babyhood and childhood because there’s not enough of me. I love them both so much. I wish I had more time with each of them, but as hard as I try it feels like it turns us all into crazy people. It’s like when you have two dogs, the work and behavioral problems increase by a lot, not just double. And I find myself hoping they take an extra-long nap, just so I can have a few more minutes to get it together.
I know I’ll survive this, And so will Jack and Fiona. We’ll all be fine. There are solutions to all these things, but I can’t help how I feel. I catch myself thinking “I’m a bad person” for feeling this way, then I say to myself “no you’re not, you’re normal” I don’t know which ones true anymore. I feel bad about feeling those ways. Maybe I am crazy?
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 