Fury and Perspective
Fury erupted today. Naptime finally came and a morning spent sorting little people's clothes drawers and reuniting Playmobile construction figures with their hard hats and then with their vehicles etc etc etc had left me craving time to sit and write. The ideas and maybe-opportunities crowd my head and leave me feeling too chaotic; the emotional equivalent of stumbling around bleary-eyed in the morning, wondering where I put my glasses. I end up blogging because it satiates the urge to write, but it leaves me feeling like I've wasted time, haven't made the space to stretch beyond the easy. The Unwritten things then lie littered around inside my head, and I don't like the way that makes me feel.
They Boy didn't fall asleep. I was up and down the stairs, frustration peaking when he deliberately wakes his sleeping brother. Which means a clingy, fussy crier for the afternoon. The thing that happens then is so unfair to both of us. It's like all the points at which I feel stymied converge until I feel reduced to nothing but the vestibule for other people's needs; mine all relegated until some far-off day that I tell myself will never come. I bring him downstairs with me, quietly seething that my one sacred hour has been lost. I shut the stairgate across the playroom door, explaining that it's still naptime and that means quiet time alone for both of us, even if he isn't sleeping. Usually he'd see the closed gate as some kind of unjust punishment, though it's only really ever shut when making tea and tripping over lego-wielding boys engenders a potential kitchen disaster. Today he accepts his toy-riddled cell with good grace and humour. I let him out to take him to the loo, foregoing the usual story because I tell him I'm still cross that he woke his brother up on purpose. He is remorseful in a sing-song way, apologising with such grown-up sincerity that I picture a future as a peace-broker. I say he still needs to play by himself for 10 more minutes while I finish writing something. He doesn't protest, skipping back towards the playroom, but says gravely 'That's really ok Mum,' as if to let me know that he considers his punishment fair and just. 'I won't wake my brother up again,' I hear him singing to himself.
And the thing is, I fell in love a little bit this week. We couldn't get enough of each other. His first thought on waking was always me, and when he wasn't around I found myself kicking my heels, tapping my fingers, planning things we could do together when he came back in sight. The object of my affection clearly felt the same, so effusive were his protestations of love. In other words, I reconnected with my son. We've had almost 10 straight days of easy fun. Afternoons have been full of made-up pirate games comeplete with treasure boxes and cries of Ha-ha, me hearty! and hours of reading stories, cuddled on the rug. Which is why my selfish fury seems all the more unjust. We were just getting back on track and then I lost perspective.
Because that's what those inner sparks of fury really are. There will be other times to write, and the nagging feeling that there won't comes from my own mismanagement of those other moments. It doesn't matter if he doesn't nap, it doesn't matter if baby brother whinges through the afternoon. It's miraculous that they nap so easily together in the afternoon and more of these little acts of mayhem should be expected.
I'm not going to get cross and you're not going to be naughty, ok? is how we've taken to negotiating our way back down from these pockets of dischord. Yeah! And let's be friends! He cries. So now I need to end this here, consigning the other post I started before he woke to the 'drafts' folder, because I intend to give myself wholeheartedly to this small soul, and to work hard to maintain the right perspective, prioritise only the truly important things.
Comments
There are so many things I could say in response to this, but wow. It suffices to say that your boys are SO lucky to have you as their mother. I know that everyone has their bad moments, their lazy periods, but the over-arching attitude that you have toward motherhood and your children is heartwarming, inspiring, unusual.
I tried to comment on your post about finances yesterday, and something went wrong and I didn't have time to rewrite it. But I was going to say that I admire you for doing the hard thing when it comes to finances--staying home. It would be very easy to go out and get a job, put the boys in daycare, get your books into the black. But I completely agree with you that your children need you in these years, especially as you really are such a good mother. I know this will sound judgemental to some, and really I understand that everyone tries to do their best given their particular circumstances. . .but I've never been able to escape the thought "Why have children to let someone else raise them?" So I am, like you, staying home with my toddler. And I am, like you, struggling financially. But I try to remember that my children will be in school one day and I can go back to work then. There will be time to pay off debt, put some away for retirement, maybe even take vacations. . .
Anyway. I'm just constantly impressed by your sweet thoughts on motherhood. I know you may not feel that your reality fulfills your goals and philosophies, but just the fact that you think this way makes you a really wonderful mother. Inspiring!
This is really good and something I experience almost daily.