Work is horrible. There aren’t enough resources to do what is required, and more is being added to our plates.I work, come home, pick up the kids, feed the kids, bathe the kids and put them to bed. Then I work again. I can’t stop – I tried, and all sorts of hell started breaking loose.

I can’t go somewhere else because my husband is looking for work, too, to get off the afternoon shift. I can’t take the risk of us both having new jobs. It’s too big of a risk.

The house is a complete disaster. I am so embarrassed and ashamed. It’s not just a little messy, there are clothes to be put away, the beds are never made. At least we keep up with the dishes and bathrooms and kitchen, but the clutter is disgusting. And I can never find anything, which makes me feel like I’ve lost my mind.

I can’t lose weight. I deprioritized it when work got busy, but now it’s just another thing that’s nagging me. It makes me feel ugly and worthless. It makes me want to do something drastic, like weight loss surgery, even though I don’t believe in that.

I am so, so drained. I feel so overwhelmed and defeated by everything. I just want to cry, all the time. I don’t know when this will end, and I don’t have anyone to help.

I know that I will get through it. I’m not dangerous to myself. I just feel so helpless.

I have done it again.
   One year in every ten
   I manage it----

   A sort of walking miracle, my skin
   Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
   My right foot

   A paperweight,
   My face a featureless, fine
   Jew linen.

   Peel off the napkin
   0 my enemy.
   Do I terrify?----

   The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
   The sour breath
   Will vanish in a day.

   Soon, soon the flesh
   The grave cave ate will be
   At home on me

   And I a smiling woman.
   I am only thirty.
   And like the cat I have nine times to die.

   This is Number Three.
   What a trash
   To annihilate each decade.

   What a million filaments.
   The peanut-crunching crowd
   Shoves in to see

   Them unwrap me hand and foot
   The big strip tease.
   Gentlemen, ladies

   These are my hands
   My knees.
   I may be skin and bone,

   Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
   The first time it happened I was ten.
   It was an accident.

   The second time I meant
   To last it out and not come back at all.
   I rocked shut

   As a seashell.
   They had to call and call
   And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

   Dying
   Is an art, like everything else,
   I do it exceptionally well.

   I do it so it feels like hell.
   I do it so it feels real.
   I guess you could say I've a call.

   It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
   It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
   It's the theatrical

   Comeback in broad day
   To the same place, the same face, the same brute
   Amused shout:

   'A miracle!'
   That knocks me out.
   There is a charge

   For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
   For the hearing of my heart----
   It really goes.

   And there is a charge, a very large charge
   For a word or a touch
   Or a bit of blood

   Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
   So, so, Herr Doktor.
   So, Herr Enemy.

   I am your opus,
   I am your valuable,
   The pure gold baby

   That melts to a shriek.
   I turn and burn.
   Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

   Ash, ash ---
   You poke and stir.
   Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

   A cake of soap,
   A wedding ring,
   A gold filling.

   Herr God, Herr Lucifer
   Beware
   Beware.

   Out of the ash
   I rise with my red hair
   And I eat men like air.

Lex is getting to be a handful…motoring around like crazy now. No words yet, but he can definitely let us know what he wants. His hair is getting very long now, but neither me or my husband can bring ourselves to cut it. We don’t want our baby to grow up!

Aunt Agnes, left, Aunt Dikkie, right

My dad, left, Aunt Agnes, right

Aunt Agnes, 1949

Aunt Agnes, 1951

Aunt Agnes and Uncle Gerrit

Aunt Agnes, Uncle Gerrit and family, this past Mother’s Day

Aunt Agnes was my dad’s sister, in a family of four girls and two boys. They were pretty close in age and in mannerisms, too, I think. Unlike my  mom’s family, who mostly settled in Ontario after immigrating from Holland, my dad’s family was more scattered, and Aunt Agnes and Uncle Gerrit resided in Brandon, Manitoba. I know that my mom looked forward to their visits, as she regarded them as more “down to earth” than the rest of my dad’s family. And beyond that, I’m very sorry to say, I know little about her.

My mom has had issues with my dad’s family for most of her life. I gather that my dad worked on my grandparents’ farm for a number of years, until his older brother took a sudden interest in it, at which point the farm became my uncle’s. This led to resentment on my mom’s part; I’m not sure of my dad because I didn’t hear him speak of this before he died 10 years ago. Beyond that, my mom has always thought that most of  my dad’s family members thought highly of themeselves, which antagonized her beyond belief and really highlighted her insecurities.

This tension resulted in me and my siblings not really knowing my dad’s side of the family very, beyond short visits. Conversely, my mom placed a very high time and quality value on her side of the family, and I’m sure that I can speak for all of us in saying that we were all tired of knowing her side by the time we were ten.

The rise of social media, in particular, Facebook, has tossed an interesting curveball my way. Many of my dad’s family are on Facebook, including two of my aunts and my cousins from that side. In an odd sense, I am getting to know them much more intimately than I ever did as a child, and realizing the differences in social behaviour between the two sides of the family. My mom’s side is “typical” Dutch, which I say with my tongue firmly planted in my cheek — boisterous, rowdy, loud and extroverted. My dad’s side appears to be very different — sensitive, earnest, reverent and emotional.

Now, I know that what you see on Facebook doesn’t tell the whole picture, but it is interesting to have seen a small part of it, nonetheless. I can definitely see where awkwardness would occur — my mom absolutely cannot communicate her feelings to others, unless it is in anger or outrage, but my dad’s family seems to do it on a daily basis. And it also helps me, too, to see where I fit in. I think that I tend to lean towards my dad’s family sensitivities, but didn’t really understand why I felt a gap between that and others in my family. And it makes me feel more comfortable to have new role models that I can look at to understand myself better, even though I still feel like a bit of an outsider.

So I wish that I had more words to share about my Aunt Agnes, but even though I don’t, I think that she has left me with a wonderful gift. It’s up to me to use it. And also up to me to try not to repeat this with my family.

More recent

It’s nine o’ clock on a Saturday the regular crowd shuffles in
There’s an old man sitting next to me
Makin’ love to his tonic and gin.
He says, “Son can you play me a memory?
I’m not really sure how it goes,
But it’s sad and it’s sweet and I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man’s clothes”

La la la de de da La la de de da da da
Sing us a song you’re the piano man,
Sing us a song tonight.
Well, we’re all in the mood for a melody.
And you’ve got us feelin’ alright.

Now John at the bar is a friend of mine
He gets me my drinks for free
And he’s quick with a joke
Or to light up a smoke but there’s someplace that he’d rather be.
He says “Bill, I believe this is killing me,”
As a smile ran away from his face.
“Well I’m sure that I could be a movie star
If I could get out of this place.”

La la la de de da La la de de da da da

Now Paul is a real-estate novelist,
Who never had time for a wife.
And he’s talking with Davy
Who’s still in the navy and probably will be for life.
And the waitress is practicing politics
As the businessmen slowly get stoned
Yes they’re sharing a drink they call loneliness
But it’s better than drinking alone.

Sing us a song, you’re the piano man,
Sing us a song tonight.
Well we’re all in the mood for a melody.
And you’ve got us feelin’ alright.

It’s a pretty good crowd for a Saturday, and the manager gives me a smile.
‘Cause he knows that it’s me they’ve been coming to see.
To forget about life for a while.
And the piano sounds like a carnival
And the microphone smells like a beer.
And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar
And say “Man what are you doin’ here?”

La la la de de da La la de de da da da
Sing us a song you’re the piano man,
Sing us a song tonight.
Well, we’re all in the mood for a melody.
And you’ve got us feelin’ alright.

I’ve always adored this song. When I was younger, it was the melody, the “la la de de da”s and the rousing feeling of unison with the chorus. Now that I’m older, I enjoy the character sketches and can picture them in my head.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet

could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

William Wordsworth

Whew! Didn’t think I would make it today. I posted the first stanza of this in my FB status #poetrytuesday and was quite surprised at the number of responses I received: 4 Likes and several comments, including a smart-ass one from my oldest brother.

Yesterday, I was pondering about what would do for Poetry Tuesday and thought of poems with the word May, but none of them felt right. Then this one floated into my mind, and I knew it was right.

On the weekdays, my sleepyheads alternatively amuse and provoke. My husband leaves for work at 6:15, so I do the bulk of the morning scramble. He does wake up Tommy, though, and gets him dressed then ushers him downstairs. Which you think would be enough to keep him awake – except it’s not. Pretty much anytime I get downstairs with the baby, Tommy is passed out on the couch or rocking chair.

So I get myself up and ready (while Tommy snoozes downstairs) and then go to Lexy’s room to get him up and ready. It doesn’t seem to matter how much noise I make, he is still passed out in his crib. I rub his head, tickle his feet, pat his back and talk to him. He ignores me and snoozes on. Eventually, he opens his eyes, looks at me and then turns his head the other way. More mommy harassment ensues until he is awake enough to sit up and for me to pick him up and get him going.

Then it’s downstairs to wake Tommy up and feed them both before a spritely hop out the door and into the real world. As cute as all this morning snoozing is, I am already wary of them as teenagers. Not so easy to pick up and get dressed, then, eh? Time to invest in some alarm clock stock!

So here’s my attempt at problem-solving this: I’m going to attempt establishing categories for days. I’ve seen this in a few other blogs and on Twitter, and think it’s helpful to have the focus and still inspirational.

Here are my attempts at categories and rational:

Mothering Mondays: Capturing the parenting moments of the week for both Lex and Tommy

Poetry Tuesday: A couple of lines of poetry and maybe some thoughts behind them, maybe not. This is a direct steal from Twitter, and I enjoyed it there. May cross-post to Facebook.

Wordless Wednesday: A picture for the day rather than words. I’m only semi-keen on this one. I think it needs more focus for me. I’m not opposed to a picture of the kids, but I think I want it to be something more. Will continue thinking.

Thankful/Thinker Thursday: Life can really be full of blessings, which is what made me think of this. However, I also like the thinking aspect of life, so I thought maybe a bit more flexibility would be nice.

Family Friday: Not 100% sure on this one, although it would be nice to capture family things outside of parenting. Perhaps expand it to friends? Or should it just be fluffy Friday and a joke or something silly? Hmmm… I find that last thought more appealing.

Sugarless Saturday & Sunday: I need to really work on my diet and eating habits. This doesn’t thrill me to bits, but it may keep me honest.

So, if anyone is still reading, thoughts? Suggestions? Sarcasm?

Lex finally has his first tooth coming through! Yes, after 6+ months of drooling and chewing, I finally felt the little poke of a tooth on his bottom gum yesterday. I have the feeling this means that there is a whole bunch more to follow. He seems to be a trouper about any pain. This may be my last gummy-smiling baby, and I’m feeling both anxious and excited over every milestone.

Jim’s parents were visiting on Sunday & Jim and his dad were watching football. It didn’t take Tommy long to figure out that pretending to watch TV, complete with “Ooooh, did you see that?” and visually demonstrating his version of the tackles by falling dramatically to the ground was a great way to be part of the boys’ club. I had a vision of the future with all the guys hanging out watching football on TV…and leaving me alone while I got to read my books!

Jim and I had some one-on-one time to talk with each other – no TV or other distractions – and chatted about him possibly being a stay-at-home dad. He is doing really, really well with the boys and says that he doesn’t seem to feel the isolation as strongly as I did when I was at home. We talked about if he wanted to stay home permanently with them and he was somewhat open to the idea. It would be a bit of a crunch financially, but I wanted him to feel as if it was his choice more than a financial decision. In the end, he thought that staying at home would be fun but that it was more influenced by not wanting to return to work than actually wanting to be at home. Maybe we’ll revisit this in a bit.

We also chatted about how quickly our lives were going to change in the upcoming years. In 15 years, Tommy will be 20 and 15 years ago, I was 20. It’s really weird to think about it that way, as it doesn’t feel that my 20^th birthday was that long ago. In the next 15 years, the boys will go from needing constant care to complete independence and our roles as parents will be changing just as quickly. I had somewhat neglected any parenting books while I was doing my MBA and although I’d like to think that we made out fine with Tommy based on instincts, I’m trying to pick them up again to stay ahead of the curve. Because even though I see parenting as something that has to be authentic and natural for your children to believe it, there are tools that are a good fit, which I wouldn’t have discovered on my own without significant trial-and-error.

Finally, I’ve been asked to join the moderator panel on MOBI. This group really helped me when I was having difficulties breastfeeding Tommy. I leaned on them a bit with Lex, but not as much as before because I had a more clear grasp on what the issues were. I’m quite excited about this and hope that I can be a help to others struggling with breastfeeding issues.