Wasn’t it a wonderful thing that I found that note yesterday? It sure was because life just turned 360 degrees on the Wheel Of Crazy Crap and the post-script to all that sighing and nostalgia has been retching and cursing long hair in the process of retching.
For the record, I never slept with the author of the wonderful note. No. Because I was 21 and full of such intense self-loathing that carnal contact required persons who despised me/themselves as much as I despised myself. And unless they were willing to climb to the peak of Mount Self-Destruction, hand in hand with yours truly, it was never going to be worth it.
Tch. All those Simone de Beauvoir pretensions. Aah, the good years.
So back to the good stuff – the retching. Its now a given in our lives that the minute the Viking packs his bags and we make out madly on the kitchen counter in lieu of farewell pecks my cheek, Murphys Law cheerfully bounds in through the front door and settles down on the couch with a cup of coffee and book. Might as well get comfy if you’re going to watch the show.
Yesterday, it started with a general queasiness as I was making dinner, intensifying queasiness as I was playing with the boys and the thrilling conclusion which saw me with my arms wrapped lovingly around white ceramic giving all I had to give of myself and my innards. Sweet stuff, Murphy. Here’s hoping you enjoyed your coffee.
And the panic. Of knowing that I was alone with the boys and that they needed me to do THINGS the day after. Lunches, bags packed, clothes laid out. EXACTLY ALL THE THINGS I was entirely inequipped to do in my paramecium like state.
All of this brings me to the part I appreciate the most in this exercise of childrearing.
The one where Murphy is still reclined on my sofa drawling, “Suck. It. The. Hell. Up. It’s not like you’re dying.”
I will argue that its perfectly valid to cuss at imaginary persons and rant about the Law of Frikkin’ Attraction at 4. a.m.
“What? I’m bringing this on myself? Oh, thats nice. Be nice to the vomitting woman. Oh, screw you too.”
I might have just forgotten my medication is all.
The alarm went off bright dingy, grey and early at 06:30. And zombie-like, everything gets done. The lunches, the clothes, the schoolbooks in bags, the breakfast.
And because I just know that someone out there is going to think – and say – “Well, that because you are SUCH an awesome mum.”, I will beat you to it without an ounce of false modesty and tell you, ” No, I am SUCH a desperate mum.”
Desperate and not big enough to pull this off without hating every minute of it. Hating the neediness, the loneliness and the sadness that take over as I go about making life happen. The way it feels like I’m moving underwater and gasping for oxygen. The very Grrrr of having to ask for help again.
And suddenly it occurs to me that this.. EXACTLY this.. was the one thing I may have going for me in this whole Law of Attraction business. The one reason that we could have jobs that involve travelling and being apart for periods is this wonderful network of loved ones that we have around us. And even in my darkest moments, I know that there is no shame in asking for a helping hand here. Why? Because I would never hesitate to return the favour any hour of the day or night.
Phone calls are made. And I can hear my own voice – ragged, shaky and desperately trying not to be tearful. I’m sick. I really need some help with the kids. (That wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.)
Before I know it, one of our dearest friends (and the Viking’s cousin) is at our door, cuddling the kids, playing with them, like there was no place he’d rather be. Like the roads weren’t treacherously icy and it had been a breeze to drive down the disastrous slope to our home and arrive in one piece. Out came the car seats from our car into his and the kids were off, laughing and squealing because ONKEL WAS DRIVIN’ THEM YO!
Soon followed up by messages ticking in offering food and comfort. The brother-in-law drops by the get the car unglued from the icebank it was stuck in, being all nonchalant and its-so-not-a-big-deal about it all. The mother-in-law firmly and kindly telling me that she would pick up the kids and have them for the night so I could sleep it off. Yes, she had nappies and change and spare brushes AND WOULD I RELAX AND EASE UP A FRIKKIN’ MINUTE?
Okay, she’s too classy to speak like that, but lord!! I was this close to turning myself over and spanking myself. And not in the way that’s making you grin now, sicko.
I slept and slept and then – good lord, didn’t I sleep enough? – lets clock a new 40 winks. THAT is how long I slept. And after munching murukku and pretzels and hydrating with juice, I feel half alive again. Half alive and relieved to the power of 10 that I can actually allow myself to get better without having to worry that my children are scared, insecure or unhappy elsewhere.
Fair enough, Murphy’s my friend. (Incidentally, he loves Malabar Monsoon coffee beans and seems to be in no hurry to leave). And I’ll grant him his spot on the sofa as long as the religion of What Goes Around Comes Around keeps throwing me a few brownie points here and there in the form of incredible family and friends.
Goddess bless and all that, y’hear?