It's been five months since I became a mother of two, since Faith has become a big sister, since Marlee's been making continual noise. I've sat down half a dozen times to write, only to find myself struggling to find words. I've tried to write humorously...and just stared. I've tried to write from the heart, and it sounds like drunken rambling. I've tried to just write honestly about the good, the bad, and the ugly...and I still get no where.
This isn't like me. I never struggle to write, ever. Words come easily and naturally. I never need to edit anything, simply because the words fall down perfectly on paper. But now...now that I have so many amazing things to share...nothing. Why do you ask?
I have a theory.
Some people go to the gym when they're pissed, or they go outside and run, pounding the pavement until they're human again. Some people draw, pouring all their emotion onto the paper until they are empty and their paper is full. Some people clean, not stopping until the house smells of lemons and everything is back in it's home, not relaxing because they simply need to have order SOMEWHERE. Some people drive fast and sing at the top of their voices. Some people roll really fat joints and hang out in their basements until they've chilled out enough to face the world again.
Most of that seems far to energetic for me, far too time consuming, and far too short lived. I could go out and run until I puke, but all I'll feel is tired. I could draw until I want to destroy things because I really suck at drawing. I could sing, but it would embarrass me. I could hide in the basement and smoke joints I suppose, but I would imagine it would damage my kids...and set a horrible example.
In times of emotional turmoil though, I write. I write stories, or poetry. I write angry letters that I will never share. I write whatever comes into my head. When I am angry, or sad, or stressed to the max, I can write things that will break even the crustiest old bastards heart. I pour all my emotion into a pen and paper, and by the time I get to the end I feel better.
I'm just too damn happy lately. That's the problem. I'm so happy, all I can write is gibberish. I laugh and smile too much to write anything outstanding. I am too at ease in my life to feel turmoil. My days are so full of giggles and snuggles that I have no room for anger. I laugh so often, any stress I have seems to escape out of me and evaporate while I'm doing it. All good, really. Except I can't express it on paper...because I only write well when I'm NOT well. Which sucks...not that I'm complaining. I just wish that my gift for writing wouldn't be so damn testy.
It's all my families fault.
My husband is off work until further notice. Actually, I think he's off work until he's had his knee operated on...which could be a while. As he is the major bread winner, this did send both of us into panic mode. I did some crying and hiding and panicking...and my husband turned our house into a seriously organized, gleaming, lemony germ free paradise. Normally this would send me into a tailspin, but because I'm so happy....I got over it. So I've decided that we're going to be broke ass and happy...and we are.
We are so broke. We only buy food on sale. We have very few tv channels. We don't call our friends long distance. We can't pay all our bills at once. We rolled all of the change. We took a car off the road, we can't afford to over eat, we buy cheap formula...we don't waste water, gas or hydro. we don't throw food away anymore (except for what I made for supper which was garbage). We MIGHT not be able to pay the mortgage next month, unless I can find a job, which I'm working on.
And yet, my husband is home with me. I have a best friend beside me all the time. I never have to deal with a screaming baby and a five year old with a gazillion questions and a ringing phone and a meowing cat and a beeping dryer and a pot over boiling and a doorbell ringing all by myself. Sometimes I get to sleep in. Sometimes I get to have a bath and read until the water gets cold without having to worry that the baby will start crying and I'll have to streak past the windows buck naked, cold and wet...I can just stay in. I have someone that makes me laugh all the time, someone I can depend on. I get to watch him falling in love with the kids in a way he couldn't when he worked. He gets to be here for so much more now. All of a sudden, Faith calls him dad. He won't miss anything, and it makes me happy to know that when we're all old and gimpy and grey we sit on our rocking chair and remember our kids firsts together.
I have a funny feeling that if we had a lot of money, we wouldn't be able to have what we've got...and when we are all old and shriveled...we wouldn't have much to laugh about. Seems to me...happiness and laughter are worth more. I say, bring on the KD and giggles, you can keep your lobster and frowny faces.
I can't help but have a permasmile when I'm with my kids almost all the time now. Marlee has become an absolute delight. The new born that screamed bloody murder every time she was put down, now lets us know in no uncertain terms that she likes to be by herself sometimes. Where once Mark and I would spend hours rocking, bouncing, walking and crying just to get her to closer her eyes for half an hour, now refuses to go to sleep unless you put her down in her bed. The serious baby who wouldn't laugh and wouldn't smile, now squeals and giggles and grins and hums. Marlee has been a constant source of noise since three days after birth, but now her noises don't make us want to tear all of our hair out, crawl under a rock and cry until we die of dehydration. She loves her sister to bits and pieces, and the look of delight on her face when she catches sight of one of us makes our day. Even the cat loves her, faithfully lying down on the carpet under her jolly jumper and congenially allowing her to jump on her gunt.
Faith is a rock star of a big sister. She's a rock star in general. Always happy, always helping, and almost always listening. Sometimes I wonder if it's luck that's given me this wonderful child, or if I'm just that good of a parent. If the fact that she's so good, so happy, so well behaved is due to me...then I have to say Kudo's to me. I've never been that good at anything before and it's gratifying to know that the one thing that I value most in my life, is what I'm good at...so good that I've managed to do it all right.
So here I sit, with 1/4 of the income I'm used to, and it's unclear weather or not I'll have more in the near future...and yet I'm thrilled. I'm happier than I've ever been in my life. In fact, if my hubby were to be able to go back to work, a very large part of me would be disappointed. Who knows what tomorrow will bring but I'm willing to bet that we'll be happy together...and that's what matters right?
