Letter to my Children

I decided to write this while I cried in the shower.  Two of my kids are teenagers and things haven’t been so smooth running lately.  We try and have really open conversations about things to sort them out and often we can, but one of the most heart wrenching things that often gets yelled at me in the midst of an impassioned argument is that I don’t care for, or love them. 

Enjoy those family moments.

Please don’t think I don’t love you...

My heart fused to your existence while I writhed in agony and bore you into the world, straight into our home, we lived through that together.  I met you for the first time and all my dreams about what my kids would be like were immediately exceeded.  I learnt about a new love that day, 

Please don’t think I don’t love you...

I spent days gazing at you and caressing your skin, spent hours awake at night holding your tiny body close and feeding you with my life giving milk.  My life ceased to be important to me once you were born, I knew in an instant I would die for you.  I still would.

 Please don’t think I don’t love you...

I’ve comforted you from your bad dreams, held you close to me in bed when you were too scared to go back to yours.  I’ve run to you and you’ve run to me when you were hurt, there was no-one else then that you wanted to help you, and I’ve held back my tears to be strong for you even when my heart was breaking. 

Please don’t think I don’t love you...

I worried endlessly about whether you were okay at Kindy and then at School.  Were people being nice to you, did you have friends?  Were you sitting all alone at lunchtime?  These things all seemed worse than when they actually happened to me when I was a kid.  What about play dates?  Are those parents trustworthy enough to look after my most prized possession?  Endless thoughts of how you could get hurt whirled through my mind.  They still do.

Please don’t think I don’t love you...

How could I predict when I was having the last time?  How could I know when my last kiss or hug at school was going to happen?  How could I savour the last time I would lie on your bed and hug you till you fell asleep?  How could I know the last time you would run to me crying looking for the comfort only my arms could offer?  How could I know that I would stop being your hero?

Please don’t think I don’t love you...

Now, how will I know when it’s our last family holiday, our last family meal, or when I’m no longer needed at last?  How at the age of 40 have I only just realised that my own Mum loves me this way too?  My heart still beats for you. When you’re sad I grieve, when you’re happy I feel joy, when you’re in danger I feel fear.  My love for you BURNS fiercely inside me.

Please don’t think I don’t love you, I will always love you, more than you can ever imagine.

Me and my Mum- she'll kill me for this photo!

Dis-or-ganised

 

 

I’m a lazy busy person.  So- I get done what needs to be done- and for me that’s a lot of things.  It’s work, it’s washing, cooking, lunchbox packing, note signing, exercising, party planning, blog writing, studying, drum practising and in general managing the logistics of a family of five where no one else thinks about much more than what they need at any one time.  The rest of the time- I’m lazy- because I can be, and scarred into my memory are the toddler years where there was no downtime whatsoever.  In the weekends I sleep in till close to midday(while the organisers are doing organising and cleaning things- jokes on you bitches) and in the evenings I sit on the couch and watch trash TV till I fall asleep.  I like clean and organised houses and gardens though, and I reckon they’d be more relaxing to be lazy in.  I want one of those houses- I just can’t seem to do it- Is it because I’m so lazy?  Or could there be some other reason?

If I was half as busy as I am now- maybe my house would be amazing... That definitely could be it.  At the moment I’m the jack of all trades and master of none.  If there were no kids in the house then actually the place would be pretty spic and span for most of the time wouldn’t it?  And yet my friend has a toddler and her place is just a wonderful little Zen haven just begging for a mess grenade to be launched at it and I just want to wring her serene neck and smear my hands on her windows- bitch. She’s even made a website about how to make your life more like hers which is pretty amazing and you can check it out here.

Maybe it’s genetic?  Except my Mum is a cleaning psycho and her little house and cottage garden are testimony to the fact that genes are not helping my situation.  And Dad- well let’s just say- gated community and leave it at that.  My siblings are on a spectrum, none of them are high standard clean freaks but none of them live in squalor either (nor do I-mostly).  There’s still time I guess- I could end up with a neat as a pin house and glorious garden like Mum if the kids thing finishes and the genetics kicks in.

I’ve tried to take charge of this situation quite a few times.  There are the New Year’s resolutions, the Pinterest organising board, feasible schedules that I’ve put together, the family chorechart...  Basically I’ve got everything I need to get it all sorted but no success at acting it all out.  I’m organised to be organised but not organised enough to neatly act it out.  I’ve got a feeling it could be self sabotage.  It’s like holding an invisible cleaning gun to my head, taunting myself- it’s within your reach, you could have it, but you’re not going to bitch, just stare at your organising charts and have a panic attack bitch...

Now, just so you don’t think that I’m shallow enough to be yearning for my house to be clean in order to impress others let me reassure you.  I couldn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of my place and I welcome anyone who disapproves to turn right around and leave.   My dear and lovely friends come to see me and quite possibly seeing super Plum Lovely not being perfectly prim probably gives them a shiver of delight and a shot of relaxation.  They also probably don’t give a shit at all since my super personable qualities probably transcend any feelings about house cleanliness.

After years of ruminating on my failure to launch any kind of cleaning or organising regime I’ve finally come up with a feasible excuse for my actions (or inactions).  Here it is- I’m creative!  It’s a good excuse this one- let me illuminate you.  I’m extroverted and easily distracted- not good qualities for diligent duties like spending fucking hours lining up boxes, baskets, blankets and bing bongs (I don’t know).   I’m not the kind of creative that can draw, or paint, or sew, or make anything except some pretty fabulous food to shove in your cake hole and dress a fat body to look slimmer. I’m a story teller and I’m creative at getting things done with the least possible effort.  I guess that’s why people always wonder how I can get so much done and not lose my fucked up little mind. Well the reason is – because I’m not doing all that other cleaning and organising stuff that they’re doing, I’m doing what the hell I want- probably sitting on my arse watching ‘Come Dine With Me’ while stressing about how I’m going to get my assignment done and coming up with creative ideas about how I’ll do it given that I’m using some perfectly good time doing nothing right now...

Every few weeks I do still have a go at whipping things into shape though.  I’m creative like that.  The family chore chart gets resurrected every now and again and the kids roll their eyes and state the obvious- that it won’t be in action for long.  The best time to get the kids to do jobs is when they want something.  “Yes your friends can come and stay- if you clean your room and make dinner” is a win-win situation.  And also I would be remiss as a Mother if I did not teach them how to cook and clean!

Maybe I also enjoy living on the edge just a little, a rebel against the system- rebelling against the chore of domesticity- a conscientious objector!  Yes!  That’s it!  I’m a creative feminist, rebelling against the torment and slow soul death of domestic life. I OBJECT.  I still would like a clean, tidy, serene house though; can someone help me with that...?