Monday, January 27, 2014

Oh my heart aches, it cracks open, and open, and open.  It's joyous sorrow I feel, and it's slippery to contain.  I know I'm making inroads against unconscious behavior, it's just so difficult sometimes, this becoming.  I feel my organs rearranging, though there's resistance there's nothing to fight against, preparing for flight.

Monk-a-doodle has been experiencing illness past few days, still not quite back yet, and Baby R has just been so fussy today.  I've so much work to do and not enough time, and I keep bullishly stepping in my own way creating environmental stress where there needn't be, i.e. tiring myself with less sleep, not eating my best or at all, too much sugar, avoiding yoga and meditation, sitting in overwhelm instead of moving that small inch that's a cinch.

Watching snow fall, wishing I could go out in it and be completely alone for a undetermined time.

And I read this and this.  There's so much becoming all around when one looks for it, we're on an upswing I'm positive.

Thursday, January 23, 2014

I love you sleeping

i love you laughing

i love you sleeping

i love you laughing

lament and flail
i love you sleeping

thoughtful growing
learning Knowing
i love you laughing

wondrous comic tragedy
i love you sleeping
i love you laughing

It's a Day, or not even, it's only A Morning.

I'm feeling nervous about the decision to put The Second born into a 2-day all day program at the Waldorf Charter School.  Probably because today we had an epic morning.

It began with angry elder sister, pick-pick-picking on little sister, while I sang loudly my operatic "Be Kind or Be quiet!" aria.  Then about 4 minutes of timed bickering (probably longer, but once they heard the "$1 a minute!" jingle I improvised, it got quieter). I'm holding the $4 ($1 or 1 household contribution per minute bickering fee) until they get contributions done.

It's a fairly cold, snowy morning, diamond dust in the air, and champagne powder on my truck, so we're already late. But I'm surrendering to the flow of the morning, 'cause I don't wanna make the crazed rush only to be stuck in traffic.
Everyone fed, and getting ready to leave, the Middle One begins her lament about some random item that was or was not seen, or worn, or toted.  Shortly prior to this, she, in the same breath, shared about what she likes at school and then proceeded to whine "puwheease take me out of dis school, momma".

I kept breathing, kept moving forward. Of course, this new development of crazy from her little sister budged Miss Monkey to swing back into sweet-and-helpful mode.

The Second Born proceeds to scream in her trademark screech about how her legs are cold (she chose to wear a long skirt with long socks), but when offered her coat or pants, she screeches again in response.  Her tragedy is most definitely waking neighbors.

We've embarked the vehicle, finally, when I feel I simply cannot drive with her screeching behind me.  I pull over into the empty, snow covered, parking lot of the park directly across the street.  I remove her from the vehicle, lovingly, firmly inform her that I cannot drive safely with her screaming and caterwauling behind me, help her with her coat and hat, "Scream out here all you want. You are welcome back in my car when you're done making that noise."

I keep breathing and recall yesterday when it was time for baby to nurse and rest, I resorted to locking myself in our bedroom to avoid a more serious conflict with her.  It had been a busy morning, back from the gym she had launched, unprompted, into a caterwauling lament about how she wasn't tired and wasn't hungry.  There's a pattern here, and I'm the common thread. Remove myself and alter the pattern, though maybe not as compassionate as I intend (yet), it's all I can muster sometimes.

Back in the snow, 2 minutes or less outside, some impressive lungfuls of air from her, and she calms. Asking for a hug, I'm happy to comply, and then she's eventually back in her seat and we're on our way.

But that's not all...
upon arrival at school, there's more tragedy, most likely trickle down from dramas earlier in the morning. Then hugs, and I'm off, but only to contend with the baby boy hollering fiercely all the way home.

I'm off to crock something for dinner, fold masses of laundry, and maybe get a 1/2 hour or so to sit atop my bike-on-trainer and lift something other than baby weight.

Happy day!

workin' through stress

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

It's not you, it's me

Last night, beginning SOMAS 601 Class (again), I got the "Surrender" angel card.  But that was after I picked up both the "Joy" and "Intention" cards.

My little epiphany came with a wallop...I'm the common denominator here. It's not a child's fault they're acting out, it's always some new stress they're processing that comes out sideways. My reactions are my own. They, we all as babies, arrive here perfectly equipped to have a beautiful life, and then they encounter US.

At this moment there is a lot rumbling around inwardly. Guilt about all my lack of parenting skill, my perceived lack of love. Sadness that they didn't choose better people to be their parents.  Compassion for their little souls stuck with me, I who barely have any idea what I'm doing.  More sadness for all the other little souls in bodies possibly in situations that are much worse off than ours.

A reminder pops up, that every one of us, every single one, is exactly where they are supposed to be at any given moment.  Every single action, reaction, re-reaction, and consequence is exactly what it is supposed to be....because I know that no thing happens in this world (or any other) by mistake.  God doesn't make mistakes.  But we do.  My thought life has been fraught with self-loathing only a perfectionist would understand, and it runs so very deep.  It's hard to admit, but as I name the difficulties I have with my children, I'm thickening the idea into our shared experience.  I.e. discussing how 3 year olds are particularly difficult, only makes it more true.

Knowing that God doesn't make mistakes, does not make it any easier though, grasping at imagined perfection causes suffering.

Then there comes a feeling of calm and bliss, and sadness. I've poured myself into this job, I'm in the thick of raising these little people into reasonably functioning young adults...sometimes I've so much love I might burst or melt down molecular-ly.

As an exercise for class I'm suppose to awake with activation of I AM, but in the form of I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN, which is a semantic tool to activate memory from whence we all came. Because, in the Light of Creation there is no want, no lack, no ego suffering, there is only Love, Peace, Joy.

So, I wake this morning thoughtfully creating my "I Have Always Been..." statements.
I have always been Loving
I have always been Joyous
I have always been Peaceful
I have always been Compassionate
I have always been Empathetic---and I stopped.

Have I?

I'm reminded then of an article I read, the pediatrician that believes now that Cry It Out method damages parts of the brain that create connective empathy.

My mom would brag about how I was a Dr. Spock baby, and at the time it was the "go to" child care book, and he was a definite "cry it out" proponent.  I'm theorizing that my handicapped empathetic response (and sympathetic response) is result of "best practices" for 1977.

So, I experience empathy shortage. How to cultivate it? Rather how do I access that limitless compassion, hence empathy and sympathy, that comes from the wellspring of our innate divinity?

How indeed, because I am well aware, we are only able to accept love at our conceived level of self worth.  And truly I have not much compassion for my self, most notably when I make mistakes as a parent.  Not little every day, oops-I-packed-the-wrong-lunch mistakes, but relationship-altering, possibly-damaging-to-emerging-young-selves mistakes.

Down the rabbit hole, though the roots are thick and tangled, there is Truth hidden there. I will re-mind it.

Monday, January 20, 2014

I made the phone calls I needed to, including a couple to friends. The eldest is reading downstairs, the middle and third are sleeping.  Left to myself I know there are a multitude of things to do in order that the house is cared for, workouts to get in, crafts backed up in my little room---feeling overwhelmed a bit I know I need to sit down and write.  It's January again.

I've decided I like January, it's quiet, simple. No major go-do-gift holidays, it's nice---mostly.

As I was losing my temper with the 3yo today, I watched my reaction occur. She didn't want to nap, and history shows that the resistance to said nap is directly proportional to the necessity of the nap. She was having her standard fit about it, and I didn't handle it as well as I have in past times.  When I don't catch her initial energetic down turn, it's difficult to get her to quiet time.

Maybe it's 'cause the baby wouldn't sleep either, maybe it's 'cause I didn't get to start the errands early as I planned, maybe it was the disappointment of not getting to the gym (baby had a random fever last night)...combination of many things.  I yelled, loudly, aggressively, with intent to frighten.

And I'm sick about it.

Though I handle it better than I did with the firstborn at three, in my heart I know I can act better.

Random lamentation, caterwauling is a trigger for me. There's a memory of emotion, feeling out of control and being taught, through fear and threats, feelings needed control at ALL cost.  Slapped, slapped again and again and again, into silence.

I observe this urge to hit them into silence, until they learn to shut up, because my anger is more important than your being---it's a memory of me as a little girl.  I've realized that my hurt from the incident(s?) is the basis of the trigger.  [I remember one incident clearly: my maternal grandmother threatened to slap me with her sandal unless I stopping crying right that instant...years later she, and my mom, deny that that could've every happened, causing me to question my memory, my reality.]

I don't hit my kids, I don't want to hit my kids. When I'm depleted emotionally, physically, spiritually....The Bully in me comes out.  This bully doesn't care about feelings, doesn't care about talking, doesn't care that others have needs. This bully only cares to hurt those around her because she's forgotten how to love her self.

{---dead pause---there's a baby crying, then the doorbell rings, and my process is brought to a standstill, to be continued another day, others' needs before my own...But I'll add this silly poem I wrote}

I want to be somebody else's mommy
someone grateful and kind
someone quiet and sweet
A ghost of a child than the real one I got

I want to be somebody else's mommy
where tears don't stain our cheeks
fusses and screams aren't part of my week
where I'm not stretched to my limit of personal growth
where frustration and anger are more a bygone joke

I want to be somebody else's mommy
you are too much like me
there's so much that needs change
I'm too too imperfect you see
You deserve better than me

And I forget to be grateful
for those everyday pains
Forget that others would gladly trade spaces
Yet some days, still,
I want to be somebody's else's mommy.

And after all that, at the end of this day or any other, all I really want to hear from anyone, is "Me, too."