My writing has been a little lost since we began our boarding adventure. Our current living situation plays a large part of that, most of my writing about boarding life is kept private to protect those under our care.
So that is one excuse. Another is illness - I seem to catch everything that goes around the school. Germs, germs, germs. Cannot totally escape them. The plus side? Peaches should have one hell of an immune system!
My third excuse is mourning.
My paternal Grandfather passed away. He knew it was coming and was more ready than we, his family. He would have good days and bad days battling from inside a hospital bed in Texas. For 56 Days I shifted between sporadic crying, optimism, and of just feeling numb. Days where my daughter grew up just a little. Kids are intuitive, knew she needed to put those pudgy arms around my neck, gently rub my shoulder and ask if I as “Okay mum? Okay?” I am not.
I am now Grandpa-less.
Peaches had yet to and now will never meet him. That bothers me.
What bothers me the most is that I spent so much time being angry with him. For what? I am not entirely sure. I can only guess that I thought he owed me something, because instead of sticking around our home state year-round, he decided to travel. How dare he, right? How dare he live his life to the fullest, instead of waiting around for his growing grandchildren to decide to visit every blue moon.
I can only think that this anger was due to my childhood ignorance, my selfishness but also because of the great memories of holidays spent at theirs. I felt they were denying me more memories.
Kids always want more.
The ones I have are full of love. He was a good dude. A genuinely GOOD DUDE. He was funny, kind, open minded, generous, silly, intelligent, creative and an artist. He was a lot of things to a lot of people. Including a brilliant partner of 67+ years to my Grandmother. My GPA loved and was loved fully in return.
I would like to share a quote from one of his favourite books, “Breakfast of Champions” by Kurt Vonnegut.
“A flying saucer creature named Zog arrived on Earth to explain how wars could be prevented and how cancer could be cured. He brought the information from Margo, a planet where the natives conversed by means of farts and tap dancing. Zog landed at night in Connecticut. He had no sooner touched down than he saw a house on fire. He rushed into the house, farting and tap dancing, warning the people about the terrible danger they were in. The head of the house brained Zog with a golfclub.”
He would bring this part up frequently in our discussions on life, but he could never stop himself from giggling.
In a bittersweet realisation I have just had - it is about a failure of communication.
What do I contribute to this society?
But. It is something I ask myself every so often but seems to come up more and more recently. Is it the gray haze of wintery blues making me go through mini self assessments or normal as a thirty something year old?
But the sunless days spent inside our room (remember we live in a studio flat) seemingly doing the same activities over and over cannot help. Is the way I have the television on as, background noise to me, going to alter my daughter’s brain?
But I try to balance it out with reading, physical activites and crafts as much as possible while remaining sane. Is there more I could be doing?
Yes. No. Maybe. I dunno.
But notice how my focus always goes to the kid(s). Continuously. When I go to bed, I am more often than not thinking and worrying about the children over myself. And that is how it should be.
That is being a parent.
And I am cool with that. Am I though?
^^^I am trying to write this while preventing Peaches from breaking or strangling herself my pair of headphones/climbing on me bumping my typing hands/yelling sheep while jumping on the couch next to me as Cbeebies blares in the background.^^^
The feelings have returned.
Baby fever. Cooing, awe-ing and feeling a need to hold every baby I see. The newness. The potential. The bundle of messy, sleep depriving, love. Biology and this crazy human nature of wanting to continue the brood.
Before the school closed for the holidays, a trio of staff members came up to our corridor to do some works. When I opened our door I squealed as my eyes were immediately drawn to the few month old child one of them held (his own, do not worry). Thankfully he let me hold the little booger. So tiny. Still new to the world. Oh who will that little person be?
Peaches was not cool with it. But this is not about her, and Mama needed her baby fix.
I feel like everyone is suddenly getting pregnant, having more babies, trying for children and my envy of that is well hidden.This is all normal lady problems, phases, or passing fancies. Hormones, am I right?!
“I feel it in my fingers. I feel it in my toes. Babies are all around me, and so the feeling grows…”
Until last night when the shit felt very real.
We are sitting on the couch Christmas night, snuggled together watching the “Dr. Who” special feeling the warm glow of ( I AM SITTING AND WATCHING DOCTOR WHO WITH SOMEONE I MADE) being a family. Yet in this almost perfect moment I simultaneously felt a loss.
The missing of some future unknown as yet being.
When are they? Who are they?
I don’t know what the future holds. So I am just thinking about them for now.
Not an instructional blog but the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth - so help me Mom.