This Is Me Maria

Although she died when I was 11 I have come to the realization that a lack of a stable maternal figure existed long before her death, possibly never existed at all for me.

I am making it up as I go along. I have no blue print. I am doing this absolutely alone.

My early years as a mother were spent striving for perfection. A goal I never attained and got tired of chasing. While I do have 4 years of early childhood education under my belt, I know that the edge of what I know is looming in the distance.

I really don’t know how to handle older children. What will I do when my children reach the age my sister and I were when my mother died? What will I do when they become teenagers?

I felt alone on so many levels back then, trying to figure out how to be the best mother that I could be and I probably had some kind of experience as someone must have cared for me reasonably well as a baby.

I wonder how much lonelier it will be as a parent of teenagers with absolutely nothing to draw from but the dysfunctional story between me and my last living parent.

I am going to be in therapy forever…

What is it about the seven year old brain that causes the child to argue?

I theorize that at this point, the amount of nutrients needed for the child’s excessive feet growth deprives the brain of whatever it is that is needed to take in new information from any paternal input units. Therefore argument is simply the seven year old brain rejecting information that it has no room for.

Well at least that is the little lie I tell myself as I repeat all instructions that don’t begin with “Eat your dessert” at least seven times.

I believe that people give and take a form of energy from one another. I imagine that at this time I take a lot of energy from just about everyone.

I have found that my daughter is usually a giver. Hugging her and spending time with her is soothing and healing. She gives energy, sunshine, and love.

My son is a taker. He takes so much all the time. Sometimes it is physically painful to my skin to touch him because he needs so much.

I am sad that it is likely my own bad energy that is ruining him. I am even more sad that there is little that I can do about it right now. When I have a good enough day that I have something to give, I will hug him and I will feel him take everything he can. I will hold him as long as I can, as long as I feel he needs more.

I hope that one day I can feel like a real mom again. Right now I feel like a bystander in their world, watching everything unfold around me.

The worst part about family is how you can see parts of them in yourself.

My arms look like my mom’s arms. My feet look like my mom’s feet. My hands are big like my dad’s. My nose is big like my mom’s.

I have an unhealthy obsession with jewelry, like my grandma. Currently my house is unfinished and messy like hers too. I am not punctual, like my dad. I have a temper that bares the rage the boils inside me, like my mom.

My kids are a lot like me. Cody is insecure like me. You can tell when he talks. Madison looks just like me. (Her toes look like my sister’s funny shaped toes that I used to make fun of.)

They are like Chris too. Cody looks just like him. Madison has his long fingers. They both have his big, brown, puppy dog eyes and long lashes.

There some strange things I’ve inherited that I love though.

I am a night owl. While not very useful, I love the dark and the night.

I love the rain, trees, and clouds of the Seattle area.

I am conscious of the environment.

The moral glasses I look through are very  black and white. They are few if any areas of grey.

There are so many pieces of me that come from my parents and my upbringing. I’ve been trying to sift those out of the emotional clutter. The better I know myself, I think perhaps the better I can raise my littles to be the people I think they should be.

Saturday evening after returning from 8 hours in a software testing class (nearly 2 of which were spent w/o power) I took the kids to a local park. The parks in here are fantastic. Most are tucked away in a quiet neighborhood and surrounded by giant old trees.

My own yard is in complete disarray so I have a great appreciation for well cared for landscaping. We were getting some where but then we got Talia back who is a digger. Then the kids started digging as well. They have also taken to playing with our yard equipment to build forts.

When they are old they are going to say to their own kids, “When I was a kid I had to play with wheelbarrows and tarps.”

The parks here are well maintained and manicured. The grass here is so ridiculously and wonderfully green. There is always room for improvement in the restroom department though. 

We burned up the daylight avoiding the hot lava by climbing over the play structures, rolling down the grassy hills, laying under the giant trees, and the kids ran to and fro across the grassy ball fields.

The kids took off their shoes and danced around in the grass.  As usual I was busy snapping photographs and making sure  they didn’t get hurt or contract any germs.

At home I am pretty lax about most things but when we go out I am a germaphobe and a hawk. I don’t like public restrooms or anything that a lot of people touch. I also don’t like for them to be out of my sight for even a second when we are out. I feel a little crazy in the grocery store sounding like a parrot saying “don’t touch that” over and over again.

We made our way home as the sun ducked behind a hill. I had been arguing with Chris before we left for the park so I left my phone in the car. Later I realized that it was so blissful to spend time with them, with out any interruptions but that of curious dog being taken for an evening walk.

I recall these emotions from the days where I stayed at home with them and I miss those moments tremendously. I’m writing it down to remind me to take more uninterrupted time with them.