Tuesday, June 26, 2012

what happens when you're not straight with your three year old

Looking at some pictures of a friend's baby, I explain to Jake that she came out of her Mummy's tummy.

Jake: Did I come out of your tummy?
Me: Yes you did.
Jake: But how did I get in there?
Me: Ermmmm, well...
Jake: Don't you know?
Me: Yes, I do know, I just don't know how to explain it.
Jake: Just tell me.
Me: Ok, well, Mummy and Daddy planted a special seed and you grew inside me and then you came out of my tummy.
Jake: Oh, ok.

Two weeks later...

Jake: Mummy, did you buy me?
Me: Did I buy you?  No honey, I didn't buy you.
Jake: Where did I come from then?
Me: Well, Daddy and I made you and you came out of Mummy's tummy, remember I told you about that?
Jake: You MADE me? 
Me: Yes, sort of, do you remember what I told you?
Jake: You made me when you and Daddy planted a tree?
Me: Ermmm, not a tree, a special seed...
Jake: Did you do it wrong Mummy?
Me: Ermmmm, no...I don't think so...what do you mean?
Jake: How did I come out of you?
Me: Ermmm, well...I have a sort of tunnel.
Jake: You have a tunnel?  <pause> Wow.
I'm usually so honest with him about everything, but I just can't bring myself to explain about sex - not yet.

P.S. On an irrelevant note: this is my 1200th post on this blog!
P.P.S. To those of you who read my last post and got in touch to ask me if I'm okay...thank you, and yes, I am okay.  You're all lovely.  Thank you for caring.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

I don't know

I don’t know if it’s because it’s Thursday
or the longest day, the first day of summer 
and yet we are already creeping towards the dark
I don’t know if it’s because it’s 4:34 in the afternoon 
and I am alone
I don’t know if it’s because The Walkmen 
are playing a waltz on the radio 
or I because I spent the morning with kids in school 
and my little Batman will be off soon
or because I heard of the death of another 
in the arms of his young mother 
or because my Mom’s polyps were benign this time 
or because it’s raining again and I still haven’t cut the grass 
or because a young couple are moving in next door 
or because of the smell of paint 
or the memories I can’t feel 
or the story of the lost owl 
or because I am sending postcards to strangers in China 
and there will always be books I’m not going to get around to reading 
and my shirt is damp 
and the strawberries are bruised 
and there is no one to smell my hair which I got cut two hours ago 
and I don’t know what I mean to you 
and a dog named Zeus licked my feet even though we hadn’t met before 
and probably won’t again 
but I feel as if I’m about to lose everything
as if it is all about to fall away 
and I will empty out 
and not be filled again.

Saturday, June 09, 2012

On a good day

I'm loving this song at the moment.  She plays it on a harp.  Billy Bragg covers it on guitar (video below).  I'll be attempting to teach myself to play it on the uke.

Right now ~ 9 June 2012

I can hear Jake chewing his potato waffle Batman and Robin are on TV and my tongue is still savouring roasted asparagus with garlic and hollandaise sauce.  I went to bed at 4am.  Got home from bridge at 3am and couldn’t sleep.  The later it gets, the more awake I feel.  So I wrote in my journal and read a sample from Bankei Zen on my Kindle.  I was woken before 9am by Yoshi wanting his breakfast.  Nights out aside, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep for over a week and I just can’t seem to shift this cold.

Friday, June 08, 2012

Right now ~ 8 June 2012

The wind is making the silver birch tree sway my fingers smell of clementines my laptop is making a wailing sound and I feel too stupid to blay pridge.  This morning Jake woke up laughing and singing.  Even when he said, “Sing along Mummy,” I didn’t know if he was awake or dreaming.  He was awake.  I said I was tired so he sang me a tired song:  “Starry dee doo.  That’s it!” I need to feed Yoshi.  He likes to stick his head in the fridge, not to sniff meat, but to chew on the packaging for the grapes.

Monday, June 04, 2012

100 word diary ~ 4 June 2012

I am rather fond of moments of insight.  I live as if I’m supposed to see them everywhere.  It’s annoying cos it gives the impression that I know what I’m on about.  Words aren’t the truth.  Just cos this is written doesn’t mean it’s complete and infallible.  If these entries were spoken, would they feel less weighty, or make me feel less twitchy about being misunderstood?  Does it matter?  Don’t we only see what we’re inclined to see anyway, react to what we’re inclined to fear?  These words are not the sum of me.  Then again, who knows what is.

Sunday, June 03, 2012

100 word diary ~ 3 June 2012

Most days, I don’t like my face.  I don’t like admitting that.  When I do, people think I have low self-esteem or I’m fishing for compliments.  But it’s because most of the time, I don’t see my face but my mother’s.  I appreciate her more now but I still don’t want to be her.  I want to be me.  I’m slowly getting that life is not about what I want.  But today I looked at my face and loved it.  Sunken half-moons under my eyes, shaky beginnings of crow’s feet, all of it.  I smiled.  And I saw myself smiling.

100 word diary ~ 2 June 2012

My Dad forwards me emails.  It used to be pretty pictures and inspirational quotes.  Lately though, they have been WARNING emails.  Don’t eat this candy and drink soda afterwards cos your stomach will explode.  If you microwave water for more than two minutes it could blow up in your face.  Know how to spot the signs of stroke.  What to do if someone is having a heart attack.  His unnamed anxiety packaged up in neatly wrapped parcel bombs and labelled as Practical Concerns.  I’ve been accepting these parcels my whole life.  Storing them under my bed, listening to them tick. 

Friday, June 01, 2012

Right now ~

Right now, the clock ticks.  My body houses flaming aches that stretch and pummel when I cough.  Sometimes my breath grates my chest.  Right now, friends are meeting for a bridge game without me.  And tomorrow, my ukulele class, my yoga class, another friend will carry on without me, because I am sick.  THAT voice already needles me – so people get sick, get over yourself.  But I don’t want to.  I want to feel sorry for myself because I am alone, because I can’t ask for someone to come and take care of me, because maybe there is no one.