Love, baby.

After a somewhat difficult Mother's Day with unruly children I have decided to end my day on a positive note.  With a list of things I love.  Who doesn't love thinking about the things they love?  And in an attempt to really get myself focused on the love I have challenged myself to come up with TEN things I love and to list them in order of adoration.

Here goes.

(And to make sure I haven't gone all fluffy, I have plans for a list of things I hate, too.)

11. A well-done pedicure and a fresh haircut
10. A novel that I don't want to put down and makes me feel like I've lost a good friend when I'm finished reading it.
9. A damn good dinner at a damn good restaurant
8. A rainstorm and an open window
7. The me time that comes after the children have gone to sleep
6. New yarn and a great project idea
5. A glass of wine and good conversation
4. Online shopping
3. YOGA
2. My friends
1. My family... especially Davin and Milo, and so adoringly specifically Marcel.

Hey look.  I gots 11 thingers.

And that's me in a nutshell.

Cheers.

Good-Bye Mom

Therapy has made me aware of many things I didn't know were problems.  It's been confusing and overwhelming.  In general, I don't consider myself to be messed up.  But therapy makes me think that perhaps I am.

My current issue is how to grieve for something that never was?  How do I grieve for something that only existed in my imagination?  My therapist has suggested that I should allow myself to grieve for the mother I wanted to be/the mother I thought I would be.

Part of the problem is that I can't really remember what kind of mother I thought I would be.  Most of what rattles around in my head is day to day failures.  Not comparisons to who I wanted to be, but perhaps to who I think I should be.  That's a never ending battle, no?

It's that perfect, loving, energetic and attentive mother.  That bitch.  She's the one I need to get rid of.  The judgement, the expectations, the disappointment she brings.  My task is to grieve not for someone who is gone, but someone who is still here, alive and kicking... kicking me in the proverbial nuts.  Someone I measure myself against.... someone who is a figment of my imagination.

Yes.  There you have it.  I'm fucked up.  I hate someone who DOESN'T EXIST.

It doesn't get any better than that... does it?

Project Continental

Why is it that so many moms seem to have such a better handle on their kids?

I write this as I hear my kids in the other room whining "I want a book!"  We had a pretty good day... as far as our days go.  We ended our day with a bath, and after that they turned into screaming demons.  Don't they say that a bath helps to calm your child down?  WTF?  I also put new winter bedding on their beds.  Something I remember as a child as being so comforting and warm.

I guess it doesn't have the same effect on my boys.

Probably the most frustrating part of motherhood for me is children not listening.  Saying the same thing over and over to deaf ears.  Raising my voice.  Even though I know that doesn't work.  How the heck do you get these damn kids to listen?  Is there a book out there to teach me?

So in order to relieve some of my stress, as usual, I turn to knitting.  I have sort of abandoned the two socks at once for now.  I got bored.  So today I decided to give Continental Knitting another go.

Why?

I feel drawn to it.  It seems to make more sense.  It's how my relatives do it.  I think it might be meant to be.  I have to give it an honest go.

English Knitting fits me well, for now.  My movements are smooth and rhythmic, my stitches even.  After a year of work on it... it's like crawling into bed after a long day.  It's soothing and welcoming and familiar.

So I'll always have that.  Even if Continental never works for me... I still have good old English.  

Exhaustion: I know you too well

What a week.

Overwhelmed after therapy this past wednesday.  It appears as though I may be more fucked up than I though.  Which kind of scares me.  I've always thought of myself as relatively normal.  To find that I need a lot of help to sort through my head amazes me when I think of the people I've come across in my life that are way more messed up than me.

Maybe we're going too deep.  Maybe I'm going to come out of this more messed than I was when I started.  Is that possible, do you think?

After 7 years of battling terminal cancer and an exhausting last week, Marcel's aunt passed away this morning.  I've never before had an opportunity to say goodbye to someone I knew was dying.  It's something that I struggle with.  Finding the words to say.  But I found it too be easier than I though.  I'm so glad I did it.  Marcel is too.

I watched her on three different occasions at the hospital struggling to breathe.  Each time she was having more difficulties.  I'm sad to see her go... but so very happy that she isn't struggling anymore.

Farewell, Gisele... take flight, just like a ladybug.  

Here's a thought

Hello Blog. 

Ahhh.  One session of provincially paid for therapy completed.  It went surprisingly well... and given my eagerness (at the moment) to become less fucked up, I find myself looking forward to the next session.  

Journalling is a form of therapy, I'm told.  And have been encouraged to do it in the past.  So here I am, Blog.  And you're going to hear a lot about knitting, I think.  My other form of therapy.  

So, am I nuts to think that I can teach myself how to knit two socks at once?  Are these damn strands of yarn going to untangle themselves and suddenly make sense?  But who doesn't want to find a way out of "Second Sock Syndrome"?  Here I go, once again setting out to conquer another knitting hurdle.  I haven't failed yet... so I plan to succeed.