November 14th, 2007 §
Today was a good day. Big Sis let me wallow in the bath for two hours, a thing I miss being able to do terribly since becoming a mum. It gave me time to wake up, and time to read. I used to read whole books in the bath at least a couple of times a week. Having a shower just doesn’t cut it, not that having a shower is that much easier as a mum anyway. By the time he goes down for a nap, the day is half over.
And then I said to myself, We’ll go out for coffee, which sadly around here means McCafe. All other coffee machines are half an hour away. There’s not a big market for espresso when residents either spend all their dole money on drugs, booze and cigarettes or are nice, quiet folk, never seen on their neat front lawns but when they are taking their bins out.
So I got to read half the paper while Caspar demolished a raspberry friand. We should do that more often. There is nothing better than a newspaper and real coffee, out in the world in the morning. Unless you add Eggs Benedict and quiet company to the scenario. That is my idea of heaven. Even if it’s in a pretty average part of the world, it’s enough to make me feel like myself.
And then the sun came out and Caspar and I just had fun. I can’t even remember what we did now. But it was genuine, unadulterated fun.
It would be nice to think that just having a bath and a coffee would fix everything, but I know that even if I do just behave my way to feeling better, whatever is screwing with my head will just come back to bite me on the ass later. This might not be a perfect way to look at it but, personifying depression, making my head seem perfectly fine is just as much a tactical advantage for him as making my head seem scary and explosive. He is maintaining his existence. He knows he’s here for a reason and there is a little war going on; a psychological immunological challenge. He that annoying guest who doesn’t know when to leave, that annoying prankster who doesn’t know when to stop.
The truth is, it was nice to have a little space where my mind let the go of the things I need to do. But I still need to do those things. It’s a vicious cycle and I need to reverse the polarity of it.
Even just writing this now, that sick, overburdened sensation is returning, kicking hard against the idea that I deserved to do those things today when I have so much to get done; when I’ve turned Big Sis’ house into a disaster area, when the nappy bucket is overflowing, when calls haven’t been returned, when I’ve screwed up my university application and, most importantly, when my house is still standing derelict waiting for me to pack up all my shit and fix it up and sell it so that I can be out of debt and Big Sis can have her space back and Caspar can have the life he deserves.
I notice that I said Caspar, not Caspar and I. Obviously I don’t think I deserve it. Why not? Because it is there for the taking and all I have to do is do it. It really is that simple. Instead, I fail to do it, beat myself up, and fail some more. It’s not good.
Mr. D doesn’t get the fine distinction between building up some resources in order to get things done, and not getting things, so I have to fight him on that point. Calling him Mr. D probably takes away some of his credibility. That’s a start.
Slowly, slowly.
And then there is the other work to do; addressing all the other things in my head that got me to this point in the first place. They are harder to grab hold of and require me to withdraw from the real world and move in other realms. It is an unsolvable puzzle, having to do both of these things at once. I am pulled in two different directions trying to reach the same goal.
I’ve done a silly diagram of that too, and made up a silly name for it.
It’s funny, of all the things I’ve read in my life, I’ve never studied depression at all. But this is how I understand it. Chicken and Egg. Catch 22. So I tell myself that time out is work toward the goal, and tell myself that the tiniest practical achievement is a step toward the goal, and I tell myself that the most useless seeming thoughts, the non-thoughts even, are a step toward the goal. And that is all I can do. If something is in pieces, it needs to be fixed piece by piece. It is hard to do such intricate work, balanced on a wire, when the problem feels so large. And when you can’t think clearly.
It’s hard to know whether a good day is good, because Mr. D is always on your back. But can you really tell when Mr. D isn’t right? Can you really tell when the choices you make are right? Making time for yourself is good, but it carries with it the danger of procrastination, of drawing out the problem. Especially these days, when Because You’re Worth It is an advertising slogan propping up the most empty, self-deceiving way of living. How do I really know when I am deceiving myself? Self-doubt hurts.
Then again, self-doubt is good. Because when you lose yourself, your mind becomes rigid. It closes itself to new ways of looking at things. It closes itself to the possibility that you are wrong. And then it tells you you are wrong all the time, when your brain no longer has the elasticity to defend itself.
This is beginning to sound like an essay rather than my thoughts. I am trying to untangle them. Usually I write a working title when I start a post, and then change it at the end when I know what I have said. I think I’ll leave this one.
When is a good day good?
Like the stuff in my mind, when it comes to the stuff in my life, I have to accept the shadow of that reality as well. I mostly live with the head in the clouds, and I find a lot of things there worthwhile and meaningful. I prioritise them. But other things get missed along the way and it is a fine line between the clouds and the sand. Nothing is safe. Nothing is right. There are always things you have to choose between. I have to be careful. I have to be watchful. I have to find a way to differentiate between action and avoidance. Anything and everything has the possibility of being either.
Still, I think today was a good day.
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November 13th, 2007 §
Yes, one of those practical things. I’ve never been good at the practical things. I said to myself when I started this journey that I would try to eat well, try to take in some sun, go to bed before midnight and conquer one little task a day. It’s now midnight, and I’m not hungry, but I’ve only just realised that all I had to eat today was the other half of Caspar’s cheese and vegemite sandwich. I’m pretty sure that’s not healthy. I had two glasses of milk though. Does that count? I don’t think so.
I need to pay attention to the physical things. I need to have breakfast. I need to not stay here for another hour, just to write I don’t even know what, even though I want to. Because that would be no more balanced than today’s food intake. Errgh. I shall force myself to go to bed. And in the morning, I shall force myself to make having breakfast a priority. If that is the only task I conquer for the day it will be a job well done.
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October 26th, 2007 §
So now, after writing about my neurotic lack of coping with the first birthday party, I should probably record here what the party was actually like.
It was held here at Big Sis’ house in the front yard and there was no need to worry about rain. The weather caused a me a little concern, though. 33° (92° fahrenheit) is way above the average for October and raised the spectre of last year’s bushfire season, which burned out 1.1 million hectares. Later, watching California burn, I couldn’t help but think of the continuing drought and what may come with the summer.
After collapsing into bed the night before without finishing all my preparations, there was a lot to do in the morning but between Big Sis, B and I, nearly everything was done on time and Caspar was kept amused outside by B’s twins and the Jolly Jumper Big Sis and B had bought him for his birthday. The kids were impatient for the party to start and I locked them out of the house while I decorated the cake I shouldn’t have put off making to the day of the party.
When P (the other half of The Odd Couple in the house behind us) arrived with his two girls, we fired up the BBQ straight away although nobody else was here yet. The kids had been patient and were hungry. I had taken the little red table I bought secondhand as part of Caspar’s birthday gift of crayons and drawing pads outside and all the children sat around him there, fussing over him and playing with his hair, as girls are wont to do.
Caspar, like the far-too-advanced boy he is, sat on his yellow chair and fed himself, not at all bemused by the female attention. He has become accustomed to it. Indeed, I think he expects it. Not long after that a couple of my friends arrived and took a seat in our circle of big-people chairs. I, of course, flapped around a little trying to make sure everyone had something to eat and drink, not quite relaxed yet.
One thing I have been consistently amazed by since becoming a mother is how many hands and eyes are there to divert and watch over Caspar while I try to get things done. This assistance seems to be instinctual on the part of parents and non-parents alike and it is carried out so graciously that there is no need for words. I read so often of mothers, especially single mothers, overwhelmed by their parenthood so I must believe myself fortunate in this respect but I can’t help thinking that this is the way it should be. I do not think the days of community in childrearing are dead and gone.
So I had a chance to sit and talk and eat while Caspar belonged to everybody.
And then, of course, the cake. With the wind, it was impossible to keep the lone candle lit but it didn’t matter. Caspar would not have been able to blow it out anyway. He could, however, recognise that the slightly sad looking giraffe with its bright yellow icing was something good to eat and we had to move it away to be dished out as he tried to grab the whole lot of it for himself.
Not long after that, the children went home and Caspar went down for a nap, pink in spite of slathers of sunscreen and warm in just his nappie and a singlet. My friends and I cleared away the dishes outside and sat in the lounge talking over a glass of wine. Later, K, the friend that I had lost, arrived and I woke Cas from his sleep so they could meet each other. A bit bleary eyed and wobbly, it didn’t take him long to start turning on his charm and show off all his skills, running around, waving, clapping his hands and putting his hands on his head. And my favourite… Dancing. He’s been head-banging since before he could sit up, and his repertoire of moves just keeps growing. He can move up and down, shift his weigh from foot to foot as he sways, stomp, writhe and spin around in circles. He’s got rhythm and whenever he hears music, he starts rocking.
And then of course, the afternoon grew late and it was time for people to leave but it was lovely having that quiet time with my three friends, and Caspar loved having all the company. There were no tears and no stress on his part.
We had a quiet evening, B cooking up the last of the meat on the BBQ and Big Sis and Cas and I eating with him at the table in the garage as the sun went down and the air cooled. Caspar sat at the big table with us, for the first time in the portable booster seat which was my first birthday present from Big Sis and B.
I tasted the cake then, a recipe I hadn’t used before but I had been assured by the party guests that it was good. I wasn’t too impressed with the giraffe I had made, but for a first effort, without any guiding instructions, it was good enough. I’m sure the cakes I make will get fancier as the years go by. Until the day Caspar tells me to stop making him such silly things. One day he will be protective of his young man’s dignity.
The cake was good! I mean, really good! And so easy. I used a simple tea cake recipe (3 quantities) and blended it in the food processor. It only took 5 minutes. Try it at home and just brush it with some butter then sprinkle on a layer of cinnamon or coffee sugar. Because, really, virulent yellow icing is not that appealing to adults.
Tea Cake
60g butter
1 tsp vanilla essence
1/2 cup castor sugar
1 egg
1 cup self raising flour
1/3 cup milk
Cream butter and essence. Add sugar, then egg, and mix until creamy. Add flour and milk and mix until smooth. Bake in a moderate oven for 25 minutes.
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September 30th, 2007 §
That’s right. I am out of the netherworld and the monitor is on!
After my old one blew a gasket, I spent days in purgatory. The official definition of purgatory is no access to your hard drive and the punishments are thus…
- No music – My CDs are packed but I have them all on iTunes
- No feedreader – I don’t like the online ones and use the Brief extension for Firefox.
- No email – Not entirely true, but I hate reading web-based email.
- No address book – A fairly heinous punishment when you only have a couple of weeks to organise a 1st Birthday Party
- No passwords – Not even for my blog and blog stats. I had to reset them all.
- No bookmarks – Again, I hate online services. Are you noticing a theme?
- No photos – Printing a years worth of baby photos will happen when I sell the house.
- Limited computer time – Big Sis doesn’t like me using her computer until 3am. It’s in her bedroom.
- No personal space – It’s my desk and my desktop. My room of my own. I like it there.
This is not an exhaustive list, but thanks to the kindness of strangers… Okay, not strangers. Big Sis’ BF, B, collected a monitor for me today from a friend who never uses it. There was some worry, given the great age of my computer, that it would not be compatible with my video card but it was needless worry. Like I said… Plug ‘n’ play mama! Oh, the sheer joy of seeing that screen which said Windows Loading. Who would have thought that Microsoft could ever give me joy?
It was my intention to do some major work, catching up and backing up but I was invaded this morning by other people’s children. They happily sat on stools in the kitchen while I scrubbed the oven and the cupboard doors and mopped the floor.
Yes, I am totally THAT cool.
They even stayed despite my refusal to let them watch the Grand Final on television. Australian Rules football, like Microsoft, is the spawn of Satan. Instead, I taught them how to knit and bankrupted them both playing Monopoly.
One would imagine that when I sent them home for dinner and put Cas to bed, I would be free to indulge my internet addiction. But no.
Their dinnertime marked the return of Big Sis and B from the pub. B is one of the most wonderful men on the planet. He works hard and he is a phenomenal father. He is completely down to earth, completely an Aussie bloke, yet he is as sappy as a school boy when it comes to Big Sis. He works in construction and his favourite book is the dictionary.
He loves words and when he’s had a few beers, he likes to use them. All of them. Especially the big ones. He mashes up the English language in a phenomenal way, but with such enthusiasm, you can’t help but listen to him. Listening to him is like reading Jabberwocky.
So my night up until 11:30 was not the night I’d planned. While Big Sis watched TV, B wanted to read my poetry, then he wanted me to show him a million other things on the world wide web, like his father’s artwork, which as you can see is beautiful. He also wanted me to introduce him to the wild and wonderful world of YouTube.
This particular video caught both our attention. Watch it. It’s a cack.
So this is all you guys will get tonight. I’ll be catching up tomorrow. Unless I am inundated by children again.
The Pied Piper can’t compete with my cool factor.
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