This shadowy self portrait was taken the morning I left to come home. Usually it’s my kids who have a tough time with transitions, but right now it’s me. It was odd to spend time without them in the houses that I spent so much time in when I was little. I didn’t feel like a child, exactly, but I also didn’t feel like a grown-up 35 year old mother of four. Maybe I’m horrible, but I didn’t miss my kids. At all. I mean, if they’d suddenly appeared I’d have scooped them up and been happy to hug them, but I wasn’t pining away for them. I really needed the break and the sleep and the quiet and the conversation and the sleep. And the sleep! When I came home they were so loud and they were bickering and whining and I was shocked. I’ve been a total hard ass with them the past couple of days because I just can’t stand their behaviour. I’m not being mean, but I’m putting up with way less crap from them than usual. I know it’s only because I’m not so worn down, but I’m hoping to stick with the new, more whip-cracking me because the kids seem to be responding well.
Both my grandmothers are doing well. They both still live in the houses they built with my grandfathers, and things have stayed pretty much like they were when I was little. I wish that they didn’t have to live alone, but they both have friends and neighbors and family to help them and keep them company.
I decided when I came home that since Willow hadn’t nursed in a few days, now was the time to stop. She was generally just nursing at night, but she’s understandably sad about it. She’s not being demanding, just sad, which makes me feel bad. But, really, it is time. I’m just awful at letting go.
Last week before I went to Texas, I was at the grocery store and I swore I saw my brother shopping. I was just about to go give him a hard time, when I realized that it couldn’t be him because he moved away at the end of last year. And thinking about that still makes me get all teary.
So, I don’t know. I suppose that between all that stuff and some stupid health issues I’m having (I’m fine, just inconvenienced and on prednosone) and whatever, I’m pretty down. Then I get on my own case because I really ought to be counting my blessings instead of moping and that makes me more depressed.
Urk. This entry is like when I trim my own bangs and end up with a huge unsightly mess because I keep trying to get it right when I can’t. I’ll desperately look for something funny today. Anything!
I remember swinging from this post when I was little. It comes up to my knee.