metaphortunate son

Look, kid. I don't like you and you don't like me. But we're stuck with each other for at least the next eight years*. So let's try to compromise and work together to get through this as easily as possible.

…no, no, no. Of course I don't say that to the Junebug, for a million reasons, and the fact that it wouldn't work even a little bit is of course the least of those reasons. What is real, though, is that the bit where I was his favorite parent has ended. Remember back when I was like nine months pregnant and it was tears if daddy insisted on carrying him up the stairs instead of mama? Yeah those days are long gone. These days, if I come to the door of his room - not actually IN his room - to ask what he wants for breakfast, he sobs so hard he goes fetal. "Don't come, Mama!"

I have extremely mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, of course……ouch. On the other hand…you mean I have to spend more time with the Flumpy Baby of Squishy Adorableness, and Mr. E has to do more coping with the Twoddler** of Whyyyy and Don't Wipe Me and But NO!? Uh…oh no, Br'er Fox, that sounds terrible. ¬__¬

The chill out project has been, uh, tested this week. Man, I know that an extremely privileged life doesn't mean that shit never happens, it means that you have the resources to cope with what life throws at you. I was trying to remind myself of that when I was standing outside of a closing daycare with two kids, staring at the big empty backseat of the car where I forgot to put the carseat back, with the Junebug unceasingly asking me "Why you forget the carseat, Mama? Why?" We did get home, though, and the car didn't even get towed or anything. And I have been doing a lot of thinking about this poem:
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I know about the tigers, I know about the cliff, I know about the mice. But I am trying to notice the moments when they are all in the future, and what I have, right now, just in the present, is a momentary strawberry. A moment when I'm driving alone and I see the eucalyptus trees in the fog. A moment when I'm playing with Rocket and he's beaming. A moment when the kids are both asleep and Mr. E is hugging me. These good moments.


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*I think ten is the earliest you can go to boarding school

**Perfect word invented by veek

No doubt you've seen that article going around about Why Mom's Time is Different From Dad's Time. I was thinking about that, and about why it is that, like, almost every goddamn woman I know is in therapy. And the men, by and large, aren't.

And then a friend of mine posted that link on FB, and commented,

"I'm here to tell you, though, that, despite my husband's *excellent* attentiveness and support, day and night, I don't think he could do any more to offset my emotional load.

...

What I do is all I can, and it will never be as much as my children, my husband, my friends and my clients deserve."

And I'm thinking:

When her husband does all he can, that's all he can do. That's just the way it is.
When she does all she can, it will never be as much as the people in her life deserve, she will always be letting someone down.

Is this why we're all in fucking therapy? Because I have to say: fuck that, fuck that, fuck it fuck it fuck it I am putting that idea down like the filth it is. FUCK. IT.

From that article:

Being compelled to divide and subdivide your time doesn't just compromise your productivity and lead to garden-variety discombobulation. It also creates a feeling of urgency—a sense that no matter how tranquil the moment, no matter how unpressured the circumstances, there's always a pot somewhere that's about to boil over.

Coincidentally, I had actually noticed that precise thing in myself the weekend before that article came out. I had pointed it out to Mr. E: that I am having a hard time enjoying the moments when things are good, because I am constantly feeling that they are about to blow up. Rocket is about to start crying. The Junebug is about to hit him with a spoon. It seems like a quiet afternoon, but Christ we'd better do like 15 loads of laundry if we want the kids to have clean clothes for Monday and if we want that to happen in time for a decent bedtime we have to start now.

Which is true….and it isn't. The thing about the laundry? Totally true. The thing about the Junebug hitting Rocket with a spoon? Not true at all. He never has. Never even tried. The thing about Rocket being about to start crying? Well, probably - I mean, babies cry, yes! But is it worth stressing about before it happens? Probably not, because babies cry, and we will deal with it when it happens! So, I think I am stressing too much!

So I am trying something different. I am trying to deliberately let go of that constant fight-or-flight vigilance that doesn't seem to help at all because I shouldn't be doing either. I am trying to notice and relax into the times when things are actually fine. I figure there are a few options:

1) It turns out that constant heightened stressed awareness is not necessary in order to maintain my mental tally of what needs to get done. If I let it go, there is no downside. Win!

2) It turns out that constant heightened stressed awareness really is necessary in order to maintain my mental tally of what needs to get done. If I let it go, things don't get done. They turn out to be relatively unimportant things. The house and our lives may get more disorganized, but we'll probably be happier overall. Qualified win!

3) It turns out that constant heightened stressed awareness really is necessary in order to maintain my mental tally of what needs to get done. If I let it go, things don't get done. They turn out to be important things. The kids suffer for it. Mr. E and I explicitly acknowledge that someone has to take on this constant heightened stressed awareness in order for these important things to get done, and it shouldn't be just me. We figure out how to share it. Win, at a cost, but win!

4) It turns out that constant heightened stressed awareness really is necessary in order to maintain my mental tally of what needs to get done. If I let it go, things don't get done. They turn out to be important things. The kids suffer for it. Mr. E and I explicitly acknowledge that someone has to take on this constant heightened stressed awareness in order for these important things to get done. We try to share it, but it turns out that it works best for just one person to maintain that tally. Whoever doesn't do it starts taking on more of other different tasks, so that the workload is more equal. Win!

I'll try to remember to let you know how it goes.