A Sad Heart & Broken Pencil Crayons

This is another one of those probably-too-hard-on-myself things, but it is still my reality and so I'm going to write about it here.

I've recently learned a new name for my bullying myself. It's called harsh superego and it fucking sucks. But more on that another time.

I struggle as a mom to Baby D to give her all she needs to thrive. I have fairly extreme fatigue, I'm training for my second (YES - SECOND!!) triathlon, I'm working through abusive/narcissistic parent issues in therapy, and I have treatment-resistant depression and anxiety.

Before Baby D, I had a hard time getting up and out of bed. I've never had energy. I have never in my teens or adult life woken refreshed. Or ready to seize the day. EVER.

But that is the reality of my life, and my health and my body. So I zone out sometimes, I'm always tired, in chronic pain, and I'm fighting some serious demons from a really sad childhood. There are new revelations every day and it is just draining.

Is that an excuse to be a shit mom? NOPE. Am I ALWAYS a shit mom? NOPE. But I know I let the fatigue take over and I don't want to play on the play room floor or draw. The kind of things that Baby D's Aunts and loving Grandparents (read: not my father) would be all over.

It pains me to write it, but it's true. Playing in the play room is the last on my list of things I want to do. I love to snuggle her, and tickle and fling her around the living room. I love to bike with her, or pull her in the trailer. I love to walk with her, but she usually resists me like I've asked her to floss my teeth with live electrical wires. I love when she will just talk to me and ask questions and we can look at the world. We play pretend superheroes with our hands and she loves it. We can play board games or read as long as she is willing. But the play room. I hate the play room.

I used to like to sit on the floor or draw, but she has a way of making me just sit and watch. Or I get a feather to play with and she gets the good toys, lol. I used to love to draw but she stopped working with me. I lost interest fast.

So today I sat in the play room while I was doing some bill payment/internet-y stuff (no, not porn). We talked while she drew and she told me what she was doing and showed me her work. It seemed like a decent compromise. I noticed a few of the pencil crayons she picked up were worn down.

Then, it was off to swimming lessons. Usually I do laps at the same time, but I'm recovering from the flu and just getting her to the pool took gargantuan effort today.

Fast forward to tonight. She was in bed. I'm still having post-surgery pain from February of last year. Yeah. I really wanted to sit in a hot epsom salt bath, but I figured I would stay downstairs to keep our senior, borderline dementia dog company for a while. Buy a few hours for later when he barks for company in the middle of the night.

And I remembered the pencil crayons.

I grabbed the sharpener I bought specifically for keeping those babies at the ready, and went to the play room to find a few.

All but five were broken off or worn down. And it hit me hard.

It might not seem like much, but it actually says a lot.

If I had drawn with her, even just one of the last six times the kid had asked me to.... when I was tired and late off the draw, scrambling to make dinner in reasonable time... when we got back from somewhere after I'd exercised and I was feeling utterly spent... when the laundry pile was overflowing onto the floor and couldn't be ignored anymore... when I had to clean up the dog's incontinence for the third time that day and start bleaching down the floors... when she had been previously been giving me all of the threenager sass and attitude I could stand and I just needed some separation from her... when I desperately just needed to finally eat and maybe rest on the couch for 20 minutes...

All those times that it would have taken a little extra effort, but not THAT much effort...

I would have seen that she couldn't even draw with them. I didn't give her that time. I didn't give her even a few minutes to draw. And that's not okay.

Yes she had crayons overflowing, and the few markers left that were miraculously capped and not dried out. But the pencil crayons were my love when I was a kid, and I gave them to her. And then I ignored her and them.

I will never catch up to the housework. I will never be clutter free, or a good cook. I feel so much guilt around not being better domestically and keeping on top of things. But this kid is only going to want to draw with Mommy for a while. She will only be this little, and this creative and interactive NOW. I keep hoping that soon I'll "feel better" and have more energy. The reality is that she deserves the energy I have, and we will NEVER get this time back together.

Tomorrow we're going to fucking draw. You bet your ass. With a boatload of sharp, fresh pencil crayons.


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Vacation Follies Part 1 (The Dog Kennel: Pre-Departure)

So our adventure started around 7am on Christmas Day (after me leaving packing until the very last second on Christmas Eve. Which was on the heels of me leaving wrapping ALL of the presents to the last minute before my family Christmas. See a trend? No, me neither).

We sleepily (and for me, coupled with anxiety, begrudgingly) turned off the snooze buttons and alarm clocks and hauled our tired asses out of bed. BF and I hurriedly exchanged gifts knowing that we were under the gun for time, and had yet to take Schultzy to his luxurious little doggy kennel ( --insert heavy/guilty feelings of dread for said activity here-- ).

I am NOT a bad parent pet-owner, I am NOT a bad parent pet-owner...

It went so quickly that it seems a blur (maybe that was all those gross goobery eye crusties I hadn't yet had the time to wipe away... one never really knows these things). I do remember, though, that BF got me a fancy-schmancy red rice cooker (very wild for him, if you ask me, the kitchen has black and silver appliances** - thanks babe!!). And to top it off, he surprised me with this wicked-ass red coat I had drooled over when I was at Winners (during the sad shopping trip mentioned here.) He had talked me out of buying it over the phone, at my request. He actually bought at least 5 or 6 coats to try to find one that would work.

I cried at the thoughtful surprise (the first tears to come of the day).

We loaded up Schultz (and his bed, and his comforter, and his leash, and his muzzle, and his two favourite stuffed animals, and...) to head to the boarding kennel, The Escarpment Pet Retreat, where I had previously talked to the male owner repeatedly to make sure we were good to go, confirm the time we would bring our baby dog, and make sure we could see where he would be staying and the set up of the kennel.

When we got there, the female owner was rude and defensive within the first minute. She refused to let us see where Schultz would be staying. She swore once or twice. I got VERY upset, as I discussed (through tears) that the male owner had said, and I quote "any reputable kennel will allow you to see the premises and have a tour unless they have something to hide."

Hmph. The male owner was not there.

The female owner then refused us entry to the kennel area, insisting we would upset the other dogs, then she told us that we "clearly don't give a shit about animals" if we wanted to go into the kennel area. All the while staff members walked back and forth, in and out, with minimal upset to the dogs. (For those of you living under a rock, I love animals, I adopt animals, I don't eat animals, I am a goddamn bleeding heart for animals, just FYI. I am no saint, but I certainly give a shit!)

I looked at BF and begged/pleaded/asked the impossible question of taking the dog somewhere - anywhere - else, but we both knew we were screwed.

It was 9:30am on Christmas Day, we have a huge sometimes-aggressive Great Dane, and we needed someone to take care of him while we were gone on our trip (which we were scheduled to depart for in 30 minutes). The female owner made it clear that she would be quite fine if we were to leave and go somewhere else. She encouraged it.

The rage bubbled inside.

Our lovely boy, Schultzy Poo

So, through heavy sobbing I had to leave before I said something warranting the female owner to kick us out altogether. I had to bite my tongue. I felt horrible. But we had no friends willing to watch him for that long, and my parents were coming with us. So we were screwed.

I went back in to say goodbye and we had to leave. I cried the whole way home.
I cried at home, gathering and packing my last few trip items.
I cried on the way to the airport.
I cried silently on the first leg of the flight.

I felt like the worst pet owner ever.

YAAAAY! Great start to the vacay!

** - I just found out on Wednesday that this rice cooker was purchased with the intention of only EVER being on the counter when in use, then being hidden away otherwise (since it is red). BF loses "crazy & wild" points on that one.


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