Torn

Torn between understanding and demanding.

Wanting more, wanting not to push away.

Torn between selfishness and selflessness.

Wanting it now, wanting to be patient.

Torn between silence and speech.

Wanting to expel my thoughts, wanting to remain private.

Torn between being me and being just me.

Wanting simply all.

Failing and flailing

Today was a day when I felt like both.

I felt disheartened at college as so many around me had received letters giving them interview dates, when so far I had none.

Sounding rather petty (yes I will admit to it), I wondered why I hadn't?

I seem to be doing very well at college and better than some.

My attendance is 100% and I've only ever been on time once, all the other days, I've been early.

So why haven't I heard anything?

What is so wrong with my CV that a university wouldn't at least want to interview me?

I've even had glowing reports from my tutors, who have high expectations of me (not sure why?)

And this afternoon, sitting in class, one of the girls who's attendance and level of work is not exactly up there, started talking about interviews.

And that was when I started beating myself up.

But more then that, I'm beginning to feel scared. I'm scared about what my future will hold, if I don't get on this degree course.

What path will I then have to take in order to succeed?

Am I being too single minded about the line of work that I want to be in?

The weight of my responsibility to myself and more importantly, my daughter weighs heavily upon my not-so strong shoulders.

I feel myself beginning to flail, as if drowning, not in an ocean but a mere inch of water.

And my child, as if with a 6th sense, begins to press all my buttons, simply by 'choosing' not to listen.

It's suppertime and no response.

It's time to put pajamas on and no response.

It's time to clean teeth and no response.

It's time to get into bed and no response.

There always seems to be something better for her to do with her time, then listen to me or to complete the task at hand.

Prompting me to scream and shout at her like a mad banshee, as she starts to shout and kick me in defiance.

Is it a case of 'picking my battles'? But I don't want everything to be a war, I'd like some peace and calm.

Is that too much to ask for?

If so, what is it that I am supposed to do?

Where is my potential safety net?

Is this what it means to be a grown-up and a mother?

Crap! What if I'm making a mistake? Or what if it all goes wrong and I'm not able to get funding?

What if this studying turns out be a tad too neglectful of my child. And rather than building a decent future, I'm doing the opposite.

I told a fellow student that she should go to bed a pessimist and wake up an optimist.

Perhaps I should follow my own advice.

Contact

Contact can mean so many things.

Staying in touch via all sorts of mediums, be it a mobile phone, landline, email, good old fashioned pen and paper or even webcam.

Wishing a stranger in the street good morning, could be the only contact that person has all day.

But my preference is simply paying someone a visit, popping round for a cup of tea and a chat.

Spending time in the company of friends.

Sitting around the table with the girls and a glass of wine.

Playing cards with my mother on a Sunday afternoon.

Or cuddling on the couch watching some dance programme with my daughter.

Contact is also about the things we touch.

The good deed that we do, that then reflects onto another's life.

The part that we play in everyday events, with the people that we meet in passing.

Never quite knowing what effect we might have on another individual, good or bad.

Thinking about contact with another reminds me of how I feel when I'm with DC.

The sense of physical closeness, being next to him in the car, on the couch, or in bed.

It is the feel of his skin on mine, whether we're lying naked or simply holding hands.

It is the sense of smell as I breath him in as we intently kiss, as if for the first time.

It is the softness of his skin across his shoulders, as I gently explore his curves.

It is the warmth of his cheek against mine.

Connecting with another human intimate or otherwise, takes different forms, that contact can mean so many things to many people.

My funny valentine

A couple of days late, but given with the sweetest words...

"A white rose for your softness and a red for our passion!"

Little girls loud

Oh my gosh!!!

On Sunday, I had 4 little girls running around my slightly small flat, screaming with glee and giggling with girlie laughter.

It was fab, well most of it was fab. The residual fallout afterwards was not pleasant. I was left with one very tired, hot little child who decided to disagree with everything.

She refused to help tidy up and why should she, when she had spent so much time creating such a chaotic state, after all this was hard enough work in itself.

No, all she wanted to do was lie, not even sit, on the couch, thumb in her mouth, watching the telly.

Well at least this was a somewhat peaceful activity after the earlier riots.

Bedtime came and went, another day passed and then arrived today, Tuesday.

This time I only had 3 little girls.

But the result was the same.

All three were ravenous, eating as if they'd been starved for months.

But the plus for both days is that the girls disappeared into my child's bedroom, closing the door and not reappearing until it was time to tidy up.

Tidy up time, now that's a different kettle of fish.

And I will leave that for your imagination as I'm sure you've all experienced this onerous task for yourselves.

Is it bedtime yet?

Please?

Panic

This week was full of little emotional highs and lows.

I felt like I was on a mini-roller coaster and it was NOT fun.

In my last post, I talked about time and I'm going to mention it again.

I do feel like time is running away from me.

I am half-way through my Access course and my University application has been processed, but now it is all about waiting. I have to wait for a letter asking me to come for an interview and that is where I'm coming undone.

I'm making the assumption that the 3 (well 2 really as I'm not that interested in the 3rd one) Universities will look at my application and want to interview me. My lack of confidence is screaming "why would they want to speak with me, when there are so many others with more experience/skills etc?" I was feeling like I needed to speak with my tutor, so I voiced my concerns about my future. I need to do this degree, I need to start working and building my career. I need to be able to support myself and my daughter. Going to University is a major part of the stepping stones that will enable me to succeed.

So I had a wobbly, spoke to my tutor who told me in no uncertain terms, to stop worrying as it was all out of my control.

After the hypothetical splash of cold water to my face, normal life resumed and I focused again on what I needed to accomplish in the here and now.

But I still feel and will probably continue to feel for sometime to come, that I have a weight on my shoulders, that of the responsibility of providing for another person, a dependent person.

It is a heavy load to bear, but one that I hope to do with a modicum of success and with a willingness that has no strings.

Time

Ok, so what does it mean to have time on my hands?

Please tell me, as I think I've forgotten.

Also, what is 'spare' time?

Does it mean that I have extra time?

And how do I define 'time is of the essence'?

Is 'timeless' when you have less of it?

I ask these questions because I'm struggling to manage my time.

For me, time is not a tangible thing. I'm not able to touch or see or smell it.

How do I manage it better then?

My life is so full of routine, with very little time for any variable.

Two alarms are set, one for Monday and Wednesday, while the other is for Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. We do not get home before 5.15pm every day of the week, with all the hours in between filled with to-ing and fro-ing between our two schools. Homework, housework, bath, supper follows with an almost regimented sense of timing. There is no easy flowing relaxed pace, it is all quick, do it now.

As I stood in my kitchen wolfing down a small bowl of granola, rushing to get out of the house, I managed to reflect on 'eating'. In searching through the miasma that are my thoughts, I tried to remember the last time that I sat, quietly and enjoyed a slow meal, able to savour the food.

I am currently sitting on my bed, listening to my daughter and her friend play happily in her bedroom and I realise that I am having 'time'.

Time to sit.

Time to rest.

Time to write.

Ahh...I wonder if this is what is meant by having 'spare' time?

It's the little things, that won't go away...

Oh my gosh, why me? My house is clean, the sheets are clean, we are clean, so why won't these bloody nits disappear?? Having exhausted the more traditional methods of using a lice removing ointment, I decided to try an alternative method.
A Scottish friend (who now has 4, yes 4, children) suggested using conditioner every night and combing through with a nit comb.
And Voila!!
I think it's working.
Hurrah!
Now if only I can get rid of my daughter's verruca.