When we moved into our last place, I noticed a rag slung over my neighbor's fence, primarily because whenever I went to do my dishes I'd have nothing to look at through the window but my neighbor's fabulous above-ground-pool and the rag. ("Fabulous" is me being sarcastic because above-ground-pools are not fabulous. They are ugly. Unless you are sitting in one on a hot summer's day. Then I suppose it may feel a little fabulous.) I lived in that house for eighteen months. The rag was never moved, but it was beaten by one of the worst Kansas winters I've ever known and bleached by the sun in an equally intense summer.
I've thought of that little rag these last two weeks because I am that rag. Motherhood has rung me out, hung me out to dry, and blasted me with all its extreme elements. My son did beautifully during the first month of our move, but I suppose something clicked and he realized that...
This isn't a vacation! This is FOR REAL!!
And well...hmmmm. My naughty, naughty little boy. There were times I was sure that one of us was insane. And of course, I questioned all I ever knew or learned about mothering because suddenly I was clueless. I spent a lot of time on the phone with my mother who is wise, and I wish I can take the mothering parts of her brain because her kids are grown and she's not really using those parts right now. It's only fair.
However, whenever I'd put my son to sleep (and then he'd get up and then he'd get up again and maybe he'd get up a third or fourth or fifth time) the FIRST thing I wanted to do was lose myself in my own little Pieces of Moon world. All this stress really fueled my desire to write. (It also fueled my desire for chocolate chip cookie dough.) I've been writing again, more than before, and really, really enjoying it. So I suppose there is a silver lining, but I'd prefer something other than mothering madness to get me there.
The storm may be over now. The last couple of days I've watched it blow off with only a little residual lightning. My son is doing much better. For example, he is no longer waking up and yelling, "Mommy won't look at my face!" (That from my attempt of ignoring naughty behavior the day before.) (Isn't that sad? After he did that, I lay down next to him and looked at his face.) And the best part is...my mom flies in tomorrow morning. Enough said.