Travel

All the time in the world. But no inspiration.

What Is The Hardest Part?

Is it the hour long drive, made even longer by going under speed limit so he has that much less time at that crazy Otherhome? 

 Is it the drop off? If Mama is there, it goes ok; Mama gets hugs and the latest news from Ourhome. If Daddy is there it's usually fine also. But if a different someone is there the faces grow long and tears start to well up in their eyes and it's so so SO hard to leave them in that situation. 

 Is it the drive home? Knowing that any minute now someone will probably start yelling at them, someone will start being neglected because it's hard for one person to give 4 extra needy, high maintenance kids the attention they need RIGHT NOW! 

Or maybe it's the next few quiet days. No screaming distractions, hour long bath/cleanup/eating struggles. Just bliss. Except, how is Kiddo doing? Is She getting enough sleep? Are they getting their homework done? Who's yelling at them today? Who's supposed to be responsible for them but instead they are getting their own food or spending hours at the TV/tablet? 

I got it. It's Friday evening when She and Kiddo arrive back at Ourhome from Otherhome. It starts already at pick-up. Guilty feelings because the 2 that are 'ours' always get to come but the others rarely do. And then on the way home, with one bugging the other or vice versa. The older one gets away with being older, the younger one gets away with being younger. And that irks both of them and they take it out on each other. And then the long evening of trying to get people thru the bath and into bed without too much crying and/or hitting. 

No, maybe the next few days, until She leaves for school. When they seem to be at each other the whole time and nothing ever goes right for either of them and then the rest of us suffer. Or maybe after She goes home and Kiddo doesn't have anyone to play fight with and you have to deal with a needy Kiddo while your mind is also wondering how She is doing back at Otherhome with whoever is stand-in parent for the day and how She's doing at school. 

Ha. Nope. You go it all wrong. The hardest part is actually myself. My agenda. The hardest part is saying 'I'm not going to go be with my friends tonight because Kiddo need me to give him an early bath and spend some quality time before bed.' The hardest part is dropping what you are doing and changing your plans because something (which is absolutely anything at this point) triggered the fight or flight mode and now She is distraught, not comprehending anything said, and is being what we think is completely irrational and believing things that are incredibly farfetched. The hardest part is me.

The Truth, Unreconciled

 A 13 second voice message. In the background, shouting. A 9-year-old in an abnormally thin, quavering voice, pleading. 'Come pick me up.' And then, 'I don't want to be here.' 

Backtrack a few days. The same 9-year-old, bullying her siblings. Getting mad at someone who can't figure out what they did wrong. Using an abnormally harsh voice. The truth is that that is how she has learned from adults at her other home. The truth is that it hurts to talk about it so it builds up inside and comes out in what looks like bullying and anger. The truth is that I can't fix her other home for her. I can only try to make this one a place of happiness. Of safety.

So, next time, I'll take a deep breath. Offer a hug. Remember that voice message and try to give words that break thru, and be an example. And love her.

Lovely Four-year-old Words

"Can I hug you? Because I missed you when I was at [my other] house."

Rainy Days

'Rainy days make me feel like dirt.' 

My head jerked up and I almost gasped out loud. I didn't hear the beginning or the rest of the conversation, but this comment caught my attention. Because I definitely do not feel like dirt on rainy days.

I love rain. I love rainy days. I wish for rainy days and sometimes I'm sad when the sun comes out after the rain. 

I think I partly love rainy days because of the endless possibilities. Sewing, reading, shopping, baking. That is if I can't go to work because of the rain. But even if I'm working inside and can go to work I have endless ideas of things to do at work. 

I also love rainy days because they are melancholy. I once read a saying that said 'sad is happy for deep people.' I don't know if I'm a deep person, but sad/melancholic things, like rainy days, make me happy.

 

Throwback

I don't actually like fireworks. Bold statement from a girl who stays up late to watch them and exclaim over them, I know. But they make my head hurt. I try, but I can't even get super excited about the glittery fuzzle that most of the fireworks end in. I may comment on the ones that are better than the worse ones, but mostly, while I'm watching fireworks, I let my mind wander. And if I do watch fireworks, I prefer to watch where I can block part of the bright lights with some trees or something with natural beauty. 

 This next part is the throwback part, originally posted in July of 2019. 

 

July[4] 

We sat up on those rocks together                      Not much disturbance, just me and her                Both of us awed by the situation                        The dark sky exploding with man’s creation  

Her eyes full of wonder, she uttered exclamations,                                                          As she waited and watched in anticipation        Of the booming, the splendour, the smoke, the sparks                                                                    That were man’s creations, blowing up, leaving their marks  

For me a different awe of disturbance and sadness                                                                 How does pollution and smoke fill one with gladness?                                                                The brightness and haze eliminated my view     Of the stars and the moon in that great vastness of blue  

Which one of us was correct? I wondered,         As man’s amazing creation covered up God’s splendour                                                                She sat there excited; I sat there in shame.       But her and I, we’re one and the same.

Lego Firetruck Helicopters

'Heeeey' whines a 4 year old voice from across the room for what feels like the 100th time. 'My Lego firetruck helicopter broke.' I want to say 'Kiddo, that's what happens when you make the bad guys push the good guys off the side of the table. Besides, there's no such thing as firetruck helicopters.' But instead I take a deep breath and think about this 4 year old and his 4 years of life.  

 

My mind takes me back to another day. A short video. Children playing. A woman's voice, first normal, but within a few seconds it's an angry voice. A loud, angry voice shouting expletives at cowering children who were just doing normal children things. And this little 4 year old boy sits, intently focused on the screen in front of him. The screen that is playing out normal life for him.   

 It's a hard life. The life where you never know which adult will erupt at you next for something you didn't know not to do, or something you tried, but failed, to do all on your own. A life where you hear about or watch fighting and ghosts and shooting on TV for a few days a week, and then at your other 'home' you are reprimanded for playing the same things you hear about and see. A life with a semi-normal routine between two homes that easily changes if suddenly you inconvenience one home or the other.  

I think about this all, and I realize that what Kiddo needs is security. That he's testing me to find out if I will be there when he needs me.  

 

So what do I do? I leave what I'm doing, give tearful Kiddo a smile and a hug, and go and rebuild that Lego firetruck helicopter.