Project Awesome

Making my life more awesome

You’re right, I’m never happy. But thank you for asking.

on April 4, 2013

Knowing, as I do, lots of Christians, my facebook news feed over the weekend was filled with status updates along the lines of ‘it’s Friday… But Sunday’s coming!’.  For me, this past weekend has been ‘it’s Saturday, but Tuesday’s coming’.  I have crawled through my life, just holding out for Tuesday.  Every single activity has been an almost inhuman effort.  I have been irritable with my children.  I have pissed off my family with my grumpiness.  Getting up has been hard.  I can’t think past the end of each day or plan for the next one.

I have never felt like this before about handing my children over to Ex-Husband.  Not that I was looking forward to it, or wanted to be without them. But I craved it, like the longing for a cup of tea during a hectic day (yes, I am getting old).  Ex-Husband has been on holiday over Easter, so I had them for ten solid days, with small breaks to go into work to do my currently-busy-and-stressful-job and then rush home again and pick up the children.  Oh, and Small Girl has been teething, or poorly, or just plain clingy.  So most nights I was up with her three times in the night.  And Big Girl has started night terrors – not badly, but it’s not fun.  So I was exhausted and desperate for just a little time with no demands on me.  Oh, and some sleep.

We went to Ikea for a coffee morning.  Ex-Husband picked the girls up.  And it *was* really nice to sit and chat without worrying about Small Girl escaping like a ninja from the play area (she has done this a couple of times recently.  It starts with noticing that she isn’t where I thought she was.  Then I look around the play area, then the restaurant, then into the toilets, the shop, the childrens’ area, the bit by the lift.  And then back to the play area.  First I wonder where she is, where she has wandered off to.  And then, suddenly, I wonder if someone has taken her, and there is a fear like nothing else, and I can see a whole life ahead of me coloured by the absence of Small Girl, and no idea how I would explain this to her father.  And then, suddenly, she is found and I pick her up and just hold her and hold her).  And then I wander round Ikea marvelling at the experience of looking at things I am interested in without also trying to stop Big Girl and Small Girl picking up everything in sight while running in two different directions or lying on the floor and screaming.

And then that feeling creeps up on me.  You had three bags of shopping and now you only have two: which shop did you leave the third in? You came here to do something: what was it? Where is your handbag? You were just going to say something but you can’t remember what.  That nagging sensation of something missing, something forgotten, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

And every so often, even when I’m going out, I’m having fun, I’m enjoying myself, I’m being purposeful and achieving things, I am plunged into icy water; my breath is taken away from me.  My children are not here and I feel desolate.

I miss them desperately. Amidst the opportunity to have an evening out with friends, or eat my dinner at my own pace without sharing, or make something, or sleep all night, I wish my children were here.  But the crawling, crawling through life on no sleep and no brain: I’m not sure I can live with that either.

No, I’m never satisfied.  But Thursday’s coming, and so are my children.

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