It is bucketing down outside. Winter has arrived in full throttle. Jay is at our house for the week and we are both lounging in the family room under blankets with a dog each curled up close to us.
JC has refused to go to school, not because of the weather, but because of a homework detention he has after school. I have already warned the school that this punitive approach will probably not work with him, and, admittedly, because of the weather ,I give in to his whining to stay at home. By way of “good” parenting, I remove his iPod, playstation and computer mouse so that the only form of entertainment he has is the television. He has used a tummy ache as an excuse to stay home. I tell him that being ill he won’t need the technology and that TV is about all his stomach will stand. Within an hour, he is doing his homework. I feel better with my decision to let him stay at home.
The school has messaged me. JC has been marked absent from school, please phone this number. I don’t like dealing with people on the phone. I don’t much like dealing with people full stop at the moment, so I opt not to phone the school. I will email Branna, his special needs co-ordinator. She can pass on the message.
I am reading “The Hunger Games” trilogy. I did not want to read the books, but got caught up with the hype when the film was released and bought the book. Surprisingly, I am enjoying the book. I have it on the kindle app on my phone and so read it wherever I can. I started it two days ago and should finish it by the end of tomorrow, time allowing. It isn’t as blood ridden as the movie, I feel, although the insinuation is there so I understand the need for the producers to put the graphic scenes into the movie. I like Suzanne Collin’s style of writing. She writes, in these books, much like I do. I find it easy to read and succumbing to the escapism is easy for me. It is good to be so relaxed.
I tried to start reading The 7 Habits of Highly Successful People the other day, but my mind could not concentrate on the rhetoric, although that which I did read made a lot of sense. I guess after twenty or so years of trying to “find” myself, I am a little “self-helped” out. I think I am beginning to accept my status quo and to sit contently within it. I say that with trepidation as I am prone to feeling this way today and on a spiritual quest to find myself tomorrow. It is difficult to keep up with myself sometimes and I know that those around me find it even more difficult. My sister-in-law describes me as lost, which I take to mean a lost soul, always searching. She is not wrong in her summation of me, though I resent her for speaking it out loud and for saying it to me. No-one likes to be told how they don’t measure up. I have retired The 7 Habits for a while, anyhow.
Jay decides to go for a shower. Her tummy is big and round and I imagine baby C being quite big now. Certainly a lot bigger than the 1.065 kilograms he was only 4 weeks ago. Jay is worried about her stretch marks. I ask her to imagine them as the marks of someone who has brought a new life into the world, like a rite of passage, something to be proud of rather than as a blemish upon her skin. The look in her 19 year old eyes tell me I’m mad for even trying this tack. I go out and buy her some Bio Oil to rub on the marks. I tell her they will fade. She is worried she won’t be able to wear a bikini ever again. I can’t believe on a day like today we are even talking about swimming.
I am tired today. The force of the rain kept me awake all night and I am struggling to keep my eyes open. I feel like I have been a hermit all week, although this is not true. Today, though, I am happy to be holed up inside the house. Looking at the grey, wet clouds outside, I know I do not want to venture outside at all. I wonder if I should allow myself a nanna nap. I seem to be nanna napping a lot lately, but today seems such a perfect day for one.
Jay wakes me when it is time to cook dinner. She wants to help, but I am not doing anything flash – sausages and chips – so her help is not needed. She is so much like my mom, a natural cook, unlike me who likes the idea of being a Nigella Lawson, but in reality abhors being in the kitchen.
Dee arrives home. It is still horrible and cold outside, but the house is warm inside. Dinner, as unremarkable as it is, is eaten in its entirety. We follow this with a good helping of dessert. It has been an uneventful day. Cold, miserable. Days like this, where unproductivity is the order of the day, makes me question the reason for my existence. It is a quick, slippery slope for me when I start feeling this way. I try to make sense of my world and the role in it that I play. I tell myself that I make a difference, however small, and that I am needed.
As I rest in bed, feverishly reading my Hunger Games book, I wonder about my purpose. I wish I could write with such fervour, with such eagerness. I wish I could be an accomplished author. I wish, I wish, I wish…