Some people say that life is like a roller coaster. Mine is, or rather, what happens inside of me is like a roller coaster. One week content and satisfied and the next, not. As I journey through my life, trying to bring up confident children, trying to create a new career for myself as a coach or just manage to get through the day, I slip and slide between the two.
This week as been a “not” week so here I am On the Brink.
Standing on the edge of a very tall cliff.
Strapped to a glider.
Not knowing what I am doing, no one has taught me how.
Yet I am supposed to jump, leap, leave the safety of earth beneath my feet.
And my job is to NOT smash to the ground and crumble.
Stay in the air and get to my destination.
Navigate. Set a course. Live up to expectations.
I am scared to jump yet I have vertigo and standing on this edge is physically painful.
Nausea. Dizziness. Spinning.
It is unbearable to stay here and I must move.
The destination is too far away, I can barely see it.
I turn 38 this week yet for some reason I have already been thinking that I was 38 for a year now. I rarely feel my actual age (or even act it) and I like this fluid relationship I have with age. It allows me to avoid the “growing older” drama that society and the media tries so very hard to draw us into. I can find my own dramas all by myself so this is one area of my life where I don’t need any help.
So in honour of this occasion I thought I would try to write something about myself in 38 words. I think it only took me 38 seconds to do it so don’t get your hopes up. The point is, I achieved my goal: 38 words.
(for fellow pedants out there, the title is included in the word count and I count “that’s” as one word. What am I revealing about myself?)
My Life in Thirty Eight Words
Little feet, little toes
Bigger boobs and pointy nose.
That’s the way the outside goes.
Fertile soil for a brain,
Plant the seeds, let it rain.
That’s how I come alive again.
ok, you can’t google images for bigger boobs and planting seeds (well, you can but I wouldn’t) and I’m not very good at drawing so here is a Monet that caught my eye.
It’s a common occurrence that us parents take more photos of our first born than of all our other children combined.
It’s a combination of novelty, the undivided attention they can get and time (you don’t realise what little time you have in a day until you’ve got more than one kid).
I am no different than anyone else in this respect. My little S is growing up so fast and yet so little of her is captured in photographs or films.
We were going to the park the other day and she was running, her arms by her side and her hands flapping back and forth to help propel her forward. Enjoying her enjoyment I thought this would be great to have on film (then you could see just how cute her running style is) but I realised I didn’t have my phone. Yet another moment that will only be stored in my personal (and dodgy) memory bank, that only I can enjoy.
It reminded me of a clip I have of F as we walked to that same park. She pushed her toy buggy with a “sick” baby doll inside. She was the carer, taking this baby out for some fresh air.
I did have my phone with me that day and I have a great short film of it. In fact I have lots of short films of all the cute stuff she did.
Contemplating the difference in me regarding F and S, I have to acknowledge that in the early years with F it wasn’t just the novelty or time, in fact her care took more time than looking after 3 healthy kids. There was also a sense of urgency in me. An imperative to catch her on film because maybe soon that is all I would have left.
Phew, that was hard to say.
It was almost too painful to look upon her directly, without the filter of a camera in between.
I have always been dimly aware that I felt this way. It’s one of the reasons I crashed so hard when she finally started to be well for more than a few days at a time at the age of 3.
So little S I am truly sorry that I do not have more photos and films of you. Please know that I am not taking you for granted because you are healthy and expecting you to always be there. Because the future is not guaranteed and the angels could take you away just as easily.
You see, I am paying more attention to you. I am trying to focus on being with you now, joining in with you, no barriers. I have learnt something from you both about being a mum. When you look at me I want you do see me, not the camera.
I see you and you are great of spirit.
A clever clown who is sweet and kind.
A tough little lady who cries when she falls off the sofa and lands on her head (seriously, how can we stop this happening without tying you down?) Who then, with determination, goes back on that edge, carefully choosing a safe spot this time.
You are vocal about your displeasure (especially at the sofa for not being as wide as you imagined) and you shine brightly and shimmer with joy when you pat your tummy and say Yummy!
I have finally put photos of you up on the wall. It’s something that you have not noticed but has been a weight on my shoulders.
Last week’s post was about my “little leader of her own life”, F, who took charge and went off on a school trip for 2 nights. She’s 6 and a half and she packed her own bags and off she went to Elsloo. There wasn’t any of the faffing about that I sometimes do when I am nervous (do I have everything? what else should I take just in case…?) just methodical and fast.
So this is why independence is so important:
Hard truth: we will not always be there for them so they will have to get on with it at some point in their lives. Surely it is better to prepare them, bit by bit, rather than throw them in at the deep end when they are 18?
More positively: she had an amazing time! She loved it, was happy and felt confident. This is what I want for all my children.
In my work as a coach I see people who are courageously stepping up to live their lives they way they want to. In this journey, a metaphor I hold in my mind is that in these moments of choice, we are standing on a cliff edge, looking out to where we want to be on the other side of the canyon. It’s risky, stepping off that cliff and a great quote I heard once is this:
Little F was resolute, calm and practical. She prepared and leapt, without hesitation, knowing that she was going to get to the other side. She now wants to move the Elsloo.
Update on last week:
We received this card from F last Thursday and I love it because it is full of her character:
Fairness – everyone is included and named on the card
Love of patterns and order – alternating the colours of the letters
Love of variety – not all names follow the same pattern
Use what you have (my favourite) – the foam letters for her name: they didn’t have all the letters she needed so she made them herself using whatever foam letters were available
Accuracy!: below you can see she corrected the card when she got home:
She didn’t miss us so with an exclamation “Oh no, that’s not right!” she crossed out the words “Ik mis je” (I miss you). I burst out laughing. Sometimes this need for such precision drives me nuts but this time, it was wonderful.
She had a fantastic time and that makes me incredibly happy. She will be ok.
I’ve been struggling with writers block. I have a lot of thoughts going around in my head yet when I come to write… nothing.
So although I never intend to share photos on this blog, these photos are just saying more than I can. I think they are vague enough that you cannot actually see her face as she is now, and that is important to me.
Despite her sometimes paralysing fear of new situations, F has gone off on a 3 day trip with school. There will not be any phone calls home and she is ok with that.
She came home from school yesterday and packed her own bag. Using the “things to bring” list from school, she adapted it for her needs (2 pjs are just not enough so she took 4).
She mumbled that they will probably try and wash her hair and that will be a problem (that’s for a post still be written)
This morning she told us that she was going to miss us and we hugged. She even gave me a kiss (she hates kisses).
Then she wheeled her suitcase out to the bus and off she went.
I’m in awe. So proud and just can’t get my head around this to even think about all the things I want to say. She’s 6 and a half.
On Tuesday evenings a nurse comes to our house to look after F so that J and I can go out. We mostly go together and sometimes we each go our own way with friends. You know, try to have a social life.
This Tuesday I came home to find her on her chair in her room, wrapped up in her quilt. Eyes closed. Disturbed. Her bed was wet and so the bedding was being changed.
I stepped into the room to help out and the only thing she said was “can I go back to bed?”
Every night around this time we get her out of bed to take her to the bathroom. Due to Bartters Syndrome she pees so much that, even with super absorbent night pants, we can’t keep her clothes or bed dry without this nightly trip out of bed (and sometimes not even then).
I often wonder what it is like for her, to never be able to sleep through the night undisturbed. Never.
I think I got a bit of an answer when I saw her there on the chair, eyes closed.
amber rahim 