It doesn't feel like a new year.
My resolutions are wishy washy or feeling too untainable. There has been no new feeling of excitement that it is a brand new year, full of surprises and goals. There doesn't feel to be any sort of renewal of self. The dreams that started in December every night merely meshed into January and are are more intense, more detailed, and just plain dizzying. They almost always are full of people and friends that I know. Actually, this week, the dreams include the men that I know, come to think of it. Go figure.
I have been awake by 5:30 am every day this week. My friend laughed last night when I said that the last shitty night of sleep was the best shitty sleep of the entire week of shitty sleeps.
It's hard being tired. Coffee, dear friend of mine, won't even work anymore. In fact, dare I say it's making me sleepier??? The horror..... But I'm functioning. We're functioning. Or at least I hope we are.
The other evening my son took two tantrums in public so fierce that it made me give him two time outs in a corner of a rec centre while a few other parents watched in amazement, disgust or boredom. Or they just related. Only one parent looked disgusted. She had two kids of her own and after the storm know as River had quieted, actually asked me if I was the nanny. Hmm...how does one take that in this situation?
So what? I gave a time out or two. Forcefully. I find with boys in particular, it's a control issue. They try to exert it and can or will exert it hard. Perhaps I am so worried of my only son growing up with the entitlement gene his father has that I over parent or over discipline. He certainly tests me when he isn't being his normal happy self.
He is almost four years old. And is much smarter and more aware. After a week spent with their father (or his family, I should say), I have been bombarded with questions that pop up after a week away from me. I have been asked: "Can Daddy sleep here some nights?", "If we move where will we move to while our house is being built like Daddy's was?" , "Can we all move into one house together?" , and my favourite, "Are you going to get married again?"
So we sit at the kitchen table for most of these discussions. I talk about what it all means to have parents not living together. Or at least, what I know it means from these last few years.
