Lockdown Day 30.
‘Cat is very keen on being on my notebook…
Apparently it’s International Stationery Day today, perhaps I should buy something?’
Lockdown Day 34
‘Dr Reid said I shouldn’t take more than 10 sumitriptan a month … cue headache that put me to bed by lunchtime and lifted at 11pm ish.
OMG my rose is going to bud.’
Lockdown Day 38
‘kids and I went on the long bike run. I managed to fall off my bike just out of the path of an oncoming lorry…sore and a fright but no harm done and was v brave for kids. The lorry would possibly have stopped, he nearly pulled in to check I was OK, bless him.’
Lockdown Day 42
‘Sank a bottle of Prosecco last night. Crikey. Certainly need to NOT do that every day.’
Lockdown Day 43
‘Cat is all over my notebook.’
I mean, of course Karen is not a slur. I was interested, however to find this definition of ‘a Karen,’ that 100% is me (apart from the blonde hair part).
But the value of being these things: entitled, obnoxious, middle-aged and white has not been lost on me.
Ever since I started having to tell the world that no, my child wasn’t a girl or a boy, and no, they couldn’t choose between Miss or Master, and no, they weren’t happy when staff at school used the term ‘girls and boys’ (it’s hurtful because it doesn’t apply to them).
And yes, there would need to be a change or an adaption to the system to make sure they fit. And yes, they (and I!) would require support from many different agencies.
And yes, they were entitled to all of these things.
Excerpts from Morning Pages.
Lockdown Day 14
‘<child> is v. sad today but hopefully he’ll feel better soon. <Other child> did graze their knee trying to drag them out of bed! And they have no clean trousers…they’re all on the washing line.’
Lockdown Day 15
‘had a migraine yesterday – not sure if it was the ‘trying to like almond milk’ or the ‘trying to look at the novel. Damn you, stupid goal-setting workshop! Took both meds, went to bed.’
Lockdown Day 21
‘Wow we’ve done 3 weeks. Mental. I wrote the dullest blog ever yesterday.’
Lockdown Day 28
‘<child> has been super miserable and sad these last two days. They aren’t eating very well and feel ill by teatime…they miss their life…think actually we have to let them be sad…and not expect to feel better, just because they did things differently.’
A cactus can be a type of person.
Soft on the outside, spikes on the outside.
I didn’t used to be a cactus. But, y’know, life happened.
I used to push it all inside, instead of allowing my feelings. It was like filling myself up with poison, breaking from the inside out.
So if you tell me I’m not being kind or patient, I might not listen.
And I’m sorry about that.
I had an incident with one of my plants the other day and I know it stings.
I suppose, if I’m arguing with you, it’s evidence that I care enough about you to try, as a wise friend of mine clarified recently.
Because if I think you don’t care enough to recognise my spikes act as protection,
I will walk away,
in case you poison my soft parts.
Given I’m one of the ?lucky few parents that stays home, I’ve always considered myself a ‘quantity’ parent. My thinking is: I am available at all times, so I only need to make myself semi-available. I’m also ‘allowed’ to tell them to go away with monotonous regularity.
But we are in this new weird world now and I’m even more aware of the mental wellbeing of my kids than usual. Have you seen that thing on Facebook about protecting them from trauma, not homeschooling them to within an inch of their lives?
So, I’m trying. Yes, I’ve ignored a child because I’m writing this, but I’m writing this in the same room as another child, so they can have company. I left a Zoom party yesterday because one of them was having a meltdown. Perhaps I can quality parent, too.