Play dates…

Why is it, girls are so easy? They bring friends, sometimes several, and they disappear somewhere and you forget they are here… surfacing occasionally for food. My eldest has been bringing strays home since I can remember. I’ll often go into a room to find extra faces, and then return to the room some time later to discover the faces have changed. Sometimes, there will be a collection of bodies strewn through my home with no daughter of my own in sight. Knocks on the door at all times. They call my phone because my child rarely answers. Extra backsides slide into my car. A collection of extra children to call my own… Girls are simple.

The second child. Male. Never as interested in friends. He’d want one over because his sister had a friend… but after an hour or so, he’d be over it and insisting I take the child home. The same would happen if he went to someone’s house.

Personalities. I know. Different.

Third and fourth children home today. Girl and boy. Again.

Girl children – they’ve disappeared into the room with devices under their arms. No idea what they are doing or playing. More than likely they are watching YouTube – the latest favourite is cake decorating videos…. something along the lines of dreaming and wishing their mothers baked really cool cakes…. Hmmm…

Boy children – smack bang in the middle of the lounge room yelling and shrieking – currently harmonious shrieking, at least… They’re playing Minecraft. They found gold. Real gold. Actual gold. Look! So I looked…. and asked… what do you do with that? Can you buy stuff? Build stuff? Trade? That seems to be the moment my extra head grew – judging by the looks I received…. Apparently…. obviously… you just leave it there! Sigh…. I wasn’t game enough to ask what the point of the gold actually was then….

So! Two daughters and a revolving door of friends = never a problem, rarely know they are here. Two sons = only one friend at a time and must have my undivided attention at all times.

Play dates….

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Unconditional love…

I really dislike this term.

I’ve been arguing with friends in recent weeks. Your love for your boyfriend is not ‘unconditional’. That would mean there are no conditions. That you will love them regardless. That’s absolute rubbish! So stop telling me you love everyone unconditionally!

The only unconditional love I can possibly conceive would be a baby for its mother. Once the child grows, they only love you ‘sometimes’… or maybe ‘lots of times’… or maybe ‘the mostest’…. but there are times when they don’t love you at all.

I’ll also grant that some mothers love their children unconditionally – no, not all… and yes, maybe some fathers fit in this category, too. But… and this is the clincher… if one of your children killed another one of your children in cold blood for absolutely no reason whatsoever or simply because they enjoyed it… would you still love them? If you do, then THAT is unconditional love.

Those days…. weeks…. possibly lifetimes :p when everyone is sensitive to what you say… so it must be you, yes? You must be a little more sarcastic than usual, or a little more blunt… After all, honesty hurts. Or perhaps it’s simply that sometimes, juggling everyone else’s sensitivities is just too damned difficult. Sometimes, you just want to be you. The real you. The you that is grumpy and tired and thinks that sometimes, other people are too damned precious. Or the real you that is not so sure of herself and would just occasionally like to be receiving the ego boosts and the compliments, rather than always being the one to give the.

But really, we all know it is me. It is me who is in the wrong. Always. I have been since I can remember. My role is to fix people. To boost their egos. To tell them how incredible they are. To remind them of their strengths and awesomeness as they doubt themselves… and doubt themselves… and doubt themselves. To fix their broken relationships and their broken careers. To point them towards the right path. To reassure and reinforce and re whatever else they need. Over and over and over….

And, once spent, my role is to hide quietly under a rock for a week or two until I have the energy to do it all again.

But my role is never to be unhappy or unsure. To never need that boost myself. Ever. Because, when I dare to be sad or tired or grumpy or unsure, I am very quickly reminded that I am in the wrong. That I am at fault. And even then, even when I say – I need you to be nice. I need you to tell me you love me. I need you to tell me I am a worthwhile person. Even then… I am in the wrong, and that is not forthcoming. That is not my role after all. Or theirs. Mine is to fix everyone, never to actually be fixed.

I miss you…

I woke from a dream of you this morning… tears on my face… such a sense of your presence.

We had been on your lounge. So many days, weeks, months and years spent in the comforting embrace of those chairs! I miss them. The stories. The laughs. The tears. There is no apt description for those salmon depths. Watching everyone succumb. First sitting. Slowly, the incline starts. The feet come up. The head soon touches the arm rest. And soon… ever so sweetly… slumber takes over.

I miss you. There are no other words to explain it. Just that. I miss you.

RICE! RICE! RICE!

I am tired of rice…. not the eating kind either. I have rested. I have iced. I have compressed. I have elevated. Nothing. Nada.

This has been weeks.

How can I run if I can barely even walk???

Taking note

I need to start keeping a log of all the annoying parenting things to do to my kids when I’m older…

I am now going to add – call my child at midnight then hangup… then call again and leave a message as she’s trying to call me back to see if I’m alive… then finally, when she gets hold of me, ask – hey, how are you? Haven’t heard from you in a few days. i can’t sleep. You’re always awake late. So what’s happening?