Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Wheels comming off

I am in a Funk. I spent the weekend with my stressometer starting at touching the red zone and finished it with the stressometer blowing right up in my face. It wasn't fun. It is very hard to balance a inner belief system that conflicts with a stress imposed system. Things that normally wouldn't warrant a thought in my system become hugely oppressive when the stress mounts.

Where does it come from this stress and how does one deal with it? That sense of not being heard, or understood. That sense of standing in the middle of the ocean and screaming for assistance while you watch everyone on the beach have a good time and the water pounds down on your head. Everyone around you ignoring you completely. Oblivious to you. You know the one. If you live on this planet you have probably felt it at least once..... or else I belong in the funny farm.

Boy had to go horse riding this Sunday. I was so proud to see him, my 9 year old son, guide a horse through obstacles, make it turn, trot, meander. I don't even know what half of it is called. I was just so proud. He came 10th of 22.
He is much more suited to this than rock climbing. He has more fun, is more sure of himself. Yet as I look back on the day I can see the signs of what was to happen.

It was extremely hot and all the kiddies were out in the sun. He wasn't drinking water. By the time I convinced him gently to come and eat, he was well hungry and thirsty. The day went on and on, he brushed down ponies, cleaned their hooves, attended the prize giving and choose a rosette in the Irish colours.
I well up with emotion when I see him on the horse now, in my minds eye. So proud of my boy.

We get home later than planned, my father in law who I allow stress me out the moment he is in my space was being himself. Jolly, spread all over the place, a little forgetful, no quite understanding the slow panic that was building up. There is no where to sit.

We discovered some missed homework. It was Sunday late. One baby had to bathed and fed, dinner was being prepared the table had to be cleared and a clean cloth put down, the homework should have been done, but we missed it through a misunderstanding, the guitar lesson hadn't been done either and boy still had to have a shower and clean up after the horses.
There was some moaning during the homework, the usual interruptions from NONO not grasping the reality of the situation, not knowing when not to Butt in and when its okay. It's not his fault.

There is no handbook for life. There is no handbook for parenthood either. There is certainly no handbook for little 9 year old boys who are really really tired and don't want their daddy to leave the room when they go to bed. There is no explaination leaflet on what to do when father and son find themselves in a mexican standoff, which has built up over a half an hour of daddy trying to turn out the light because it's bedtime for everyone and son not wanting to be left alone.

Who teaches you what to do when father blows his top so loudly with exasperation that boy is terrified?

Cue the feelings of failure, the feelings of being abandoned, of being a Useless father. Feelings that it has all been a waste of time, that by the time he is an adult he will have nothing to do with me anyway.

There is no map of emotions that you can track when you are crying your eyes out and you stop momentarily to see your father doing the same.

There is thank the gods memories. Memories of the same angst and fear and pain and tiredness, memories of sobbing so hard that my throat hurt, memories of being left alone with it.
They teach me not to leave him alone, but to stay close. They teach me to try again. They teach me to tell him I remember crying like that, making that whuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu whuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu sound like an ambulance, or fire engine. Maybe he could get a job sitting on one? There is a laugh/sob. I tell him how I cried so hard I forgot what I was crying about, that I remember continuing to cry and not feeling like it and yet still continuing. I tell him we are proper pair of loo lahs and there is more laughter, some more tears from both of us, he wants a kiss from his baby sister, from Lover, from His mother, from His Daddy.

Finally he comes to sleep in our room down beside me on the floor in the cushions and fit mat. We fall asleep holding hands. In the morning we wake hugs and kisses. He is off to school, he mentions I might ring that night which is unusal. I ring. I make damn sure I ring. We are good. He is happy to hear me. I am as usual over the moon to talk to him. I feel cut in half when he is not around me.

Since then my stress has only mounted farther and farther and yet I am exhausted. I need sleep. I need a little change of scene. I need not to let that happen again.

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