Is it possible to hate someone who isn’t even a part of your life? 

Have you ever had something, seemingly insignificant, happen to you, only to discover years and years later - too many years- that it wasn’t insignificant at all? In fact, maybe it changed you in an irreparable way?

It feels like that.

I feel like that.

On bad days.

I want to wear a beautiful evening gown and stare out into the Pacific. 

I want to tell all the positive-”life is so good”-fair-weather friends to go fuck themselves.

I want more time. 

More time.

It’s rambling to so many, and perfect sense to little few.

I say I am taking it one nap at a time. So, false because it has nothing to do with the bad part of my life with them and everything to do with a map inside my head that leads across the earth and back again. Back again. Always leading straight back to them and a little yellow house.

They allow me to find joy in a time when everything else is a pillow over my screaming head.

I remember a time when Hamlet made perfect sense. Now, I can’t find the passage. I read over and over again. Nothing is there. No line belongs to me. 

I am public because I CAN. It’s the only thing that can’t be changed. I don’t expect many to understand. But if you do, Thank you.

I saw this movie today. Well, the end of a movie, about an artist who had a "bitter rivalry" with Picaso. It was one of those movies that brings up a strange, but familiar sort of panic in me. I am not doing enough. I am unknown. What legacy am I leaving behind? You know how it is with me. I wanted to leave my mark. Used to be very important to me.

My husband complains that his creativity is stifled at his current job as an Art Director. I lay awake at night when I desperately need sleep, thinking of all the art installations I might do, the books I really should write, the films I need to make. And I have yet to finish a scrapbook of my daughter's 1st year of life.

I'm not resentful, so please don't start that "It'll pass" cheer. I am, however, feeling quite reflective. More aware of where I've been. Where I haven't been. 

Some people are full of questions. They don't have meaning. They, perhaps, don't believe in God, or know what they are good at doing or wonder where they should live. They don't understand themselves. But, and I say this with all due respect, I am not one of those people. I was. But now, well, a lot of time has passed. A lot of things have happened. I learned. And I have answers now that I did not have before.

For example, I know how I like my eggs. This may not seem important, but it is. I once wrote:

"I never even knew myself

How did I like my eggs

I just danced around in pretty dresses 

and let you fill my plate"

It was about my dating life, my married life at one point. I just sort of faded into these men I loved. Lost track of me. I no longer do that. I'm comfortable in my own skin even if I'm not often comfortable in other places.

Yes, I have answers. I know where I want to live, how I want to live and who I want in my life. I know when to say No. No to many Facebook Applications! No to council meetings! No to expensive restaurants! No to credit card offers and a third appointment on the weekend! No to difficult friends. No to the 4th drink.

I'm good at that.

What I lack is time. Which some might say goes back to knowing when to say No. Time. I am 37 years old and there s not enough time left. That is the one thing I know that I am not content knowing.

I have books to write, several countries to experience and more than a few scrapbooks to finish. I have every reason to panic.

I had a baby. My 2nd baby, a boy. And then my life crapped out right along with his crazy diapers those first six weeks. My friend Stephanie told me before we got pregnant again, “You don’t want two kids. You think you do, but you don’t.” And now I know what she was trying to say. Oh, go ahead and call me a bad mommy. This will not phase me at all. 

What Steph meant, and there was no way to explain, was that being a good mom to one kid is very hard. Being a good mom to two kids is effing impossible. I have learned in these last 4 1/2 months that it’s not managing the logistics of potty training, snacks or changing diapers that causes grey hair. It’s not even the college fund or the sleepless nights. It’s the guilt. The enormous guilt that you can never give your children as much attention as you feel they deserve. 

You will never be funny enough, laugh enough, praise enough, teach enough, cook enough nutritious and simultaneously delicious meals. With one child, you kick yourself. With two children, you die a little every time you turn on Playhouse Disney or admit to yourself that you’d rather scrape your eyelids with a dull razor than play People House one more time. And when your friends and family remark how smart your kids are, you pray to God they are right and that their vocabulary does not escalate beyond your control. Because, if you are like me, your standards for yourself as a parent are even higher than they are your hopes for yourself as a human being. With one kid, you are set up for failure. With two kids - or God help you - more, you are set up to fail on the grandest scale imaginable.

I am afraid to babble to my son too much. Afraid that he will think this is real communication. He’s 5 months old and I am using quite a bit of energy each day trying to sound as sane as possible while getting so little sleep. Can he get cancer from my inhaling my perfume? Is my daughter’s preference for frilly dresses a sign that I have told her she is beautiful too many times? Will she grow up shallow? Are those cookies organic? Does this hand gel contain parabens? Exactly what causes cancer, dammit!

In my previous life as a sultry, snotty single woman (as I like to think) my only fear was that I wouldn’t find someone that I would make me feel comfortable enough to fart in his presence. All the rest was just minor -bills, lack of health insurance, crappy food -whatever. Now, I have a list of fears that could wrap around China - all involving the protection of my precious offspring. If my mother worried half this much, I owe her one hell of an apology. How did that woman sleep nights knowing I had the kind of personality I did? It’s a wonder she ever let me leave the house.

It’s funny, you know. If you are a parent and you are reading this, you might think I am going to offer some solution or at least post a link to the Canadian pharmacy where you can buy Ritalin. Believe me, if I had that kind of info, I wouldn’t be writing this. I don’t have a solution for this angst. Worse, I hear it NEVER ends. Even when they are 30-something and have kids of their own. But I can tell you this: 

You are not alone. And if you ever need to stop by my house on the way to pick up your wee one from preschool or in between doctor visits, I’m here. I have a box of tissue and your choice of adult beverages. But just one, okay. Like I need my kids seeing drunk parents in my living room more than once a week! Probably give ‘em cancer.

The Great Schlep from The Great Schlep on Vimeo.