11 July 2011

An Anti-Orgasm.

Leaving your children with someone you don't like can give you a feeling in the pit of your belly quite the opposite to that of an orgasm.  It took all my strength not to throw up or look back at this daunting sight - my two little boys and their father, playing together in a local park.

 'Shitty's' 'contact' has to be supervised.  He is not allowed to be alone with the children - due mainly to his ugly temper, but also because he regularly threatened to commit suicide, so a good friend has offered to take over what I had previously been doing by chaperoning them.

Frankly, he was using every other week-end - when his visits took place - to harangue me and then it all came to a head in January which resulted in me punching him.  That had a been 'a long time coming,' said a friend, who was so used to me in tears that she doesn't even know the real me.  I'm not sure I do any more, but there's a good reason you don't see many divorced couples out together with their children on too regular a basis!

The trouble with egotistical maniacs is that they are who they are and nothing you do or try to say to them (because they won't listen) will enter their magical little worlds, in which they are all that matter!  By gracing you with their very presence, one is supposed to be enormously (i.e. erroneously) grateful, but it doesn't necessarily start out like that, nor does their contempt for us all show its face in public very often, if they can help it.

'Shitty' looks like a brilliant father to the children when we are out of the house.  He also used to be pleasant to me too.  Shame on him.

I don't care who knows I hate him.

Anyway, am getting the hang of importing photos over to this blog - to make it appear less wordy and more beautiful - although it is something still defeating me, but according to those in spiritual circles all our needs are met, so please watch this space.  Some help might appear!

In the mean time, here is the second of my still-to-be-re-named 'Diaries of  Middle Aged Single Mum,' written Spring 2009, and, goodness me, we have moved on many moons and miles, it is a wonderful relief to see!  Another anti-orgasm is due this Saturday.

Column 2 - Eating Standing Up!   

‘EAT while the baby sleeps,’ that’s my motto.  Those who said ‘Sleep while the baby sleeps’ is for those with only one child about or the delightful luxury of plenty of help around.

Seeing as neither of these scenarios exist here, it is virtually impossible for this single mum to catch a nap in the daytime.  I must be one of few breastfeeding women to actually gain weight!  This is partially due to a new penchant for an absurd amount of chocolate raisins, along with the sleep deprived nights and subsequent requirement derived for many snacks just to keep going.

My cooking skills are not awful.  It is important to give decent grub to my family, so I make the effort as often as possible to produce fresh and natural, nutritionally packed, balanced meals, but sometimes it is out of the question.  We have some lazy nights, the odd take-away, plus stuff for the kids’ social standing, so that they will fit in with their peers.  Robson, once, was left playing on his own at a party when the ‘Wotsists’ were handed round, because he didn’t know what they were.  Mortified, this was speedily remedied!

We are not obsessive, but aware of what is good for us and we have discovered that lightning will not strike us down, should we deter more often than is truly necessary from the ideal.

The trouble is, nowadays, practically everything is done one handed, standing up with a baby upon one shoulder or hip.  The term ‘multi-tasking’ like this takes on a new meaning.  So when the opportunity arises to complete those pesky jobs which require more than one working arm i.e. when the baby is sleeping, they must be completed adroitly, for this time will be short comparative to what needs to be accomplished – for example, food preparation with sharp implements and its necessary eating, sorting washing and washing up, together with the incessant clearing up.  It is not intentional to eat standing up, just more convenient.  The mess generated by a four year old looking for attention can sometimes be astonishing and much of it remains where it lays (long enough to take root) as Baby Aiden becomes heavier, because it usually involves a great deal of crouching.

Like the gardening, ironing remains a fantasy, but never mind. 

High points:  1) Making a Love Sandwich with the boys in the mornings – all of us lying in bed together, someone in the middle.  2) Robson blowing raspberries on Baby Aiden’s tummy, both giggling their little hearts out, while - as a mere onlooker - mine swells with pride and a joy waltzes through me that I have never known, allowing utter exhaustion to be momentarily entirely eliminated. 3) Doing nothing at a friend’s house.  She made lots of tea and cooked dinner while I didn’t move.  Have never in my life had such a good time just sitting down.  What a revelation. 

Low point:  Estranged husband regularly standing in the kitchen with his willy out.

Seeing as he pays for the services of our weekly cleaner, for whom gratitude knows no bounds every moment of every hour almost, every single day, it seems churlish to mention it.  I am trying to stay on his good side, so make polite conversation despite the offending gesture, which is neither acknowledged nor discussed and, eventually, it disappears.   
Anyway, back to more normal people, a friend of mine moved to America a couple of years ago, with her two young boys.  She had been a single parent for quite some time, met the man of her dreams and, after some considerable soul searching, decided to go.  The mountains of dishes stacked up in her sink were often shocking.  If I knew then, what I know now and should it be possible to turn back the clock to when visiting her, my sleeves would have been rolled up and the job always cheerfully done.  It would have cost me nothing but goodwill and time.  Plus, I would have taken and prepared food, made sure she sat down while she ate it, picked up any shopping she needed on the way, sometimes taken the kids out to give her some respite or perhaps just kept her company more often. 

I realise now how hard it must have been for her and how she was relishing every moment with her children, but lately, when my naturally regretful thoughts turn towards her and her new situation, so vastly and incredibly different, it makes me wonder what miracles, surprises and mysterious moves of Fate might be in store for us!  Baby Aiden’s arrival is all of these three combined, as is the simple pleasure of sitting down to eat, ever since!    

Read Diary 1 HERE.

Read Diary 3 HERE.

Read Diary 4 HERE.