Tag Archives: motherhood

Maybe I should…


Maybe I should shout ‘fuck’ as it sweeps in again.
But I don’t.
I just loaf around.
Be mean.
Be vacant.
Be not me.

Maybe I should just scream and shout.
Maybe wail, those deep, sad, wails out loud,
kick the walls – let some deep rage out
but I don’t, I just, I just wanna be free.

Maybe I should call someone
ask them for their help?
But I don’t.
Because who is there really?
Who can actually help me?

Maybe I should just scream and shout.
Maybe wail, those deep, sad, wails out loud,
kick the walls – let some deep rage out
but I don’t, I just, I just wanna be free.

Maybe enough painkillers will kill the pain?
But I take painkillers and the pain remains exactly the same…
Lost…
Numb…
Defeated.

When will I ever be useful again?
How can anyone live with this constant,
mental
drain?

How do I find the strength to go on?
How can I ever, ever again
be a good mum?

Maybe I should just scream and shout.
Maybe wail, those deep, sad, wails out loud,
kick the walls – let some deep rage out
but I don’t, I just, I just wanna be free.

Maybe I should just scream and shout.

Maybe wail, those deep, sad, wails out loud.

Kick the walls – let some deep rage out!

But I don’t.
I just loaf around.
Be mean.
Be vacant.
Be not me.

 

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Being 16


My 16 year old daughter came home from school today and handed me an envelope and told me to read it.

Being a mother of four I felt my stomach drop right out of my bottom as I thought: what now?

But actually, what I read delighted me so much I decided to share it with you.

Joni’s teacher asked her class to write themselves a motivational letter at the beginning of the year and today it was returned to them. This is what she had written:

Joni!

Hey, how are ya doing? Still going strong? You would have got your first grades by now. Hope you’re doing well! 🙂 I suppose it’ll be funny to read this later… Remember, you’ve got to try hard to do well. If you got some bad grades in Maths/Physics, just try again. You’ll do fine. 🙂 Think of the book prize at the end! You want to get it this year, don’t you? And don’t forget that abi’s (German qualification) not far off, if you do well now, it’ll be easier then!

Don’t get nervous about things which aren’t anywhere near happening yet. 🙂

Doing Drama class? Is it good? Remember last year’s show… It was amazing! Loads of fun. Don’t be scared.

How about M.? In proper contact again? Smile at him at school, don’t ignore him! If he’s nice, he’ll make an effort too. But if it doesn’t work out, that’s okay ‘cos there’s plenty of fish in the sea. 🙂 You’ll find the right one, wait if you have to. 🙂

Give support to Aden (brother), but don’t forget Loz (sister) and Kashi (sister).

And if things are still funny with N., you’ve always, always got your family. 🙂

Sending, well… love I suppose … xD

Joni x

I asked about her feelings about the letter. She said, “I’m such a nice person.”

Being a ‘Mom’


Arriving back in the living room after ‘feeding’ the washing machine (she sure does eat a lot) I’m greeted by the ever adapting Akasha. She’s debating in an American accent with her “Mom”.

As you may imagine, I’m a little thrown, a little confused

Her tone sounds disappointed, you could even embellish: slightly bored with overtones of pissed off-ed-ness.

I am confused because I’ve been braving the coldness of the cellar, the remembrance of hovering spiders and jumping frogs, the disgustingness of bloody knickers and pockets filled snotty tissues.

Did I mention at any point, that I really am brave?

Anyway, I’m confused as to how I’ve managed to irritate my daughter when I was not only not in the same room, but not even on the same floor.

It turns out: she’s playing.

She momentarily pauses her game to tell me excitedly, she’s being a boy.

Apparently, boys are easily bored, annoyed and rude to their “Moms”.

She goes back to her ‘game’ and I take time out for a couple of minutes and observe.

Not only is she playing the fully conversational part of the boy, she’s also talking the talk of the “Mom” and rabbiting on a bit for the sister.

Mostly in American English. But every once in a while she flips into German, then back again.

And simultaneously she’s completing a 100 piece puzzle.

Talk about multitasking! In my head I’m thinking: Child, you are definitely a girl! 😉

Oh My God!!! I’m a grandmother!!!


And not a very good one at that.

I hear reassuring cries of, “She likes you, Grandma!”

“She wants you, Grandma!”

“Grandma!”

“Grandma!”

I’m 39 and I can’t say the word ‘Grandma’ sits comfortably with me.

OK. It does seem as if she likes me. When I hold her, she does tend to turn her head and her loud cries do change to laughter.

At least, I think it’s laughter.

It could of course be that she recalls that time I picked her up in the supermarket. Having been abandoned by my daughter on the well-walked floor. That she remembers I hauled her through the aisles while simultaneously pushing a trolley.

It could be she notices that Grandpa is too rough with her. Uncle doesn’t care. And her mother, has, at times, had quite enough.

Until she burps, that is.

Those burps can still bring on a full blown belly laugh from her mummy.

As can Aunty shaking her.

I must admit, I am really quite intrigued by my daughter’s attitude toward her new born child.

For example, she keeps ‘re-birthing’ her.

Stuffing Baby Annabel up her, by now, well stretched pullover and then ‘pushing’ her out. (To be honest, it’s not much of a push. She does more work going for a pooh. It’s more like a drop – oh, look – she fell out. Not very realistic, if you ask me.)

Then there’s the feeding. At times, she’s ramming the plastic water filled bottle almost down the throat of the poor child. Then, the next minute she’s going for a fully clothed version of ‘breast is best’. It doesn’t come as a surprise to me that my granddaughter cries ‘real tears’. No doubt she’s starving.

And I’m sure it’ll all only get worse when the anticipated baby brother comes along. My daughter has creatively decided him to call him ‘Baby Born’.

Still, at least that’s an improvement on what she plans to call an actual child: Winnetou. I should have known letting a five-year old watch old German Cowboy and Indian movies would render her ‘extraordinary’.