trapped

I feel… trapped. Imprisoned. My chains? No, not the children. Not even the husband. Religion? Nope. Gender? Not in the west in 2011. So, why? How can I feel trapped? I have a roof over my head, food in my ample belly. Opportunities that women in other countries can only dream of. How can I feel trapped?

I think to myself that I am limited by my bank account, that I want to get on a boat or a train and see the world, I want my only limits to what I can do, to what my family can do, to be our imaginations. I think I want to grab life by the horns and live it to the absolute fullest and if only I had a few million in the bank, I could.

Other days I don’t want that at all, I want nothing more than a big house in the country, surrounded by fields and to spend my days pottering around my large kitchen, or lounging in my library, reading or writing. Having huge holiday celebrations and family reunions and just…living a good, content, full life.

Alas, both options require money. I am not sure why my life in its current state cannot content me. My children are healthy, intelligent, beautiful. My husband is caring and loyal. Even on the days when the cupboard and the fridge is full, there is plenty of money in the bank account, the bills are paid and my hair is clean and shiny, I still feel…unfulfilled. As if something is missing and I can’t work out what it is. A sense of purpose? Perhaps. Security? Independence? Perhaps.

I feel as if I am living constantly in the house of cards my teenage son constructed this summer, stuck at home with a broken leg and a pack of cards I had just handed him. He had never built one before and even the slightest hint of a breath would send it tumbling to the floor. I can’t get that feeling out of my head. Every day I become more certain that I never will. No matter how successful I might ever become, or how much money amasses in my bank account, no matter what great things my children persue in their lives, I fear that I will never escape that feeling of everything tumbling down around me at the slightest hint of a breath. That no matter how many pills I take or counseling I have, I will never feel happy with myself or my life.

I wonder why this is? Is it because I was unhappy as a child? Bullied incessantly at school and disliked at home? Have I become conditioned to feel this way? Certain that any feeling of happiness or pleasure is a sign of a great wind bearing down on my house of cards. Is it because there is some fundamental glitch in my programming?

I don’t know the answers to these questions, only that as I get older (Hello, 30! See you soon!) they become more pressing, more relevant. I wonder if it is perhaps a part of growing up, and that perhaps I will grow out of it, as indeed I grew out of my “I know everything, nobody can tell me what to do, it’s MY life so fuck off” teenage years.

On the bad days, the ones where for whatever reason I have found myself lying in bed at 11am, sobbing uncontrollably, the black hole in my chest absorbing light and life and threatening to consume every ounce of me, I find myself wanting nothing more then to go home.

“I want to go home.” I sob in to my husband’s chest hair, helpless and small and wishing I could melt into him, not understanding why I’m saying it, why my heart is feeling it. There is nothing left for me there. I think if I were to die suddenly I would not want to be returned there, to travel 6000 miles in a box and be buried so far from the people that love me the most, so why do I long to be back there in my darkest days? Perhaps what is calling to me is the desert which I love so much, the free and open spaces where I could never feel trapped or confined, where I could climb a mountain and watch the sunrise over the peaks and cactus. Even standing on the shores of Great Britain, gazing into the Atlantic Ocean, where there is nothing but sea and sky before me, I feel trapped. An island full of unfamiliar people behind me, a vast inhospitable sea before me.

I wonder if I will ever leave this country again, if I will ever leave behind the feeling of being imprisoned and lost within myself.

Journey to the cliffs

Since the kids and I jumped continents in 2005 we have been to just about every part of the UK. West Country; check. About 6 times, including day trips. Scotland; check, twice. Wales? yep. London? You betcha. Lake district- oh, yeah. Peak district- yes siree! The only place we hadnt been to, hadnt even really considered was Kent, the Southeast.

It was a beautiful day out, the kids were on their next to last day of spring break and D1 had a day off. So, we decided to head over to Kent and see the White Cliffs of Dover. We made this brilliant decision at 1:30 in the afternoon. By the time we got the kids dressed, packed the car up, made 2 pit stops and got through the initial 30 minutes of the journey that don’t count because it’s so familiar, it was 4:00. We finally arrived in Dover about 6:30 in the evening. The sun was still shining though.

Kent reminds me a lot of the West Country, rolling hills, green fields, quaint little villages that double as seedy summer towns during the tourist season. But Dover. I really liked Dover. It has it’s own seedy summer town vibe and we didn’t venture far into it, only stayed along the coast. But, I just loved the buildings and the odd juxtapositions and interesting vibe the selection of shops put out.

Rafe and I were the first to climb up to the top of the cliffs, there were large rabbits that bounded away from us, the views were excellent and we made a valiant effort to joyfully fly his Thomas kite with the sea stretching away below us and Dover castle standing behind us. I was already composing my inspiring, kite flying, tweet. Yet, the kite only made it about 2 feet in the air before doing a corkscrew and dive bombing back to the earth.

Ah, irony.

While I was wrestling to wind in the string and rescue the kite from the gales, Rafe decided he had to poop. Immediately. Being at the top of a cliff, with a closed visitor centre only minutes away, I did what I had to. I led him to a grove of trees and told him to squat. Four year olds do not “hold it.” I covered it up the best I could and decided it would be leverage against him in the future. (By kid #3 you just naturally start racking up all the things you can use against them when they grow up. Blackmail will ensure I do not get shoved into some old people’s home and forgotten about in 50 years, it gets the dishes done, too.)

We made our way up one of the coastal paths overlooking the ferry port with the sea wall built around it, a lighthouse situated at every opening, ships making their way in and out. Watching the endless queues of cars and lorries making their way out of Dover. On the other side of the path from the overlook was a field with about a dozen shaggy ponies in it. One came straight over to us, hoping we had food of course. Rafe gave him a pat and ooh’ed and awwed but the pony was more interested in trying to gnaw off the poor kids hand then make friends so we moved off along the path. At the end of the path, the cliff kind of went around to the left and the path trailed off. We were left with an amazing view of a sheer white cliff face and the beach below. I took the opportunity to take a picture of my daughter with the view behind her, the wind whipping her hair around.

The baby was sooooo cooold, so we made our way back to the car, headed to St. Margaret’s at Cliffe where we went down to the beach and got some more shots of the kids in front of the cliffs before the light went completely.

On the way home we stopped for chips in Folkestone, which looked brilliant and I hope to go back to, then we parked by the seafront, ate our chips and listened to the leaders debate on Radio 4. Gooo Cleggg, Gooo Cleggg!

March of the Mommy Farts

So, we recently had a stomach bug around our place. None of us was immune, but some had it worse than others. I was mildly affected and it went quickly, except since then…gas. Sometimes it comes on suddenly and I find it making a “pop” noise as it escapes. Sometimes it is silent, yet deadly. Sometimes it is foghorn loud. The first few times it happened, you could see the kids stiffen and they didn’t say a word. They struggled to keep a straight face, practically shaking from the effort not to burst into laughter. To embarrassed or scared I think. What if they said something or giggled and I denied it or got mad? Since it seems to be hanging on I’ve started to be very over the top about it, with the “EXCUUUUUUSE ME!” bit. Or the indignant blaming of the cat or one of the kids. This sends the baby into gales of laughter with the older two following along.

(The baby is my little stooge. I can always use him to lighten the mood, or make things silly. One flash of his cheeky little grin and we are all happy jolly souls. This does not bode well for me, I think. He is fine tuning that smile and his manipulation skills for the teenage years already. Think “oh, pwease oh, pwease!”)

Thankfully they are still at the age where it is hilarious to hear mommy fart, and not the “oh my god a FART. From my MOM. I am going to DIE now” stage. I am of course mortified each time but there isn’t much I can do about it, except run to the bathroom to fart in peace if I can. So, I try and at least make it into something funny, so the kids don’t end up getting uptight about people passing wind. Farts happen. It’s life, right?

I seem to be the only one affected with this side affect. I have tried eating more fruit and drinking water to help it along, but it doesn’t seem to be working. So, I guess I just wait it out. Whether they’ll ever forget about the “March of Mommy Farts” is another story.

Maybe I should start shouting when they laugh, after all. That way they’ll be to scared to ever bring it up again in their lives.

Rain,Rain

It was getting on towards bedtime, Rafe was watching the last of “In the Night Garden” before it was time to go up. Suddenly the drizzle outside turned into a great shower from the heavens. The trees were whipping back and forth, the rain lashing against the windows. “Rafe! Look!” He turned to the windows and stared out at the storm. We decided this was a storm not to be missed and rushed upstairs to his room, at the top of the house, threw open his windows and watched from a birds vantage.

He was enthralled. I wasn’t surprised. Just that afternoon we had taken a walk along the sea front and Rafe had loved, LOVED,running along with the waves crashing over the sea wall and soaking us.

This baby likes water.

We watched the storm for about half an hour. Rafe struggling to get a better vantage point, putting his hands out to catch the rain, laughing and yelling.

Eventually not even 11 year old Devon could hold out and they both sat and stared out the window at the rain.

Party Animals

So, we went to Marwell on Sunday. It was rainy and it was cold and it was windy. But the baby had a great time.   

Periodically while walking down this *unused* track, Rafe shouted “TOO TOO!”

 Of great interest were the Tigers, restlessly patrolling their area. Rafe was so enthralled he held me there with him (seriously- he blocked my  legs and held my hand!) for 20 minutes watching these big cats.  I momentarily wondered how our “topcat” at home would fare against this kitty…

We enjoyed seeing all the various animals, though I must admit they looked as miserable and cold as we felt. 

This little guy was our favorite, we couldn’t help but stand and watch him for ages as he dashed around the enclosure and up and down the trees.

The otters were the most amusing, obviously feeling a bit in need of some female companionship, they were trying their damndest to get a glimpse of the girls next door.

The kids had a great time,too. Rafe was sleeping so we got a new shot of Dev and Livvy in front of the hippo. A similar shot from 2 years ago has them sitting on top with Rafe in front.

Happy Birthday, Rafe. I only wish that you could remember what a great time you had in twenty years. 

A day…

Today is Rafe’s 2nd birthday. Happy Birthday, baby.

 We spent the day at Marwell Zoo with Grandma and Grandpa and had a great time, despite the wind and rain and cold. Or maybe, because of it. Clad in his splash suit and wellies, Rafe took full advantage of the many muddy puddles, and the poor weather ensured we were one of only a few other groups of people in the park.

Rafe enjoyed watching the penguins swimming around in their tank, generally running around and was enthralled with the tigers and Siberian chipmunks.

The Guardian featured a front page story about how the police think they can tell which 5 year olds will become criminals later in life. Based on this mysterious criteria, they will take DNA samples for their register from these 5 year olds. My husband keeps saying Rafe’s eyes are to close together. I thought it was a joke, little did I know it means he’ll grow up to be a serial killer. Shall I just turn him over to the police now?

wind and woe

Howling and blowing. Trees bending and breaking. Waves crashing. Cars slipping.

 Less then two weeks until Spring, and winter arrives. Perhaps snow is still on the cards, after all.

 Feeling bogged down. Crisis at work, kids homework projects, son being banned from after school clubs, baby turning two, me turning 26, switching bank accounts and it’s a mess. House is a mess, inspection due next month. Waiting for money to clear our account. Car needs fixing, bills need paying, kids are mad because I’m never home.

 Writing. A bit.

 Received a wonderful early birthday present from Mom and Dad, The collected novels of the Bronte Sisters, illustrated, in a gorgeous book. Kids won’t let me crack it open until my birthday! I desperatley wanted to escape into Jane Eyre this evening, but restrained myself, and took a shower instead. I dissapoint the children in so many other ways, I didn’t want to dissapoint them with that, too. Perhaps they’ll be proud of mommy for waiting. Little things, people- little things.

 Came home to find daddy and the kids playing scrabble. Goblin and sharks were two of my favorite words on the board. Was also amused to see they had made “jar” three times.  O won, 96 points. She won trivial pursuit last night, too so she was over the moon. It’s nice to see her so happy.