kids are home

I picked my kids up from school / preschool yesterday. They had spent the previous two nights with their dad. It was so good to have them home! Their father and I have not lived together for eighteen months now, but it was only six months ago that it became certain he and I were over. So, we are all still adjusting to everything, and I don't think a reliable enough routine has yet been established, which affects the kids primarily, but others too. My youngest, and only son, turns 3 at the end of May. He gets so excited about seeing his dad, it makes his absence all the more apparent. My second-born turns six at the end of May. Because their dad is spending little time with them, and in such a haphazard manner, she becomes clingy and teary and quite distraught before she spends a couple of nights with him, although I think I see the worst of it, and once she is with him she settles down pretty quickly and mostly enjoys the time. My eldest turned eight at the end of February. Still so young. And yet, because she is the eldest, and the three of them are sharing all this upheaval together, she seems to take on so much responsibility. She often becomes anxious just before she spends time with her dad, and expresses that she doesn't want to go, and then seems to dismiss her anxiety with bravado and, as the eldest, resign herself to it for my sake and the sake of her brother and sister. I think her anxiety, like her sister's, dissipates pretty quickly and she, also, mainly enjoys her time with her dad. It is just quite upsetting for me to know they, at such young ages, feel that initial moment of insecurity, especially with someone they love, and who once upon a time was always there for them, and whom I never imagined wouldn't be, no matter what happened between us.

Managed to feel like an awkward dunce today. Yay! Gotta love what that does to the self-esteem...

Spent the day at uni. Walked past an old schoolfriend's sister-in-law. We also have a couple of mutual friends. I've had quite a few random conversations with her in the past, and have also been kept up to date with superficial goings on in her life. So, I stopped to say hi. She had no idea who I was. And I couldn't just throw my name at her - it was quite a longwinded explanation. "I went to school with x, and I know y, and z's kids and my kids go to swimming lessons together, and you know my ex-husband because..." That sort of thing. Awkward.

Thought I'd console myself with a coffee from the library cafe. The queue was enormous. The youth of today seem to have forgotten how to sleep in, skip classes, leave papers to the last possible moment, or simply drop out. Once upon a time only mature-age students were to be found in the library at the very beginning of semester. Not anymore. I finally got to the counter. And the library's fire alarm went off. I had to forego my coffee and pour out of the library with the rest of the mob. Only I forgot to leave the book I hadn't yet borrowed behind. So the security bar at the exit wouldn't open as I was leaving. It caused quite a sudden stop, with a throng of people potentially exiting a fire behind me. I had to push back past a few of those whose escape I had delayed to put the book safely down (potentially to be engulfed by flames), before I too could save my caffeine-free self. Awkward.

The guest lecturer for my seminar was my supervisor. He is an amazing man - brilliant, charismatic, inspiring, he overflows with knowledge and analysis. At the end of his enlightening talk, he asked for questions, and the room was quiet. So, from some martyrish motivation I asked an incredibly simple question which was answered promptly. So, a few moments later, compelled by some sort of need to redeem myself, I asked the most inane question that has ever passed my lips. This respectful and respected man just stared at me in puzzlement for a few seconds before speaking. Dun-Dun-Dunce. About an hour later, the incredibly intelligent, confident, way-too-perky, high achiever sitting beside me eluded to my question when clarifying her own point, in a slow-speaking manner to spell it out for the dumbarse. Yah for me today!

I spent a couple of weeks in New York last October. I stayed with my best friend and her husband - they had moved there a few months before. The last couple of weeks in September had been particularly harrowing for me. In the midst of writing a very-big-deal paper, an old flatmate of mine, a fiery, spirited, brave, funny, intelligent, driven, beautiful girl whom I have an enormous amount of respect and love for, died. I received the news whilst at my dad's house, some five hours drive from my home. I had basically run away from my home with my children for a few days, in a desperate attempt to gain some clarity on an intensely emotional situation between my now ex-husband and myself. We were separated, but... ah - I'll save it for another blog. It will be too long-winded, when I simply want to serve it as an introduction to this: The first day I was in New York I bought a moleskin notebook from a fantastic bookshop in Nolita (or was it Soho?). This was my first entry.

"Monday 12th October 2009

I am sitting in Central Park. The leaves are beginning to change colour and fall. I have only walked in the entrance and sat down, am waiting for Mae, so have no sense yet of the park. This is my first full day in New York. I arrived about 4pm yesterday - it is such a long flight. Shower, champagne, dinner and pinot noir at Mae and David's, more pinot noir at union square, then bed. Woke up about 4am feeling alive after deep, deep, deep sleep. Went to use the gym at 5am, woke whole unit doing so, only to discover gym not available til 7am. I sent a few emails, then climbed back into bed. Such a soft, white, snuggle-down bed, I just lay there, lights off, doing nothing but thinking and crying. Crying for so much. crying for what I miss. Missing him being next to me at that moment, missing his skin, missing his smell, missing his touch, missing that place on his arm where I laid my head, missing his arms around me. Crying because I feel invisible, because I largely like being invisible, and feeling like I woke the house, I am a pain, an inconvenience to have in the house, I should have stayed in bed, I am such a no-hoper for not just staying in my own apartment, wishing I could have my own place so I wouldn't be such an inconvenience. I could be invisible. I felt like staying in that bed for the whole two weeks, I wondered how I would ever get out, how I was in New York and would not be able to get out of bed. I forced myself out at 7am to go to the gym, which was a great decision. I need to do that everyday, I think I will use the gym at 7am every day I am here. I need to grieve, i need to be sad,"

It is very strange re-reading it - I do clearly remember the motions and emotions, but, in the retelling, it is as if I am watching from the doorway, and am not the person lying on that bed, experiencing such raw, almost primitive or base, pain, sadness. As I keep blogging, no doubt bits and pieces of happenings between then and now will come out, and it will become apparent that he has made it much easier for me to reconcile myself with the end of our relationship than the above excerpt suggests!

I would love to write something incredibly profound for my very first entry on my very first blog, but...

Welcome to my blog! I would love to write something incredibly profound for my very first entry on my very first blog, but, after a few glasses of wine, whilst trying to read a paper on Tacitus, with crap commercial tv on in the background, I am lowering my standards and aiming for no spelling mistakes. That and a semblance of cohesion (which would probably be better achieved with shorter sentences...)

It is late. Way too late for me, who made a deal with myself to be up and exercising at 6am. Despite what the last two sentences suggest, blogging instead of sleeping is not my way of getting out of exercise. Nup, way more ridiculously complex than that. See, I really want to be up and exercising at 6am, and I will be. As a single mother of three very young children, it is incredibly rare that I get that luxury. I also really want to be sleeping at this late hour. Repeat sentence before last. Early morning is my favourite time of the day, I love the quietness. I also love the clarity early morning exercise brings. I get a little anxious when my kids spend a couple of nights with their father, and, in looking for positive aspects in the situation for myself, I think about how I get to go for a run or a swim or a bike ride or even to the gym at 5 or 6am. Yet, not having my kids in our house for a couple of nights throws me so much, I end up staying up too late, pretending I am productively studying whilst the company of crap tv distracts me, becoming sooo tired I find it difficult to even take myself off to bed... Ironic, huh?

But, off to bed now. I can still get five hours sleep, do the morning body-is-my-temple thingy, bit of solid work, feel holier-than-my-usual-self, and thus provide adequate justification for the afternoon grumpiness followed by the early evening red wine and late evening sloth...