Thoughts on Families

Families are funny things.  You see your family at it’s best, worst, and everything inbetween.  You know secrets, pet peeves, and things they don’t think you know.  And you think — wow, if this family can work, despite everything, then why do so many people give up?

I had a post in my head for nearly a year now, about my mother.  I’m nowhere near (nor will I be) the level of motherhood she attained, having borne and reared nine, but I’m starting to understand her more and more.  And I always wondered, on my weak days, how many times did she feel desperate and what did she do about it?  With a growing family and a small income, did she ever turn on the shower just to cry?

And now I add in the question of marriage.  It’s no secret that I never thought they were a great match, but surely she did for a while.  How often did she feel desperate and trapped?  What did she use as an outlet?

This week my mind is racing.  Suddenly I feel like it’s okay to think all those things I thought growing up, but I know it isn’t because it isn’t nice.  I hope my younger siblings are doing okay.  I hope that this change can bring peace, comfort, solutions.  But what I hope most of all, is that now that Mum is finally doing something for herself, after losing herself in the service of her family for three decades, that she will rediscover what a vivacious, intelligent, woman she is.  I hope that she will become the woman she wants to be, and that I always knew she was.

Time Out!

I’m so glad my boys are friends.  Really.  I love the way they get giddy when they see each other after naptime.  I love how much comfort they give each other when they are being babysat.  I even love the WWE all over the living room.  And although it drives me crazy, I love how Boy Blue follows Little Red everywhere, into mischief, into the bathroom, into timeout.

Little Red is developping cognitively in leaps and bounds these days.  He’s already figured out that if I don’t respond when he calls me Mummy he might have a shot in calling me “Heather.”  He talks to me in timeout all the time (and I try really hard to ignore.)  Yesterday he even resorted to calling out to Angela because neither “Mummy” nor “Heather” worked.

These days the majority of timeout infractions stem from being too rough — we don’t push, we don’t hit, and we don’t stand on top of a couch cushion that is on top of your baby brother.  Each time Boy Blue is the victim, yet as soon as I send Little Red to timeout the little one grabs a ball (or any other nearest toy) and follows Little Red to the corner.  There he does everything he can to engage the culprit.  Where there are no toys they sit and play with the doorstop spring.

For the little one, timeout is more painful than whatever the original offense, as he forgives so quickly.  All he ever wants is to play with his brother.  It’s so sweet.  This time last year Little Red was telling me every day “Boy Blue is bigger now.  Can he play cars with me?”  I can’t believe he’s grown so much.