The Small

I've been slowly starting to refine my interests. Emphasis on the word slowly. One day I'm certain that I want to do xyz and the next day, that sounds like torture. It's slow progress, but I feel confident I will get to wherever I'm going. The potential of the unknown is gradually becoming less terrifying and foreboding, and more interesting and inviting. At least today it is. Tomorrow it will probably be back to the scary parts.

I stopped writing for a while. Why is that. Well. I think I stopped writing because I didn't know what to write about. You know those image compilations (I can think of a certain sea sponge themed show with such a compilation) of a person going through their day, not moving, as the scenes flash behind them showing the same thing over and over and over again. That's me.

It's this tricky sort of relationship, though. You see, I think I like routine. Routine holds me accountable. I love a good healthy, to do list. I love writing the list, and I love it to be full, and the satisfaction of crossing it off. But being a SAHM, your list starts to dwindle down as your tasks become things like "Change the kitty litter" "Air out the rooms" "Vacuum" and so on. I mean, there's lots of other important things on there, too, of course. I have my "boy" time where we sit, with nothing to do, nothing to distract us too much, and we talk. Maybe we find a magazine to flip through. Maybe they drive cars all over me. That's meaningful work, the connection. But running a house while your husband is at work is made of a lot of non-connection. For a person that craves meaningful connection, who suffers greatly from social anxiety and has a hard time creating those meaningful connections, and who is stuck in a monotonous routine... life starts to lose meaning. And when life has no meaning, then there's nothing more to write.

And to be fair, I'm not innocent in this. As certain mental health challenges have risen up, I've definitely sacrificed parts of myself to feed the illness in the name of "self care" which wound up to be ways that didn't particularly serve myself, and may have done more harm in driving me further into a ditch than anything. Figuring out how to round out those areas that have deflated will be a challenge in and of itself, but hey, there are definitely pockets of meaning tucked away in there.

But while I'm here, I might as well look for the inspiration. I suppose no greater way to scratch the itch of creation than looking for inspiration when it's difficult to find it.

So here are some things that inspire me.

I love watching Minus eat. I love how methodical he is in the process. He licks off his fingers and slowly presses his fingers along the corners of his dishes to find the last bits of food. He holds his sandwich like an adult and chews slowly, looking at the food as he eats it, to learn what it tastes like, what it smells like, and what it looks like. Meanwhile Didik smashes up his bread into a little ball and picks it into tiny crumbs until it's all over the floor, and none of it is in his mouth.

I'm calling them by the names they called each other, starting out, by the way. I didn't actually name my children Didik and Minus.

I love watching Didik when he's still (which is rare) and happy (which is common). His eyes turn into little moons. It's the best way I can think to describe it. Crescents turned on their sides. I suppose calling them rainbows would be a more practical way to create the image, but calling them moons feels more accurate. They're dark, but they shine. He looks like a cartoon character, perfectly arched eyes that shoot happiness out of them. It's so beautiful.

I love listening to Minus's voice. Oh how he loves the sound of his own voice. He was born loving it. I love listening to him babble and sing different pitches. He speaks in complete sentences, but when the words run out (because trust me, when you talk as much as he does, the words run out) he resorts to just "ah" and "duh" and "boo", sung at different volumes, and different pitches, experimenting with how it feels and sounds.

I love my relationship with Didik. He is so critical of me, and I don't know where he got that from. He will not hesitate to tell me when I do wrong. He has no shortage of attitude there. "Mom, I told you already..." "Mom, I'm just saying..." He's three. And he's not like this with everyone, just me. Almost annoyance, though I know it's feigned when he crawls onto my lap and curls up and runs his hands through my hair. I feel lucky that he's so comfortable around me that he doesn't hesitate to call me out when he thinks I'm wrong. Sometimes he's right. But only sometimes.

I spoke with my therapist this week about selfishness. I feel very selfish in some areas. I feel they are quite big areas of life, though. I don't really want to get into it. She pointed out that I'm quick to compromise in many areas, though. At the core of it, what I perceive as selfish is simply me trying to preserve the parts of me that I feel are important.

But maybe I am selfish. I'm very selfish in claiming the three boys in my life (four, if you include the cat) as mine. I feel so fortunate to have them as mine. I selfishly love being the queen of the house, with all the rights, royalties, inclusions and exclusions that come with it.

I think today is a good day. Maybe I'll have to tell my mood tracker that. Today is a pretty good day.