Feisty Repartee

Cracks

Apparently I am cracked. My facade, at least...

And the cracks?? People who know me - or at least have had a real glimpse of me - tell me that the jagged edges are beginning to show...

I am more tired than I ever remember being in my life. Emotionally. Physically. Personally. Tired...

And I don't know what to do about the cracks.

I am used to being able to distance myself from all emotion. Business mode all the way. It's how I deal. Always have...

Cracks.

They suck. More so because I *still* have so much more to do. To be. I need to continue to be strong. Strong is what I know. Strong is what I DO. But I can feel the shift of my own personal tectonic plates.

Scares the shit out of me, frankly...

I am blessed with good friends. Some of whom I can trust... But I do not extend trust lightly... Trusting, to me, equals vulnerability. And I cannot abide feeling vulnerable.

Vulnerability = weakness. Weakness = pain. Weakness = failure. Some days I feel as though I have no skin. Let alone a "thick" one. I hate that...

Cracks.

I need better glue. Maybe a few bridges. More wine, certainly...

Cracks.

Cracks suck. I prefer my facade to be intact. Or at least the cracks to remain invisible...

Invisible sounds pretty good right now...

Repeat the mantra - I am fine. *I* am fine. I *am* fine. I am *fine.*

Fine. Just cracked...

Shit.

Wee Clean

Yesterday was not a particularly spectacular day. It was rather stressful, in fact. When I got home I was agitated and in a bad mood.

The girls were sensitive to that and when I asked Wee One to collect her dirty clothes and sort them in the wash room, she did so without complaint. Thereafter, she grabbed the white towels from my bathroom and threw them in the wash with her whites. It was sweet.

Much later I was on the phone decompressing with a good friend (Thank God for the gift of good friends) and I heard the washer beep beep beep alerting to the end of the cycle. Moments later I heard the wee child ask her father: "Can you turn the dryer on for me?"

We have a stacked front load washer and dryer unit. At seven, she could not quite reach.

Bless her.

Just about bed time she managed to unload the dryer into the hamper, drag the hamper to my bed, dump the clean clothes, and attempt to fold them.

I definitely have great kids!

I am also extremely blessed.

Painting with broad strokes

The girls are now seven and fifteen. They have their own distinct personalities and interests. While I would like to seem them interact more, the reality is they are eight years apart in age. There is very little that attracts both their attentions; however, a few weeks ago I enrolled them in an art class for watercolor.

It was actually an adult class, but the instructor was persuaded to take Wee One on the condition that I, too, enroll. So, essentially, she got two students for the price of three.

The two-hour classes have been fine. After the first one both girls came straight home and worked on their assignments and painted for a couple more hours.

As well, the class this past week was fine. The third and last class is this coming Saturday.

Both girls are artistic, but Sweet One has really come into her own. Wee One is doing fine, but as the class is definitely geared to adults, the pace dictates she misses out on some of the finer points of color mixing and painting technique. My role has been to support her in the class and help her keep up.

The next set of classes is to begin in a few weeks. We have already been encouraged to register for the new classes. It was my thought Sweet One and one of her friends might like to continue taking the Watercolor series which would allow Wee One and me to find something else to do.

Unfortunately, Wee did not get that memo. She wants to continue taking the Watercolor classes. So, the instructor will continue to receive two students for the price of three.

At least, this is something we can do together, right?

NOTE: As to comments, I have had to disable them because 30 seconds after I posted I got hit with a wave of spam. Damn, damn, damnable spammers.