I am as ever broken. The forms for the bankruptcy still haven’t been filled and the letters keep coming and the phone calls don’t stop demanding money yesterday. Work is manic right now and I seem to be on a downward spiral. The studies are not going well. I get home from work at 7pm and try to collect myself, the flat is chaos and I don’t seem to have time to sort it out.
Grace is at the age, the grand age of 10 weeks, where what she needs is her mother. When I am left holding her even for a few mins she quickly dissolves into tears, and I wonder what it is that I can offer her. She is to young too know who I am, and even if she did I don’t know it would help. I crawl into bed late and get up early, and the sleep deperavation takes its tole. I need a shower, cant remember when I last had one, know I need to bath grace, and yet the time escapes.
Not coping
As ever,
The Broken Man
Showing posts with label mother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mother. Show all posts
Thursday, 26 February 2009
Thursday, 19 February 2009
On plants and gifts
Shortly after my daughter was born my mother presented me with a plant from my Nan. Or, rather, a basket with a variety of plants in it adorned with a pink bow. I have always been fairly straight talking with my mother and so expected it to come as no surprise when surveying this item I said “oh dear”. Of all the gifts that can be given plants are to my mind the cruellest. Cut flowers do not require substantial care; a potted plant, however, is a life time commitment of watering and reporting. If it is a plant that doesn’t particularly appeal to you this is an unbearable burden – in honesty even with plants I do find appealing the idea of committing to regular watering is beyond me.
Please note that this collection of plants was given just after the birth of my daughter, with the associated demands that this brings. If it was me rather the long suffering wife breast feeding I feel certain that I would forget to feed her, and I am rather fond of her.
My mother, instead of encouraging me to enter into a tirade explaining the finer points of my disapproval of the well meant gift, looked a bit crest fallen and told me she had chosen it. I felt this was an appropriate moment for back tracking and suggested that the plants were indeed very nice and that maybe it was the nasty pink bow that was putting me off. My mother explained that she had placed the bow on them.
Seven weeks on we have not completely emptied the flat yet – tonight is the final trip – and among the things that had not made it over yet was the aforementioned plant. This was not a deliberate attempt to kill it, but rather a result of the difficulties of transporting plants – and not liking it.
It was then with some surprise that I arrived home yesterday to discover the plant sitting on the windowsill in a bowl of water. I was shocked. Had I offended my wife in some way so serious that she would seek out this plant to punish me? No. My mother had helpfully gone to the flat and retrieved it.
I wonder what effect watering it with bleach will have?
On the subject of gifts, people did give us, or rather, Grace gifts at the dedication which was now over two weeks ago. As yet I have not sent thank you cards. I get home from work at 7pm at night and I then try to eat, sort out the flat, study.. thank you cards have become a little buried in this list. Yet I know people took time to choose them, and we are very grateful for them..but finding the time to say thank you.. I am attempting to block out an evening next week for it, but right now its not looking good.
Yours as ever
the broken man
Please note that this collection of plants was given just after the birth of my daughter, with the associated demands that this brings. If it was me rather the long suffering wife breast feeding I feel certain that I would forget to feed her, and I am rather fond of her.
My mother, instead of encouraging me to enter into a tirade explaining the finer points of my disapproval of the well meant gift, looked a bit crest fallen and told me she had chosen it. I felt this was an appropriate moment for back tracking and suggested that the plants were indeed very nice and that maybe it was the nasty pink bow that was putting me off. My mother explained that she had placed the bow on them.
Seven weeks on we have not completely emptied the flat yet – tonight is the final trip – and among the things that had not made it over yet was the aforementioned plant. This was not a deliberate attempt to kill it, but rather a result of the difficulties of transporting plants – and not liking it.
It was then with some surprise that I arrived home yesterday to discover the plant sitting on the windowsill in a bowl of water. I was shocked. Had I offended my wife in some way so serious that she would seek out this plant to punish me? No. My mother had helpfully gone to the flat and retrieved it.
I wonder what effect watering it with bleach will have?
On the subject of gifts, people did give us, or rather, Grace gifts at the dedication which was now over two weeks ago. As yet I have not sent thank you cards. I get home from work at 7pm at night and I then try to eat, sort out the flat, study.. thank you cards have become a little buried in this list. Yet I know people took time to choose them, and we are very grateful for them..but finding the time to say thank you.. I am attempting to block out an evening next week for it, but right now its not looking good.
Yours as ever
the broken man
Wednesday, 13 August 2008
Mummy & Daddy
My father used to be very keen that we called him "Daddy", which I felt was very childish, and didn’t want to do. He got very cross if we called him "Dad". He told us that we could refer to him as "Pop", or "Daddy", but not "Dad".
So, the question now arises as to what name we give ourselves with our baby. I like "Papa", particularly if the child is girl – but the long suffering wife is not pleased with the idea. I don’t like "Pops", not at all. "Daddy" makes me squirm. I have never been a fan of a child calling their parents by their first name; I think we have enough friends in our lives, that it is worth distinguishing our parents as something different. Interestingly, in Judaism, part of the “outworking” of the command to honour your mother and father results in a ban from addressing your parents by their first name even after their death.
"Father" is very formal, so I am fighting my corner for "Dad". "Dadda" maybe for a young child? My wife is likely to be a "Mummy"...but I just don’t feel like I am a “Daddy” type...maybe it is a hang up from childhood...but I would be interested to hear others take on it...what do your children call you? Did you make a conscious decision on it?
So, the question now arises as to what name we give ourselves with our baby. I like "Papa", particularly if the child is girl – but the long suffering wife is not pleased with the idea. I don’t like "Pops", not at all. "Daddy" makes me squirm. I have never been a fan of a child calling their parents by their first name; I think we have enough friends in our lives, that it is worth distinguishing our parents as something different. Interestingly, in Judaism, part of the “outworking” of the command to honour your mother and father results in a ban from addressing your parents by their first name even after their death.
"Father" is very formal, so I am fighting my corner for "Dad". "Dadda" maybe for a young child? My wife is likely to be a "Mummy"...but I just don’t feel like I am a “Daddy” type...maybe it is a hang up from childhood...but I would be interested to hear others take on it...what do your children call you? Did you make a conscious decision on it?
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