When parenting is your mother

I'm trying to get the girls to clean their room in under 6 hours so it can be vacuumed & the sheets changed before bedtime. I'm asking a lot of the universe, I know. I can't even help them--no one over 4 feet tall can get in there at this point. I just stand in the doorway and urge them to focus on categories: dirty clothes, trash, dress-up stuff, books, legos. I go from screaming to encouraging to criticizing to single word directives. This is so hard on all of us. I hate it. The categories are the only improvement I've made to the hideous routine, learned from my mother. I KNOW it has everything to do with my serious avoidance of housework that has always kept me from enjoying any of my homes. Oh, and I try to keep my lectures shorter.

Long time, no hear

It's been almost two years since the last time I posted to this mostly private blog. I commented on a friend's blog post and wondered what would happen if she clicks on the link next to my comment and found it will bring her here. That is a frightening outcome. I never meant for anyone to read this, turns out, despite the fact that it's online. Anonymity in a crowd? Was that the plan? All I know is that when I come back and read this harsh, sad stuff I learn from it. I need to write more often. I'm not sure how to make it completely unaccessible, except to suggest: Heather, if you found your way here from your blog you may want to stop now. I'm enjoying our acquaintance and your positive, vibrant self, but you might not believe that if you keep reading. Thank you for the lovely experience with all your family's students last night. We'll all remember it for a long time.

Everyone is older now. James is almost 14, Lucie is 8, Alice nearly 6. I'm 40. I've let myself go so much I think I've aged 10 years in the last 6 months. I've started in a limited therapy thing at Kaiser, with a psychologist I like very much. She believes what I say, understands my reluctance to stay off anti-depressants, my kids are real to her (she is a child therapist, too) and she is giving me new information. She said, "...and I suspect you are behaving impulsively..." Is that what it is when I say something I don't want to say but can't stop myself? I think it is. I've never had a word for that before. Her saying it the way she did made me think it can go away, can be treated. I never knew that. I was terrified that I am losing control and it might get much worse. It may have, if I hadn't IMPULSIVELY called and signed up for treatment we can't really afford. I didn't remember how long I've been thinking about it until I read the previous entry in this journal just now. This is long overdue. This is the year I take care of myself again. I even went to the dentist for the first time in over 10 years. All the pain is gone, just from having a cleaning. Maybe therapy will be as profoundly helpful. I'm glad I did it. I'm glad I called.