In our home, there are four teens, one tween, and a close to be adult who lives a city away. There is also a troll, sorry, challenging old woman (who has insisted since birth that I call her Mom) who lives upstairs and other living beings, including my growing collection of cactus that thrive in the shade. Yes. My cacti and I are all prickly, fat, and prefer languishing in the dark. The most important of my growing beings are definetly my growing brood of chickens. And just in writing that I realise how much describing them as chickens just doesn’t describe the enormity of who they are. What they’re blooming, growing into. I am at a loss for words actually. Because as much as I tear up when thinking of their amazing, step by step, aww growth spurts (ongoing), it has come with a hefty DIY catering and grocery cost (also ongoing).
When not selling a pound of flesh to keep us in house and home I do get invaluable moments and times with our many children, well, at least some of them. Our eldest son lives in another city which is to as he says: “foster a better relationship” which I read as: “I can only handle you in short, precise doses, after which we need to be seperated by land and sea”. Our next two, The Duchess, our eldest daughter, who holds the most superior rank until eldest son gets home, and The Queen (her BFF) still and regularly speak fluent flenglish to me. It’s when they talk to me using the little bit of flab they are trying to lose for their matric farewell (our prom) and they make voices and gesticulations to support. It is both frustrating and funny for example with me spending 10 minutes saying with increasing irritation instruction 1, instruction 2, and them saying in flenglish, laughing, sorry what? But it makes me smile on the inside that there are moments when they literally giggle in, out and with their bellies.
Our next son is immaculate in appearance, and a good looking guy, but less so in his immediate surroundings, particularly that which is in close proximity to me. He also adores me so much, that he takes my things and keeps them close to his heart. It’s a cute little habit that stretches my understanding of being a mother. He did however tell us that he remembered each of his school plays, and said that although he never really had a speaking part, he was amazed that my husband and I had come each time, cheered and waved in the audience and had once even taken him out for dinner (which is a treat in our house), and most importantly that he felt important each time. Our last, but certainly not least “I want to be the oldest” tween is a defiant, combination of all our entire household’s best AND worst traits. She also reguarly undertakes life threatening activity like talking back to me when I am reprimanding her. And argues, like she has a briefcase and hopefully, a TITANIUM cage to protect her from me. It’s like a good meme said: “There’s nothing like your daughter’s mouth to bring out your inner gangster”. Indeed.
So aside from all these endearing habits, languages, and moments, I concede that we are growing amazing things. That they are growing themselves. That it is usually, mostly a blessing to be part and parcel of all their development. That somehow I get to be a usually positive contributing factor to their lives (vitamin enduced I tell you). And that they don’t see me as disordered, mentally ill or broken. They see me as Mom. Momty. Someone to laugh with, cry with, inhale sweets under the blanket with. They actually want to be around me (poor kids) and know what to do when I need some space. Each day, though I don’t know how it will turn out, I know that they will be there. With kissy lips when I “don’t” want them, tissues for tears, and Mom and Me selfies even when I don’t feel pretty. And though I often prefer myself and my cacti in the dark, I always try and be in the sun for them. Also for me. Because they are awesome. Awesome People Plants. Be part of those who support us as opposed to those who don’t. I am 4 M’s Bipolar Mom.
(Thank you Pixabay for the beautiful picture).