Five A.M.

Another all-nighter.

It’s been a long day. So, I have school aged kids. And my youngest loves people. She loves hugging and playing and sharing clothes… and hats…

Someone contacted me and told me that we needed to check hair. And yep. Lice. So after everything else that has happened, I’ve been dealing with combing hair, treating hair, washing clothes and sheets. It’s probably one of the most annoying and humiliating things a mother has to deal with. It’s one of those few times I’m glad to be a hermit. At least it hasn’t spread far. The girls’ hair is okay now, I combed through it until bedtime. And my own hair smells like licorice and it’s making me sick but at least I’m not itching. This has happened before and I’m so frustrated with it. At least my cousin is helping me with my hair. I can’t do my own and Nate won’t do it. “Your hair is hard to do.” Yeah. I know. But dammit it has to be done.

Listening to Amanda Palmer reading from her book “The Art of Asking”. Her voice is reassuring and comforting in a way that I’ve missed. I remember lying in the back floorboard of cars as a kid and listening to my mom talk while the rumble under my head lulls me to sleep.

I know I have complained a lot about my mother. And she is a chore. But so am I and I think the biggest problem is we are both so overwhelmed by our own shit and she held hers in for so long she can’t keep it inside even if she wanted. I don’t know what changed her mind on Easter, but she’s taken some small moments of actually listening to me. And confiding things in me, which I’m not certain are truths or just her way of trying to relate with me.

I wonder sometimes, the more things she confides, if we are in some way cursed. That’s what this feels like sometimes. Like I was given a broken brain, or no skin over my emotions. Everything is immediate and raw, and maybe the things she does when she acts out stems from the same place my own raw rage and grief and fear comes from. I tell myself that I should be more understanding, even as she is torturing me with her anxieties and bitterness.

I probably won’t feel it tomorrow. But this morning, the connection is there.