April 9, 2011
James thought it did.
I was under no delusion that I would be able to keep it from the family. It now even houses Zuva’s pet Giraffe.
But the news I received before I entered the car pushed me over the edge. The sketch I had finished of Polly Plus the night before had been lost when James opened the program on my ipad.
But it was not about the ipad.
It was about me.
It was about my need to have some sort of limits set in my limitless life.
As I strive to be the best mom and partner, I struggle with my boundaries. I even struggle typing the word.
There is nothing I don’t share. My time, my money, my food, my thoughts, my children, my time, my experiences. If you need my spleen- it’s yours.
You need to be picked up now? No problem. You want some of my chocolate cake- cool- I don’t need it anyway. Want to sleep in my room- you can have a pullout mattress under my bed until you are one hundred years old. There must have been a defining moment in my life that I convinced myself that with this trait, I am better than everyone else. Giving is a contest that I easily win.
But in that moment, in the driveway, I wanted something. Something to be mine. Only mine, if even for a moment.
Something the kids or James or the random guy down the street would say… “Oh, you can’t touch that, that’s Kim’s!”. I do this for other people. I knock before I enter, I save the last piece of cake for lunches, I put the pens back where I found them (most of the time).
I’ve spent most of my parenting life trying to break the pattern of sacrificial parent, to do service only if I won’t resent it. To relish the privilege of serving. It sincerely brings me joy.
But in that moment I wanted something, anything, to just be mine. What do other people have that is just theirs? Is it possible? I can’t even fathom what it could be.