Suddenly sheltered

During the weekday, it isnt hard to be here, bo worse than being at home despite the communal living.  Work, and the necessities it requires in childcare routine, takes up most of our day. The day is passed with eating, working, eating and bedtime, with only a short time to contemplate the situation after my girl goes to sleep.  By that point,  I'm simply too tired to do much, which means too tired to think a lot either.  The routine helps pass the time, helps tire my daughter, helps order the day in a way that's comforting and familiar. The weekends are harder. There is no routine or structure other than scheduled meal times. The tempers here are shorter. Its here where the different life experience of women come out. Early in the morning you see moms,  hunched over barely passable cups of coffee, trying to get children to eat, to settle. Battling the earlyness of the morning in tired pyjama. The children are of course already wound up, egging each other on. Pl...

Life is a shelter is weird.  Let's face it - not a single person who calls this their current address is here because they are in a great place in their life. People are stressed, emotional, breaking down and rebuilding parts of themselves and their lives. The rules ask you to be on your best behaviour at your worst point. They ask you to live communally with people who you have never met, and to be cared for in some ways like a child. They are not rules you had input in making and yet you have no choice but to abide because where else would you go and be sure you were safe and would remain so. When you first come in they ask about your social supports- friends, family, people who can help you emotionally, who can listen. Them they ask you not to tell them too much - maybe not your exact location, definately not about anyone you meet here. Please, they say, use your support network to get you through this difficult time. Then they show you the rules - no men (makes sense, everyone ...

12:38 am.  The screams or my daughter wake me for the light sleep I've managed to achieve. My girl usually sleeps through the night but it's hard here. Our wing houses mothers and children.  The benefit is what they call a single room - instead of sharing space with a stranger only myself and my daughters crib occupy the long narrow room.  They say the walls are concrete but sound travels around here. What woke her tonight? Maybe the whimpers of the infant down the hall. Much younger than my 14 month old, he is still in the stage of needing to be fed every three hours. His poor mom looks ragged,  tired. The shelter doesnt allow anyone to have visitors and here we are 100% responsible for our children 100% of the time. There are no breaks here. 12:52 am.  My daughter continues to cry.  Still breastfeeding,  I tried her favour comfort measure to no avail, she screamed round my nipple. Resettling her also didnt work, nor did a diaper change, turning on th...

If, like me, you were lucky enough to stay in a hotel as a child, you might just remember the joy of finding the free amenities. The hotel labelled pen, the bible in the drawer, but most importantly the tiny playsized bottles of shampoo and bodywash found in the bathroom. The little squares of soap, individually wrapped and practically doll size.  As a child, I loved these amenities. It didnt make bathtime more enjoyable, in fact I hated the weird scent of soap that wasnt really my own, but just the existence of these tiny scraps of cleanliness made me think of crazy scenarios to put my dolls through on the hotel floor. As an adult, I will admit that every time I go to a hotel I bring these tiny vials home in my suitcase like treasures. Under what used to be my bathroom sink sat a basket that held little bottles of shampoo and guest soaps, serving both as memory of my travels and theoretically something to provide to the houseguests I never had.  I dreamt of having a friend of...