What does it take?
Posted on | February 28, 2006 |
Sometimes it feels so impossible to do this well: to be a mother and be all that that requires and still do other things. To have days like today when Bean was restless and fussy and probably teething (when he would cry and achieve spectacular meltdowns when I denied him things like the phone or a full pitcher of water) and to keep intact some sense of purpose outside of mothering.
I can’t help feeling anxious: a writing deadline for a workshop I want to take this summer is rapidly approaching. I want it so much my heart aches, and yet, immediately the chorus of doubt starts warming up.
On days like this I lie in the dark of the bedroom nursing Bean for what feels like the umpteenth time, and to grasp at the wisps of images that linger at my mind’s periphery. A new idea for a painting. A handful of possibilities for the manuscript I must write. But when I finally settle down after the laundry has been done, the dishes washed, I am able to locate only tiny fragments.
I try to remember to breathe, to let the hurdy gurdy of my heart play easy music, even when there is hubbub all around, the room strewn with a hundred small things: shoes and toys, books, little snippets.
I try to remember to pause, to let the kite of my soul lift off the ground even when the day brings complication: so many things that are not either/or, that are not simple, that are instead sticky with doubt and exhaustion.
I try to remember to let words be more than the little pieces: linking contents with ingredient, newsprint with the days events, even when I am empty like the broken glass I swept into the dustpan from the kitchen floor.
I try to remember to be patient, to stitch together moments into a mosaic of things that matter: tea & crumb cake with Bean at Barnes & Noble in the morning; buying 79 cent Dagoba chocolate samples and raspberry licorice, fresh naval oranges, milk in a glass jug, and squash & maple ravioli. A half hour to myself (the only time all day) when he finally napped in the afternoon: just me and the cat and more tea on the couch, eyeing Annie Liebovitz’s pics in Vanity Fair. And later, reading essays from this collection at the gym.
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22 Responses to “What does it take?”
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February 28th, 2006 @ 2:02 am
You’re not alone.
And you still managed to string it all together so beautifully, the neverending daily derailment of a busy mom’s focus. Hugs!
February 28th, 2006 @ 2:26 am
I’m with you. Most days are like this and if I didn’t find the time to write about them (like you have), I’d be bonkers. There’s no doubt in my mind.
This mom gig is hard; the hardest job I’ve every had, that’s for sure.
February 28th, 2006 @ 2:45 am
I’m with you. There are so many days that I feel frustrated and like I haven’t accomplished a thing. (The laundry, the deadlines, grocery shopping, the million art projects swimming around in my head.) But, really, I’ve accomplished the most important things of all.
February 28th, 2006 @ 6:39 am
That is a beautiful photo.
February 28th, 2006 @ 7:13 am
And yet you weave it all together so beautifully here. Dagoba…I love their dark chocolate with lavender…
February 28th, 2006 @ 7:52 am
There are so many days that have been like this and you’d think now that my girl is almost 5, that perhaps it would be smoother; that there’d be more time for ME. But somedays have just been like this, where I put myself and my dreams on hold. At least you were able to pull the beauty from it and also, carve out time for yourself by going to the gym. I need to make sure I do that for myself more, thank you for reminding me of that.
February 28th, 2006 @ 7:59 am
Hi,
My kids are 15! and 6, and in some ways it will get easier but then new challenges arrive. I read you pretty frequently but never comment and I must say it’s because your writing is always so clear and focused that the flow of it actually pains me…never doubt your abilities.
February 28th, 2006 @ 9:20 am
Oh my darling wonder woman! You just managed to insert ‘hurdy gurdy’ into a post, and it’s making me love you all the more! Your writing is spectacular, amazing, and you will get into that workshop, I have every faith in you and your talent.
That said, I hope tomorrow is a little better. Meltdowns are hard. And I love the picture, full of shadows.
February 28th, 2006 @ 10:18 am
and yet, you deliver up pieces of your day so beautifully for us to read. i hope you have a bit more time to yourself today, and if you do, you must find this chocolate and indulge! (likewise, i will be looking for dagoba): http://www.vosgeschocolate.com/ — I reccomend the Barcelona Bar
February 28th, 2006 @ 10:35 am
I hope you make that writing deadline — and I’m so glad you got a few minutes to yourself. The cat, your tea and the part of the magazine look wonderfully relaxing.
February 28th, 2006 @ 12:35 pm
“to let the kite of my soul life off the ground”
wow. beautiful. you have captured it all so beautifully here, painting a picture of feelings and hopes with your words. That picture is fantastic.
February 28th, 2006 @ 1:02 pm
I love this entry. I love the undercurrent of strength, with a top layer of anxious worrying. Fantastic.
February 28th, 2006 @ 1:37 pm
it will come,
it will come.
you have to forcibly
take that time for yourself…
(although there will be days
when you just can’t)
you have to watch for openings
and snatch them up…
you have to keep forming the words
even if you can only get them down
in snippets and jags…
and eventually, it will come…
i think as long as one is aware
of the fear of losing themselves,
they will not lose themselves.
i hope that makes any semblance
of sense…
February 28th, 2006 @ 2:14 pm
I try to remember all of those (beautifully said) things too, and to stop and enjoy a cup of tea when it gets really crazy.
February 28th, 2006 @ 2:56 pm
Wonderful comments from above. I can only echo them and say that patience, patience and some measure of whimsy, are for me the ingredients that make the difficult days manageable.
February 28th, 2006 @ 3:23 pm
You have such nice commenters
Honestly, sometimes I wonder how I survived with everything going on when I was a new mother, and you put me to shame, my dear 
February 28th, 2006 @ 5:13 pm
I admire how you have captured a sense of stillness through the tranquility of your writing voice, even when your life must feel like anything but calm on days like this. I really related to what you said about the tiny fragments…I try to have faith that when I finally get pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, I’ll be able to pull some of them back from oblivion). On days like today (my Madam is also fussy), I try to remember that the interruptions are also part of the overall flow, like the silence is an integral part of music. And then I make brownies, and eat them.
February 28th, 2006 @ 7:35 pm
I DO have such nice commenters! You people make my world, my days, my moments so much richer! THANK YOU!
February 28th, 2006 @ 10:09 pm
this post resonates so with me - having had these days - well i’m sure we all have, but being a mother, you just find sometimes that half hour just isn’t doing it. but good to remind of all the good things.
February 28th, 2006 @ 10:56 pm
I love this post. So honest. I feel the same way a lot of the time. I’ve been working on it for Rhonna’s 21 day challenge…remaining mindful, remembering to breathe
I’ve been posting on my blog
www.artsymama.blogspot.com
March 23rd, 2006 @ 7:37 pm
oh thank god thank goodness for you. just found you on onehandtyping and feel such a well of tears and oh yes i feel that toos and mmm hmmm still picking up blue broken glass shards. i boldy say “we” because we are all connected, but i feel such a power rising in us, for us, our creations are going to happen-with those babes right at our breasts. i feel quite alive knowing we are growing…
May 8th, 2006 @ 7:41 am
ps. i finally managed to find some dagoba chocolate! (during my trek to Whole Foods yesterday). Can’t wait to try it!