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Posts tagged ‘motherhood’

Jan 12

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Brittany: I Like the Me that Doesn’t Write

I like the me that doesn’t write, that isn’t annoyed with toddler tears and poopy diapers. Whose mornings are filled with muffins and snuggles instead of character development on page 275. I like evenings of leisurely splashy toddler bathtime and seven or eight stories before bed. I don’t miss the nights where I wish the boys would sleep already so I could perfect the dialogue in chapter 4.

I am enjoying *not* writing. But I feel a compulsion to do it anyway.

I’ll admit, I struggle with balance. I’m the kind of writer who putters a little here and a little there for months, followed by a gigantic burst of writing over the course of a day or two, where I forget where I am, forget to eat, forget I’m on planet Earth and have two small children in need of dinner. And after three years of feverish writing, it’s nice to be in my own head again  without the characters I created crowding me out, interrupting playtime and Thomas videos with their insistence on some plot resolution.

Monday, while pumping gas, I heard a train whistle off in the distance and knew it was headed our way. Sam wants nothing more in life than to look at trains, and in downtown Simpsonville, it is possible to drive alongside the track, along a side road, a few feet from the train itself. Because I wasn’t writing, and had the whole day in front of me, I wasn’t in a rush to get home, feed Sam lunch, and put him down for his nap. Instead of heading home, I drove down Main Street, pulled up at an intersection, watched the train go by, and then followed the train all the way down the side road until it ended. Sam was totally blissed out, and I knew the way you just know these things, that this was a moment where I was filling Sam’s emotional well.

Then yesterday, after my chiropractor appointment, I decided to take John to the library for Mother Goose on the Loose. It’s a program from children up to age two with music and books, rhymes and rhythm. I took Sam for almost two years, every week, unfailingly. He was not a huge fan of the crowd of people and nervously clung to me for almost every session. He did not like to participate. And he didn’t interact with the other children much. But he loved to come home and do the activities one-on-one with me, so I would go to learn the activities and somehow Sam endured it. During Mother Goose time, the leader, Donna, takes out  a drum and sings, “My name is Donna. What’s your name?” On “Donna,” she hits the drum twice, one for each syllable. The point of the activity is to create phonemic awareness, but most kids just like to take their turn with the drum. Not Sam. In two years–two years of gentle encouragement and mommy assistance–he hit the drum exactly once. The last day we ever went to Mother Goose on the Loose. The day he spent most of the time crawling under the chairs and trying to run outside the room and activate the automatic library doors. At drum time, he joined the group briefly, long enough to smack out his one-syllable name.

John, as much a I try not to make comparisons, is a completely different child temperament-wise. He is a social butterfly and loves to watch the world, the more stimuli the better. And since most of my free time of late was spent writing, and my one-on-one time was usually reserved for his needier older brother, I felt a little mommy guilt that I wasn’t doing anything yet just for him.

You can probably see where I’m about to go with this story. John loved Mother Goose on the Loose. He was attentive and happy and played with the other children, was deliriously happy, and hit the drum–on the first try. Again, I felt an enormous sense of pleasure at being able to tap into what my child needed and give it to him.

Now to diverge for a moment…I have taken the Myers-Briggs personality test quite possibly a hundred times, through all stages of my life, from high school on. No matter when I’ve taken it, I’ve been an I/E NTJ. You know how you hear something about yourself and shrug and say, “If you say so…” That’s where I was at.

Lately, I’ve been having a mini-crisis of self. For more of the gory details, you can read my personal blog. But the amazing thing about it is that as soon as I said I was looking for more joy in my life, a better sense of self, and more satisfaction with my life, the universe has literally flooded me with it.

I was on Facebook last night after the kids were in bed, and spur of the moment decided to take the Myers-Briggs again. Now I am an ISFJ. Somewhere down the line, my personality changed. That, or I’ve become more honest with myself over time. The ISFJ  is described as The Nurturer:  quiet, kind, and conscientious. Can be depended on to follow through. Usually puts the needs of others above their own needs. Stable and practical, they value security and traditions. Well-developed sense of space and function. Rich inner world of observations about people. Extremely perceptive of other’s feelings.

That sounds about right.

So in other words, focusing on my book has prevented me from nurturing anything but my laptop. Since I haven’t been writing, I’ve been happier this week than I’ve been in a long time. I’m no longer focused on myself and my projects. Instead, I’m opening up new worlds for my boys. Truly that’s where I’m happiest.

I loved the movie Finding Neverland and the way the filmmakers showed Barrie stepping into and out of his imagination and using his real-life experiences within his creative writing. It was a realization that writers/artists do hop back and forth between worlds. And just like Barrie, I think my adventures with my boys will inspire my writing, too. Isn’t it a wonderful thing when one world sustains the other?

Dec 18

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Dee: Yes I’m Insane, So What?

My name is Dee Thompson and I am a paralegal and writer in Atlanta, Georgia. I am a single mom to a 17-year-old beauty, Alesia, adopted from Russia in 2004, and my son Michael, age 12, adopted from Kazakhstan in 2007. I spent 20 years dating and never found Mr. Right, so finally I gave up. Now I am much happier because I have my children, and my mother lives with us and helps me a lot. I write The Crab Chronicles and Scribblerchick’s Movie Dish whenever I can — lunch hours, late nights, early mornings — as a way to keep my writing skills and blow off steam. I also want people to read The Crab Chronicles and think that adopting an older child can be a wonderful experience. In addition to blogging, I have written a children’s book called Jack’s New Family, about a boy adopted from Russia and how he adjusts to America, and numerous magazine articles. I have manuscripts about my kids’ adoptions, and I am looking for a publisher. Both my adoptions were pretty unusual. I met Alesia when my choir sang at her orphanage. Before that I’d had no idea I would ever adopt a child. My son is missing his right hand due to a frostbite accident, but he’s a great kid.

When I blog I am sometimes very informative, sometimes funny, and sometimes I just need to vent. Some posts are all three. Here is a recent post, entitled: Yes I’m Insane, So What?

I tried to go to sleep last night and ignore the bizarre beeping that was happening somewhere downstairs all night. Found out this morning it’s a smoke alarm with batteries that are failing. The intermittent beeps are to annoy you until you start screaming and tear your hair out trying to figure out why the beeps are happening and you approach the smoke alarm with a hatchet and a crazed look in your eye and — I digress.

We had a day of epic thunderstorms and tornadoes whipping around middle Georgia. It’s December. We should have SNOW, for crying out loud. Instead, we get thunderstorms. It was so weird driving in this morning feeling like it was July — I didn’t need a coat or even a jacket — and hearing Christmas music on the radio.

I looked at Michael last night and thought OMG, his head is getting bigger. It IS bigger. He takes after me — I have a freakishly large head. Mother looks pained every time she recalls my birth, because I came out looking like a big-headed alien child with bright red hair. The first photo, the newborn photo, shows a tiny creature that looks extremely pissed off, probably because Mother stayed on a diet the whole time she was pregnant and gained less than 20 lbs.

I don’t have any such traumatic birth or infancy memories of Michael, of course, but the head thing really amazes me. He is growing almost 1/2 inch every month, which explains the bigger head. The pediatrician said for boys Michael’s age, normal growth is about 2 inches a year. Mike is growing 3-4 inches a year.

I was on the elevator in the parking garage yesterday and this woman tried to get on, then realized we were going up and stepped back, apologizing to me and the other lady on there. We just nodded. I started at her as the doors closed. She was very tall and skinny, and appeared to be an alien life form. I turned to the other lady in the elevator, though, because I thought, I need confirmation of what I have just seen. “Is it my imagination, or did that woman have the tiniest head you have ever seen?! Good lord!” The other lady nodded and started laughing hysterically.

There’s a guy I see all the time in the parking garage, smoking, and he has a very large head. [In a man, that’s called “leonine.” In a woman, it’s called “a freakishly large head”!] Anyway, I saw him yesterday and thought, if you and the pinhead lady got together — would your child have a normal size head?!

I love this quote: “Insane people are always sure that they are fine. It is only the sane people who are willing to admit that they are crazy.” — Nora Ephron

I am quite willing to admit I am very eccentric. Maybe even crazy, but not in a bad way.

Michael asked me last night while he was brushing his teeth what my favorite movie is. I couldn’t think, so I just said Braveheart. He rolled his eyes, “No, what is your favorite movie that WE DON’T HAVE?!” he demanded. Again, brain fart. “The Color Purple?” I said. He gave me a look of great suspicion. I’m sure he has no idea what The Color Purple even is, but it sounds weird that I like both that AND Braveheart. Finally, duh, it occurred to me that he was thinking about my Christmas gift. I said “Sweetie, we are going shopping this weekend and you can pick out a gift for me, OK? I’ll tell you what I want. Don’t worry about it. I’ll also help you and Alesia pick out something for Granny.”

He gave me a speculative look, like, can I trust you? He reminded me of a cross between Opie Taylor and a very short KGB agent.

I had a dream last night that I was hanging out with Tom Cruise. We weren’t doing anything fun, but I was thinking in my dream, you are so cute but you need to get a CLUE, dude. Quit hanging out with the crazies and get a wife your own age.

As soon as I mentioned this dream at breakfast, Alesia mentioned a dream involving her friend Elena, in which Elena had very long legs and knees oddly positioned. In the dream, Elena was wearing high heels. Her legs looked fabulous except for the knees. This led to a discussion of shoes, and Alesia said Elena wears high heels to school. I must have looked distressed, because I think it’s unwise to wear high heels in a big school — I bet her feet hurt at the end of the day. I detest high heels anyway. Alesia immediately got angry at me and said in her typically infuriated raised voice “Elena can wear high heels IF SHE WANTS TO! You’re not her MOTHER!!” Lately, Alesia gets furious with me every time I disagree with her. She talks VERY LOUD at the slightest provocation. It’s maddening.

It was a loooooong therapy session tonight…

Dec 16

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Neo-Maternalism: Contemporary Artists’ Approach to Motherhood

From the Brooklyn Rail, an extensive and personal exploration into motherhood and art, written by Sharon Butler. Three excerpts:

Ever since the Abstract Expressionists held forth at the Cedar Tavern in the 1950s, the unwritten rule has been that making art is a consuming obsession that leaves no time or space for worldly responsibilities like childrearing. Before the AbExers, an artist like Gaugin left his wife and kids in Denmark to pursue painting in Paris, and later Tahiti. With artists—unlike, say, poets, novelists, or filmmakers—there’s an expectation of an ascetic, blinkered life focused exclusively on making art. Artists with kids have often ignored them while spending all their time in the studio. In Night Studio: A Memoir of Philip Guston, Guston’s daughter Musa Meyer tells the heartbreaking story of a disengaged father who had little room in his life for her. So, why then, closing in on the final years of fertility, with scant investigation or evidence that the outcome would be salutary, did I stop using birth control in 1998 and let fate take its course? My decision was more intellectual than emotional. I reasoned that I was an artist. If I did get pregnant, wouldn’t this primal experience strengthen and inform my work? If I didn’t, then I wouldn’t have any regrets. I rolled the dice, and three months later the pregnancy test was positive…

The accepted wisdom among the first generation of feminist artists who disdained baby-making was that women who reproduce spend at least a year or two making idiosyncratic, excessively inward-looking “baby art” and then, if they are lucky, eventually get their wits about them and return to their previous, more serious work. It’s a condescending view, perhaps, but to my mind more or less valid. Growing a baby from a seed is an inexorably life-altering, eye-opening, intense experience, and always will be. In the first stages, child-rearing is so existentially consuming and preoccupying that it cannot help but suffuse any artwork….

Of course, it would be naïve to contend that nowadays reconciling motherhood and art making is always a smooth and effortless endeavor. But contemporary female artists are more determined than their predecessors to overcome barriers to harmonizing the two aspects of life rather than acquiesce to them. Emerging artist Jennifer Wroblewski, mother of a six-month-old, was originally discouraged when older female artists she knew intimated that her pregnancy would adversely affect her career. Rather than accept the projected consequences of professional indifference and potential dismissal, Wroblewski decided to curate an exhibition tentatively titled “Mother/Mother” that would explore ideas garnered from the process of parenting….

Read the full article here.

Dec 11

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Kelly: Emotional Writing? Superwoman Unraveling…

So let me just tell you about my last week or so. I think it’ll be emotional writing at its finest. I had my last arts festival of the fall this past weekend: Market Days in Tallahassee. It’s a very large show, and this year was the first time I’ve participated in it. It’s also an indoor show, and I was on a center aisle, which meant I had to develop some sort of side and back walls with no tent. Over a month ago, I talked to DH about this. I did have a plan for my pipe and drape, and I drew it out for him. Five weeks before the show, mind you. Well, the Monday before the show, my plan was still a pile of PVC sitting on the side of the house. I had to work late two nights last week, Tuesday and Thursday. I had my first intense vestibular rehab appointment on Wednesday (you can read about that here). Each night when I got home, there was some crisis or other to deal with, and, of course, DH couldn’t help the girls with their homework that week because he was too busy making my pipe set up, which he’s had FIVE WEEKS to do. To add to that he said, “You’re going to have to start helping the girls with their homework. I don’t have the patience.” So okay, I guess it doesn’t matter that I get minimal help with the girls in the morning because he leaves for work at 6:15am, and I guess it doesn’t matter than he and the girls get home at 4pm as opposed to my 5:30-6:00pm, just in time for dinner and baths…unless, of course, he’s gone to work out before he picks up the girls…I can’t remember the last time I had time to work out. He doesn’t have the patience to help the girls with their homework, so that now falls to me as well? When am I supposed to do this?

Typically DH thankfully does load up my van for me for my shows and I’m very grateful for that, but since he hadn’t quite finished with the PVC and I had to teach a class Thursday night, that left the load up to me on Friday morning before I hit the road. Did I mention the part about the miserable cold I’ve been battling for the past two weeks? Blowing snot everywhere, I was, and still am. I usually travel to shows with a fellow artist friend. We had planned to leave Jacksonville at 10am, but she called me about 9:45am and told me she had decided to leave at 9am and would just see me over there during set up. Did I tell you that DH made the pipe set up for her as well? The same pipe set up I was trying to corral and load in to my van when she called to tell me she had already left? Are you feeling my frustration and lack of appreciation? By the time I got over to Tallahassee, I had exhausted a whole box of tissues and frankly was in a foul mood. She was already nearly set up, just waiting on me to deliver her the pipe set up that my DH built. When I apparently wasn’t moving fast enough, she reminded me that she needed to leave by 3pm to get back to Jacksonville for her son’s game. Fine. I’ve got a miserable cold, I feel like crap, but I’m moving as fast as I can. Gimme a freakin’ break.

I made it through the show, fairly decent sales given the economy, but not really decent enough to warrant the higher booth fee and added cost of having to create pipe and drape. Trying to find the positive, at least I was inside, not outside battling the weather. When I got home Sunday night at nearly 10pm, as par for the course on most of my trips, the house was a disaster and DH was grumpy from having the girls all weekend by himself. He doesn’t seem to realize that these shows are no walk in the park. They are a pain in the a** and I’m working that very same a** off the entire weekend, but no rest for the weary. I was back to work on Monday morning, only to come home to a very grumpy husband and the girls’ homework staring at me at the end of the day.

Then it was back to therapy Tuesday afternoon for more dizzy torture. Tuesday night was “Polar Express” night at the girls’ school, and I had already promised them we would go, dizzy nausea be damned. To make things easier, I figured we’d just go to Chick-fil-A for dinner (their favorite) and then head over to the school. I thought since DH had had them all weekend by himself and was so grumpy Monday afternoon that getting them out of the house for a while would give him a break as well. I got home a little early since my therapy ended at 4pm, so I beat them home, but the minute they got home, things went downhill. Sarah was distraught because she lost her gold locket on the playground, the same gold locket that I only let her wear because she promised and promised and promised again that she wouldn’t try to take it off. Well, apparently she tried to take it off and lost it. I have to admit I wasn’t too happy about it either since, in my stupidity, I had put the locket on a 14K gold chain when the cheap chain it came with turned her neck green. Learned that lesson!

We made it through that drama and I got them loaded up in the van to head to Chick-fil-A. On the exit ramp from I-95, as we made the turn onto Duval Road, Sarah’s car seat dumped to the center of the van. Apparently in his grumpiness Monday afternoon, DH had not checked to make sure it was locked in correctly when he reinstalled it after unloading my van. Of course, I was on a road with absolutely no where to pull over, while Sarah was laying sideways in her car seat as I tried to keep her steady with one hand reaching behind me and one hand on the wheel. Livvie, bless her heart, was trying to push her back up with all her might. We found a spot to pull over near the light to Chick-fil-A, and while I was getting her resettled and the seat tightened in correctly, the dozens of extra cars spilling out of the Chick-fil-A parking lot caught my eye. Great! It’s Cow Night at Chick-fil-A! Whoo hoo! No way we’re getting in there, so we went through the drive through. The server forgot half my order, which, of course, I didn’t notice until we were already moving on down the road to the school.

Now back up a minute and let me put all this in context. While dealing with all this family and art show drama for the past week, I’ve had a hellacious month at work. Long story short (though this is already a long story, isn’t it?), I have college-wide responsibility for the Student Life department (we have five campuses), yet I don’t have college-wide authority over the people who carry out our program. Yeah, doesn’t make sense to me either. That means while I’m working on deadline putting our college-wide calendar together (click here to see this term’s calendar as an example), the rest of our staff does not possess, shall we say, the same urgency I have. Well, hell no! They aren’t the ones responsible for getting the damned thing written, designed, printed and delivered on time! They’re just responsible for getting me their information to include in it! Remember my whole, “I think I just might go teach elementary school discussion”? This is part of the reason why.

Let me add just one more thing. I am the president of the Greater Jacksonville Chi Omega Alumnae Chapter. Now understand that I didn’t KNOW I was the president of the Greater Jacksonville Chi Omega Alumnae Chapter until I started getting phone calls and emails from people asking for information. I finally learned the previous president had told everyone (at a meeting I missed) that I was the new president, and neglected to inform me or give me any of the materials and giant box of stuff to carry out the job. She and I had had one discussion in which she asked me if I’d consider it, and I told her I’d think about it. Apparently she took that as a yes. When I learned this, I sent out an email to our chapter trying to find another volunteer but have had no luck. In the meantime, our annual Holiday Tea is December 21. Guess who’s responsible? Guess who was stuffing and labeling the 157 invites when the girls and DH got home Tuesday, Sarah distraught from having lost her necklace?

So what happens when you’re trying to live by the “Someday is Today” mantra and your Superwoman powers start to unravel? What happens when you have so much in your brain that you constantly walk into a room only to completely forget why the heck you walked in there? What happens when you need to tell your daughters to put something on, only the name of those rubber and canvas things that go on your feet totally escapes you? I guess I have to take some responsibility for my own downfall. There are things that I don’t have to do. I don’t have to sell my wares on the art show circuit, yet we’ve invested so much in my business that I feel obligated to bring some cash back into our family coffers. I don’t have to be the Greater Jacksonville Chi Omega Alumnae Chapter president (until I can beg someone else to take over), yet my name is out there, and I’m not the type of person who will let the ball drop. And yes, I do have to carry out my college-wide responsibilities at work, but it sure would be nice to actually get paid for that college-wide role, not just have it given to me because the powers that be know that I’ll get the job done (don’t even get me started on how I’m supposed to coordinate rugby clinics at the college for the UK rugby team coming to Jacksonville when my particular campus doesn’t even have facilities for such a thing). So what happens when all this happens? You find a way to carry on, that’s what happens. You thank the good Lord you have the skills to actually create wares to sell on the art show circuit. You thank God that people think highly enough of you to give you responsibility, knowing that you are the best person for the job. You thank Him for blessing you with a fairly understanding husband, two incredible little girls, and a roof over your head. And you write it all down. You get it all out by venting to those you know “get it”. You take a deep breath. You have a glass of wine. Maybe a little chocolate. And then you say, “Hmmmm…okay, I feel just a little bit better now.”

Nov 25

Balancing work and motherhood

heatherIf you haven’t discovered Momversation, hop on over and join the fun. This site features slick video conversations — and a lot of laughs — with notable women from the blogoshpere. Don’t miss Heather Armstrong from Dooce.com lead a video discussion on the perils of navigating work and family life. [Note that the image to the right is not embedded video; you’ll need to click the link above in order to watch the video.]

You might also enjoy the video conversations on surviving the holiday season and how to deal with family members of a different political persuasion, among others.

Heather Armstrong’s blog, Dooce.com, is an internet phenomenon, as reported by the New York Times. Heather has just announced that she’s pregnant with her second child. If you’re not yet familar with Heather’s no-holds-barred blogging style — even when it costs her sponsors — you’re in for a treat.

Nov 19

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Kelly: Someday WAS Today

Yes, Miranda, someday WAS today. But first let me back up a moment to give you a little perspective why today became so important.

Saturday morning as I was driving around the block three times near Garnet and Gold in Tallahassee trying to find a place to park so I could pick up a new t-shirt for the FSU Homecoming game that night, I got a call from my best friend, Becky. Becky and I have been friends since 9th grade English with Mr. McDonald. We sat behind Wally Rakestraw and both had a crush him (on which Becky’s brother Robert commented at Becky’s wedding rehearsal: “Wally Rakestraw!!?? Damn you girls for always going for the jocks!”). Becky and I went through high school and college together, became sorority sisters in college, and are still best friends 20 years out of college. When she called that morning, she said, “Well maybe I shouldn’t tell you this right now since you are driving.” With a comment like that, now you know I really had to know, so she told me.

At 9 pm the night before, one of our sorority sisters in Tampa had a knock on her front door. It was a State Trooper. Her daughter, her 17-year-old daughter on her first trip away from home without her parents, had just been killed in a car accident. She was on her way to Tallahassee with three friends for the very same game that prompted my t-shirt search; the other three girls survived the crash but were in ICU. I pulled into a random parking lot and just stopped. What do you do in that moment? What can you possibly say? No words seem to fit. All I wanted to do was hang up the phone and call my own children at home, just to hear their voices. I cannot imagine the devastation our friend’s family must be feeling. My heart and prayers go out to them.

Which brings me back to the importance of today…. That moment crystallized for me that someday truly is today, and that you never know what that someday, this today, that tomorrow is going to bring you. And for that reason, I realized that every moment, big or small, must be cherished. Today was one of those moments. It was the day that all the kindergarten parents were invited to come to school and have a Thanksgiving lunch with their children. Before Saturday morning, I hadn’t really thought about going. Work is very hectic right now, and I have to travel to Orlando tomorrow and Friday for a meeting. But I went. And as I walked down the hall to the cafeteria, Olivia spotted me and yelled “Hey, there’s my Mama!” to all her friends. When I got in there, I saw that Sarah was still in line and hadn’t spotted me yet, so I told Liv to find us a seat and got in line. I saw Sarah walk out of the serving area with her little tray in her little hands, looking so smart and so grown up, and my eyes filled up with tears. When she saw me, she almost dropped her tray and yelled, “Hey, Mama!” So we sat down. And we ate. We ate terrible elementary school cafeteria turkey and dressing, box mashed potatoes and pre-packaged fruit cocktail. But it was one of those little moments to cherish. It was the day that someday did become today. It was the start of a lot of somedays that will become todays. When will your somedays become today?

Sep 11

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Kelly: Sleeping Beauty Has Awakened..and She’s a Reader!

Sleeping Beauty

Cathy’s Pleasant Surprises post got me thinking about “being present,” what that means and how it relates to what we are all trying to do here. DH and I had a “moment” the other night with our girls. We were reading their bedtime story and DH didn’t have his glasses on, so he struggled over a few words here and there. It was a fairly involved story, the German fairy tale on which Sleeping Beauty is based, and the reading level was pretty advanced. Definitely not one of those board books with one or two sentences per page, but rather more like middle school reading level. When DH started missing a word here and there, Sarah actually started correcting him. She did this several times, and then DH said, “Well, would you like to read it instead?”, you know, in that “sarcastic Daddy” tone. Then, lo and behold, she did just that. She picked up the story where he left off, word for word, like she was reading it right off the page. We’re talking a story with phrases like “the castle was surrounded with a thorny hedge of briars” and “the soldiers were at their battlements”. “Battlements,” for Pete’s sake! This is a five-year-old! And it’s not a book we read often simply because the stories are rather long and involved! She went on like this for several very long paragraphs while DH and I looked on in awe. The book came with a narrative CD of the stories, and I realized she had actually memorized the story; sometimes the girls listen to the CD while they are going to sleep at night. I have a genius on my hands! (said the proud and over-zealous Mama….)

So back to the “being present” portion of this broadcast. You just blink, and BOOM!, one of your five-year-olds is “reading” at a sixth grade level. An over-exaggeration maybe, but it begs the point: so much happens when we are not paying attention. That’s the interesting thing about having twins. I have been paying attention enough to notice what Sarah’s strengths are and what Livvie’s strengths are, and they are very different. Sarah is very strong in the language area, as evidenced by that moment we had the other night. She also already has my knack for remembering song lyrics. I’ve always chalked mine up to being a musician; I’m a classically trained pianist and I’ve been taking guitar for about seven years now. Hers just seems to come with that strong grasp of words and memory. Livvie thrives in art, music, and motor skills. She doesn’t need much help from me to create some pretty impressive art pieces, and yesterday afternoon I watched as she set up her own little three piece band—of piano, Tupperware container, and piece of paper—and went to patting out a rhythmic pattern even my guitar teacher would be impressed with. The girl’s got chops! Watching this, I realize what will be one of my biggest creative challenges involving my children: how to bring out the best in each when they are the exact same age and nearly inseparable. My challenge will be in guiding them both to thrive in the areas they excel, yet still keep them on target in the areas they don’t…and figure out how to do it all at the same time! Yikes! I’m open to suggestions!

Jul 29

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Reinventing creativity: Keri Smith update

explorerIf you read my previous post on Keri Smith, you already know I’m a huge fan. (Cathy is, too.) Recently, Keri posted a lengthy entry on her blog entitled “truthful things about being an artist and a mother” — the second time that she’s delved into the topic, and this time much more in depth. Keri is new to motherhood, and obviously her experience will evolve as her child grows, but I wonder what everyone here thinks about Keri’s perspective. Does it resonate? Keri feels intensely — and I only wish I’d been as passionate back when I had my first child. I can certainly relate to this point, however (and it echoes with what Kelly wrote this week):

“…i get into the most trouble when I am clinging to ‘needing’ to get something done in the time frame that I want it to be done. It is a difficult shift to realize that you no longer call the shots. If I attempt to control how and when, I end up very frustrated. Even knowing this fact I still fight it constantly.”

For most creative mothers, the experience comes down to this mantra, I think:

“and i believe one of the best gifts I can give to him is to allow my own creativity to flourish. Not necessarily in the all encompassing way that it did before. now I have to shrink things down a bit to fit it into the time I have. But it is still a huge part of me and I am excited to share it more with him as he grows.”

Keri also annouced last week that she’s publishing a new book, How to Be an Explorer of the World: Portable Art Life Museum and posted a fascinating preview. The idea of mapping your creativity into the floorplan of a museum is totally genius. I’ve already pre-ordered my copy of Explorer, which will be released in October. I can’t wait to get my hands on this one — and I’ll blog on its arrival in the fall. I can only imagine that Keri’s work will, over time, more concretely address the issues that creative mothers face. Fingers crossed.

Jul 24

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Miranda: Choose your own creative ending

The following was inspired by Kelly’s recent post, which reminded me that I often struggle with the same issues over and over again. I figure out what works, then somehow “forget” what I figured out and find myself reinventing the wheel a few days/weeks/months later. So here’s a little lecture to myself. I thought I’d share, just in case there’s anything useful in here for you too.

The scenario (based on actual events):
A simple ambition: a trip to the park. It takes about 38 minutes to get out the door, but finally the 3-year-old and the 2-month-old are strapped into their carseats. The baby starts fussing before we’re even out of the driveway despite the fact that I just tanked him up before departure. During the 10-minute drive, I nearly break my arm off trying to reach behind my seat to rock the baby, who is increasingly frantic. When we finally get to the park, I squeal into a spot, leap out of the car, and extract the wailing baby from his carseat. I release the older child too, so that he can climb around in the car while I nurse his brother.

When the baby is sated and calm, I strap him into the front pack. I put hats on both boys, only to discover that my 3-year-old has pooped in his Pull-Up. I lie him down in the back of the minivan to change him. The baby, still in the frontpack, complains about being dangled horizontally during the process. Unfortunately I don’t have any more Pull-Ups in my diaper bag; just things for the baby and a couple of outgrown toddler diapers. I put a diaper on my son and he complains that it’s too small, and itchy on the sides. I notice that he walks a little funny. He’s not happy, but we make it to the sandbox.

The baby is still fussy; I’ve tucked a burp cloth under his chin but he manages to spit up all over both of us. In less than 6 minutes, the 3-year-old says he’s hot and wants to go home. We go back to the car and get a drink from yesterday’s water bottle. Before I can successfully convince my older child to stick it out for a few more minutes, the baby starts making pterodactyl noises and has a full-on diaper blow out, staining his clothes as well as my shirt. Second stint in the back of the car; I clean the baby and change his clothes. The preschooler still wants to go home. I feed the baby again. Then I strap both boys back into their seats and start the car.

Reaction option #1:
As I drive home, I can’t help but cry. My life is a continual struggle against a tidal wave of minutiae. My attempts to be a “good” mother are foiled at every turn. I have so little emotional margin that I snap at the kids for the littlest issues. I have no time to write. I have no time to exercise. I can’t fit in my non-maternity pants yet. I’m stress-eating bags of cookies when no one above the age of 2 is looking. My husband and I are adrift in the sea of separation that often arrives with a newborn. I’m exhausted. I’m overwhelmed and can’t deal with the fact that I really need to stop at the store and buy milk on the way home. And now my face is all red and puffy from crying.

Reaction option #2:
As I drive home, I can’t help but laugh. The morning was an exercise in futility, to the point of humor. But at least we got out of the house and enjoyed a few minutes of sunshine. The situation was a little stressful, but I kept my cool and didn’t yell at anyone or tear my hair out. Now we can stop at the store for milk, which I needed to get anyway. I call my husband to share the ridiculous story and a few giggles of commiseration.

How to increase the chances that your reaction will be #2:
As I noted in an earlier blog post, being creative on a regular basis is a natural stress reliever and perspective restorer. We know this. We know many things about how to live our lives with purpose and serenity. But, speaking for myself, it’s so easy to forget all those things that we worked so hard to learn. I CAN do a good job and feel capable and satisfied, but sometimes I forget that I’ve already figured it out.

The solution? Write it all down on one page. Create a mission statement. Make a list of the important things you’re doing, and why you’re doing them. Jot down your favorite mantras. Then, every morning, before you do anything else—or maybe while you’re brushing your teeth (tape the page to the inside of your medicine cabinet?)—read the page. The whole page. Read every word, take a few deep breaths, and remember who you are and what you’re doing. If at any time throughout the day you feel at loose ends, go back and read your page. Read it at night, too, if it helps. This is your centering point. Moi, I need centering.

Stay centered and be creative, wherever and however you can. You’ll be the mother you want to be, without even trying. (OK, there will be a little trying, but it won’t be as hard.) And maybe, just maybe, I won’t have to keep re-learning the things I know all too well.

So, today, I am going to take some time and create my centering sheet. If anyone is interested, I’ll be happy to share it.

Jul 7

3 Comments

Kelly: Happy to be here!

Hello everyone! First off, let me say thanks to Miranda for inviting me to be a part of this wonderful blog. I’ve read through many entries and surfed your blogs, and this is truly an amazing, inspiring, delightful, creative group of women. So who am I? I’m a mom foremost, yet that’s a title I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to say. I guess I knew I always wanted to be a mom, but when I met my DH (“darling” or “damn” husband, depending on the day 🙂 ), he told me fairly early on that his chances of giving me a child were pretty slim; of course, he waited until he already had me hooked to tell me that. I was 26 at the time, and that biological clock hadn’t really started ticking too quickly yet; we married three years later. And by the grace of God, eight years, several attempts at IVF and a miscarriage later, we welcomed our beautiful red-headed twin girls, Sarah and Olivia, in 2005.

As far as creativity, I welcome and attempt just about all kinds. With a bachelor’s degree in Communications and a master’s degree in English, I’ve held a variety of professional positions that have utilized my writing and public relations skills: assistant sports information director at Florida State University, account executive for a travel and tourism related public relations firm, and as an adjunct college English instructor; I’ve been teaching college English off and on for nearly 20 years now. For the past 14 years, I’ve served as the Director of Student Life and Leadership Development for a very large community college here in Florida, a position that really doesn’t utilize my writing skills much but does require a lot of creativity in time management, planning and marketing. My blog has been a way for me to exercise those writing bones a bit more. Art wise, my creative passions include artisan jewelry and handbag design, photography, and mixed media collage, something I just started dabbling in this year. My primary art “business” is my jewelry, which you can see here.

Lastly, I get quite a few comments on that silly avatar of mine [which you’ll find under comments], so I guess I’ll explain. My girls did my hair that day and wanted me to take a picture (you can see the large version and a couple others from that day here.) I’ve always felt that if you can’t laugh at yourself, you have no right to laugh at anyone else, and we try to laugh a lot around the little happy shack we call home. My family and I live by this saying, coined by my DH: “Life is far too important to be taken too seriously.” I look forward to sharing my life with you all while I learn more about each of you!

Jul 7

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In defense of parenthood

childhood

Over the weekend, Australian newspaper The Age published a strong and concise personal essay by Damon Young on how parenthood can actually enhance creativity, rather than serve a fatal blow:

Children are valuable, not simply for their own sake (even if this is the most important reason), but for their contribution to art. Parenthood affords insights and skills for the creative life – it’s not a distraction, but an inspiration and education.

For example, as the parent of a verbose, energetic little toddler, I’m more productive than when I was single. The reason for this is simple: I’ve learned to work with less. Dealing for months on end with sporadic working hours and flagging energy, I became accustomed to opportunistic work: getting pen to paper, whenever or wherever I had the opportunity. He’s asleep in a cafe? Great, time to finish off that chapter! He’s absorbed in Lego? Brilliant, I can catch up on important emails! Put simply, parenthood has disciplined me….Parenthood is also a font of extraordinary, lingering memories. In watching my son mature, I’m constantly faced with my own childhood, and the recollections of my parents. This is an incredible resource for a writer; a continuing, shifting pageant of impression and emotion. This can be confronting, no doubt – but it’s an extraordinary creative cache.

It’s a nice confidence booster. Read the full piece here.

(That’s a photo of mine. I’m a complete amateur, but I find that digital photography is a rewarding way to blend motherhood and creativity. For more on how a pro does just that, read Bec Thomas’s interview below. And many thanks to my dear friend Toni Small, who visited recently and gave me a long-anticipated mini workshop on photographic prinicples and training the eye.)

Jun 26

5 Comments

Cathy: Mothering & creativity put to test

After dropping 9.75-year-old S off at taekwondo camp, I got 13-year-old K into a salon to get the cockeyed layers fixed in his long hair. Warning to other moms: if your son wants long hair, stop taking him to the barber shop, take him to the salon at a few more dollars. Barbers don’t know how to deal with long hair. He’s still pretty, even after haircut. 😉 That’s what I was trying to fix. You know how baby boomers’ parents complained their hippie boys looked like girls? Well, mine really does. Mind you, it took 2 weeks to convince him, after I blurted out at last barber visit, “either grow it for Locks of Love over the summer or chop it off now.” Evidently, that was not my best parenting moment. Thank goodness, baby C slept through this morning’s ordeal after the talk down. I swear K gets suicidal over a haircut. Anyway, mission accomplished, his hair is more skater than girlie now.

I should have eaten more breakfast: by the time we got home, I had a blood sugar crash and nearly passed out. Had the shakes while heating up frozen burritos for a protein boost lunch. Earlier, I took K out to Starbucks (how I wish there were non chain cafes here). We had some good conversation, finally, over coffeecake. As a breakfast, not great, but I really need to make special separate time with him from S on a more regular basis. We had a very interesting discussion about OPEC, supply and demand vs spec issues; and world economies, particularly the rise of a middle class in India and China and how that’s affecting the oil prices, and the fact that the Middle East’s oil supply won’t last forever, as well as oil drilling’s destruction of the Delta in Gulf of Mexico as a contribution to Katrina damages, etc. He’s really a neat guy. If he weren’t so shy about public speaking, I can totally see him run for president. He sure has strong opinions about the one that “ruined his childhood.”

I pass along evidence that they don’t stay little forever. Sigh. Oh wait, thank goodness!

So, the creativity came to play in the above: 1. finding the words and approach to talk him into neatening the mane with scissors. 2. discussion of world economics with intelligent and concerned young citizen on less than 3 hours of consecutive sleep from nursing baby C last night.

Oh, and 3. the inspiration to find the words again, to write down everything that happened for this blog. Hey, it may not be great literature, but it’s a start, and keeps me dipping into the writing well. Besides, finding the right or best words is my business, whether writing them or speaking them. It is especially important, as a parent, to find them, since each kid we have has their own best mode of communication, and we have to be available to their way, not always ours alone. K has always been like speaking with another adult, even when he was 2. With his brother S, I have to be very particular about how I say what needs to be conveyed, and with their sister, baby C, there’s a whole lot of pattycake going on.

Whether I am conscious of it happening or not at the time, I can see how my creative side is more active than I may initially have been aware.

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