So I happened upon this blog http://birdnest.typepad.com and the following post. It put into words so beautifully the feelings I have often felt as a mother. So I thought I would share. Mothering especially is all about perspective, and I find myself continually stepping out and eventually back in, to proper perspective with every change in life, especially the constant change that comes with growing children. On second thought, stepping out implies, I am conscious of the change and willingly take steps to leave the proper perspective, which is not the case at all, in fact SO far from it. It's more like I blink and suddenly I hear myself yelling in frustration at a child who has written on the wall for the umpteenth time, in spite of the many conversations (some in the same day) where she readily states that we write only on paper and not walls, or for a myriad of other situations where I probably should have kept perspective and found a more patient, quiet tone to deal with such situation. I found comfort in the words of this woman who's face I couldn't pick out of a crowd and yet who's words I know and understand as if they were my own. It's the comfort of commonality that I am sure many of you will find as you read her words as well. Sometimes all it takes is knowing your not the only one to help you step back in.
Happy Reading!!
Cells Divided
I started this post at the beginning of the month, and then the days just passed over like thick, daily clouds before I came back here to catch up. Seems it's still relevant, still appropriate. Even more so when I count the days between last posting.
I barely write anymore. I barely think either. It's just that it's not that kind of life right now. For now, it's in the active details, it's in the moment, it's in the gray space where there is no time for reflection and insight. Instead it's all about care-taking. It's nursing. It's dressing, diapering, washing, cleaning, guiding, peacemaking, gathering, driving, pushing, holding, picking up, chopping, simmering, serving. Oh and a bit of yelling, stewing, glaring and festering. And when all that is done, it is time for rest, or at least something like that. My brain needs to be massaged and my heart needs company and community, but god help me if that takes one more bit of doing. One more ounce of effort that I just can't find very often.
I go out to escape, to force a breath, take in the fresh air with no children clinging to my arms, following me. And yet, I find nothing out there, I feel like I'm just wasting time until I get back, only to have make-ups to do. Back to the house, just in time to catch up on the laundry, the organizing, the care-taking and taking care. It's as if the outside has lost it's color.
I'm not sure how to write this without it sounding as if it's a burden, or that it's "bad." It seems our culture is so quick to make it black and white. That if it's not glorious, it's somehow crap. That if life can't alternate between different states of being, different moments of identity. Isn't that what we are all doing, complaining without meaning to complain, just voicing the drudge to see past it, just sharing the moments when our eyes tear up or our arms feel heavy, just to know that it is true, it is now?
My oldest boy, Jbird, is transforming every moment I see him. Children transform before your eyes. I will say it a million times. It's really not a cliche. Most days you are so sleepy and so frustrated and so busing care-taking that you just can't see it. But if you stop and observe, you can actually see the growth inch along, their small beings spread wider and deeper into the world. Every morning Jbird will stand up in the bed, or in front of the mirror and expresses with joy "Look how much I've grown" "Look how tall I've gotten" "Look how big my belly is today." And yes. It's true. It is apparent. I can see the cells divide and multiply at this very moment.
Posted on November 21, 2008 in day to day, rambling, the little birds | Permalink
