Posts Tagged ‘motherhood’
not that kind of writing
“Are you doing any writing?”
I scrambled for an answer to my friend’s well-intentioned,”I’m-keeping-you-accountable-and-you’ll-thank-me-later” question. I embellished my latest scribbles.
“Oh yeah, I’m working on this thing…oh, and that project, it’s going well…and have I told you about my children’s book idea?” Jude played at the perimeter of my outstretched legs as I lied.
Truth be told, I have fought it. I have grieved it. I have not wanted to believe it, the Type A, can-do go-getter in me doubting to the end. But I cannot deny it any longer. I can’t have it all. It is the bitter fact of the matter. Of course, if I had the means to employ a butler, a maid, a nanny and a groundskeeper, maybe it would be possible. Maybe I could have a toddler and pursue all my dreams while keeping my house immaculate and entertaining friends and family every weekend. But even then, I’m not so sure.
I say all this partly to explain why I haven’t been posting much lately, why I won’t be posting very often for the foreseeable future. Because I’ve tried. Tried to blog, tried to keep up with the cleaning, tried to cook more, have friends over, join mommy groups, put all the laundry away, return calls, keep up with Swerve business, come up with crafty ways to market my book, do house projects… And it has driven me to the point of insanity. At every turn, something has had to give. And that something is quality. Sure, I can do all the things I want to do, but when I’m juggling so much, multitasking my life (not to mention my son and husband’s lives as well), the quality of my investment goes down fast.
The way I see it, I get a few short years of putting in very long days to write the pages of Jude’s early childhood. These are days that science tells us he won’t tangibly remember, but they are in fact the most important days of both our lives. How I engage these mundane moments lays the groundwork for our future relationship, for his physical and emotional health, for the wholeness of our family. It is a full-time job with a daily requirement of overtime and night shift duty. And when I get a few minutes to me – just me – I’m tired. How am I to focus with any depth, devotion or consistency on pen and paper, or house renovations, or entertaining guests, or landscaping projects, or travel, or marketing my book, or…
I’m done trying. From now on, I will be Krista. I will be wife. And I will be mother. I will become exemplary at mono-tasking those few roles. And I won’t apologize for it anymore. Or feel guilty when a friend asks if I’ve been writing. Of course, being me includes things like writing, having friends over, and keeping up with the laundry. But I won’t be very good at any of it. Chances are, for a little while, I will be an unexceptional friend, a negligent writer, a lax church-goer, a mediocre cleaner, a lapsed Twitterer, a lazy cook, a scattered daughter, a forgetful daughter-in-law, a late arriver, a non-joiner, a poor hostess, and myriad other socially unacceptable labels. Nonetheless, I will be me, lover and fighter, no apologies. And the two most important people in my life will get the best of me. I won’t regret missing out on their lives because I had to write or because I had to get the garden planted or because I had to fulfill some banal commitment to a lesser thing. I’m choosing the good part now. I’m choosing relationship. I’m choosing, ultimately, to die to myself.
So, the next time my friend asks if I’m writing, I’ll tell her honestly and without hesitation, yes. I am writing. It’s just not the kind of writing you do with words.
1 Commentenough
I will not forget.
I cannot pretend.
This has been the break and bend,
This has been the break and mend,
This has been the break and end
Of me
As I know me,
As I knew me.
Lost, lost, lost
And gone forever,
Is it ok to call this “never”
As I watch the others,
The others go?
Not mothers, no, but others,
Go in and out
In and out
In and out
All day without
A care,
Light as air
As I stare.
Do I romanticize,
Fantasize,
Analyze,
Demonize?
Their eyes
Behind perfect sunglassed shades
Coifed hair
Clean shirts
Important deals being made
While I,
While I,
While I
In smeared and smattered smock
Do slouch and count the Os
Mosaic on the floorboard
And O, how I used to be so clean
A sight to be seen,
Supreme,
The Queen of my Universe
So I thought
Controlled,
In ivory tower,
On pause for hours,
Walking with the flowers,
A superpower
Until,
Until,
Until
Indelible line, pink pale
Nine months later, a wail,
A battle to the finish,
But we fought together, no limits
And that was the last time
I got my way
The day I got you
And all that comes with who
You were born to be,
A soul like me
STRONG
FIGHTER
PASSION
FLYER
Is it any wonder?
Is it any wonder?
Is it any wonder
You bring the thunder
And lighten your momma’s heart
When the pain of old desires comes sharp.
You breathe,
I breathe,
You breathe,
You smile in your sleep,
You laugh and weep,
Your boldness runs deep
Already you keep
A place in your heart for the pain
And the rain
And the shame
Of a world that needs and bleeds
For one like you,
One like you,
One like you,
Who holds his momma’s hand
When she can’t stand
Because she can’t stand,
She can’t stand,
She won’t stand
Alone
Anymore.
So together we weather
The surges of grace
That come our way
As grace, these days,
Floods us in tempest strong.
I know it won’t be long -
I’ll blink,
I’ll blink,
I’ll blink,
These days be gone
And I’ll wish them back,
The smock
The pain
The tears
Endless drain
Of shame and tasks
And more to do than
Ability or facility
And brevity,
O, brevity,
I know these days are brevity
But pain be what pain be:
TEACHER,
WAKER-UPPER,
FAITHFUL LOVER.
And you are enough, my friend,
My son,
My sun,
A treasure,
A pleasure,
A measureless glory,
You are enough.
And I am enough
In fallen state,
In guilt and hate,
A daughter still,
A daughter still
I am enough.
I cannot pretend.
I may not mend.
But he is here.
No fear.
No fear.
No fear.
He is here.
[For mommas everywhere who bleed love.]
No Commentsmore complete
Cause some things never change
I know you’re still my same girl
Same Girl, Jack Johnson
The girl with a messy ponytail was familiar. Her over-sized pleather purse, complete with jangly keychains and a flashy velcro wallet, reminded me of something. Of someone. I recognized the way she quietly paid for the organic peppermint patty in the line next to me at the grocery store. But it was the yellowed and tattered 1972 edition of The Mystery of the Brass Bound Trunk peeking out of her purse that brought tears to my eyes.
I wanted to say something. I wanted to hug her. I wanted to tell her that Brass Bound Trunk was the first Nancy Drew book I read (and I carried it around in my purse, too). That peppermint patties were my favorite. That I had a purse and keychains just like hers when I was a girl. But I didn’t want to interrupt her. She was so unassuming. So in her own little world. So pure.
In these precious new days of motherhood, I have often wondered, “Who am I?” Markers that used to identify my place on the map, my true north, have long since vanished in the bends and curves of fierce love. And, for the most part, it’s probably good. Many of those markers were things I shouldn’t have been using to identify myself anyway.
And yet, it was good to see this mini-me today. To remember things about myself – elemental things. Like a lifelong love for peppermint and chocolate. Like a collection of velcro wallets. Like devouring Nancy Drew mysteries in a matter of hours. Because it’s good to remember our old stories even as we write the new and exciting pages of our lives.
When I got home, I reached for The Mystery of the Brass Bound Trunk, my own 1972 edition that I keep on a special shelf in our library. It’s tattered, too, with dogeared, yellow pages. I opened to the first page and began reading while Jude slept on my lap.
“There was a hum of excitement on the ocean-going vessel…”
I gently turned the thick pages and inhaled their earthy fragrance. And for a few minutes, I reconnected to a forgotten place. A forgotten time. A forgotten girl. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized she’s really not forgotten or gone or so different. She’s the same girl. Just more complete.
1 Commentemerging
These past several months have been an interesting road creatively speaking. With nothing more than stolen moments to write and think and reflect, the words and ideas I used to put together so quickly and easily have been traded out for the urgent and delicate hands-on labor of motherhood.
And this is good. I would give up everything to be Jude’s momma…without hesitation. But at the same time, it does my heart some good to know that, while I can never get back the solitude and carefreeness I once had, I do still have something to offer to the conversation. In fact, I would argue that I have infinitely more to offer as my heart has been expanded with love and grace and truth in these days of Jude.
That said, please check out Emerging Women’s site today. They posted an article of mine previously posted at KristaFinch.com, an article inspired by my little punkin’ pie.
This was my first step toward joining the conversation again. And the emerging has been good.
1 Commentpasserby: a new mom’s reality
I scanned the page of tweets, bleary-eyed and indifferent.
Relevant Magazine was linking to Obama’s Nobel acceptance speech.
Godgrrl was in California.
Donald Miller was in an interview.
Jimmy Fallon was answering to a feminist group.
I sighed and perked my ears to the white-noise-saturated room where Jude slept. Then I looked back to the Twitter page and something came over me. A strange loneliness and detachment. As I got reacquainted with my favorite Twitterers (is that a word?) in my first visit to the site in three months, I felt a little lost. The world had seemingly passed me by since Jude’s July birthday.
But somehow I didn’t mind so much. Because there’s something satisfying about pouring your life into someone so deeply that time and space and even tweets and twitters disappear for a while. It’s rare to be needed so greatly and, while those seasons are desperately challenging, they are also empowering and life-giving.
But as I closed my computer and went to check on Jude, there was also some small piece worth grieving. My life will never be the same again. And it’s not just the footloose-and-fancy-free-ness I’m grieving or the ability to simply get up and go whenever I want. There’s some element of Krista I can’t quite put my finger on that has had to die in order for me to love Jude. (Isn’t that what all true love requires of us…some death?)
But I can only grieve the lost piece for a moment. The second I put my hand on his chest, feeling his breath and his heart, I can’t say I miss it or even need to know what it is. Because whatever I’ve lost, whatever passes me by in all the days ahead, my love for Jude has exponentially filled.
And anyway, does it really matter if I know what Coldplay tweeted all summer?
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