4 kids in 3 years: reflections on motherhood, art and life.
It’s been a year in the blogosphere since I first began, and I had such high hopes. I wanted to write a one year post with that song 100 Years by Five for Fighting as the focal point. Because I remember ten years ago, racing on the treadmill, both metaphorical and literal, and listening to this song and being 33 for a moment, being seemingly surrounded by pregnant women, desperate to have a babe on the way myself, a family on my mind.
And there I was, an infertile woman in tears on the treadmill, both metaphorical and literal.
So here I am today, on an entirely different treadmill, knocking on 45’s door, the sea is high and I’m chasing the years of my life, and my four children who run away, away.
But this should have been my 100th post. And it’s only my 97th… insert sad face. Because I just ran out of juice. Too much to do, too little time, too much living to be had. Which made me disappointed with myself. 97. 97!
Until I got to thinking, as any good teacher would. 97 is an A. It’s even an A+ in some schools. And do you want to know what another one of my (more embarrassing) goals was? To get 300 followers! So there’s that.
Most of all though, I wanted to capture some stuff, put some things down in pen and ink (or digital bleeps and bits and computer screens.) I wanted to see if I left a footprint in a year’s time. And I did. We all do. Who knew?
What I didn’t know I was going to do was figure stuff out. I didn’t know I’d start out overwhelmed by events and parties and shows (oh my), or disliking my seven-year-old son, or crestfallen over a missing tooth (or another missing tooth) but that in writing about these things I’d find my way through to the other side. I’d find the kernel of sadness or resentment at the heart of it all and I’d be able to plant it in words and water it a bit until it became something sturdier and more useful in the light.
And I knew I’d talk about my kids and motherhood; I named it Mama Art for a reason. But I didn’t know how important my childhood family would turn out to be in all this discovery, not to me or to you, the reader. I hadn’t realized I held my retarded brother and my father in my heart every day liked polished beach stones, infinite treasures, calming me, weighing me down, grounding me, even though they’ve passed from these beaches we walk.
Or that my mother would be there, too, every minute, with her sharper edges, still a voice I talk to weekly on the phone, but also a voice deep in my daily life that rings out, taking, teaching, loving. Or my other siblings, who I hold much more quietly, but who were there through it all.
I thought there would be more art, but I think I’m learning that the art and the writing are sort of the same. The idea from the writing becomes the visual thing and vice versa. And that the visual art part takes a bit more out of me, actually.
And I really didn’t expect that this would be a two way street. That I would write and you would read. And sometimes, if I was lucky, you would comment, and I would comment back. I really didn’t know I’d find sisters from other misters (and misters from other sisters) out there in the world, or that people in my own backyard or from the parking lot at pre-school would connect through these stories written in bits and bytes, that they’ve probably already heard during walks or runs along the marshes.
I didn’t know what this would mean, writing it all down and putting it out there. And I’m not sure how this will continue. Maybe 100 is a bit much for all of us going forward. But I do know that I’m so very glad I did. And I’m glad you all came along.
Take us out, Five For Fighting:
Half time goes by
Suddenly you’re wise
Another blink of an eye
67 is gone
The sun is getting high
We’re moving on…
15 there’s still time for you
Time to buy and time to choose
Hey 15, there’s never a wish better than this
When you’ve only got a hundred years to live