One thing I’ve learned over the years is that when I can articulate a problem – often here in this journal in writing, but sometimes in person to another live human being or several live persons – the problem is almost always facilitated, solved, or changed in terms of importance and urgency. And I do mean pretty much every time. So let’s be honest, I need to own a problem I’m having which is:
I’ve been feeling utterly defeated by my responsibilities in life. Very suppressed.
Because the fact is my kids need me right now (and so do, to varying degrees, my husband, my cats, my chickens, and my mother’s dog who is our ward at the moment and also ill from a possible allergy and confirmed infection). They need me and for about a week I’ve been suffering, because I haven’t wanted to give what they need. Reluctantly, reality has won out, and I’ve shifted. The last several days my sewing room lay fallow as I’ve spent my days looking to all our needs – the care for, feeding of, cleaning, administration of medicine and attention and affection. This has always been a lot of work – and it is necessary work. Right now my family is relatively high-need, as far as my family goes. I wish I would have tuned into their needs a wee bit sooner as the last week or so I’ve suffered a lot as I’ve tried to avoid my small dilemma.
Honestly? With two children aged five and seven, there was a part of me that had been behaving as if life should be easier than when they were, say, one and three. I should have been considering the time I had to myself in my sewing room as blessed, fortunate, wonderful, and definitely not a given – not any more than anything else in life. I should not have allowed myself the envy and despair that reading the handful of craft and sew-blogs I do inspired in me. These assholes with their one-to-one income ratio! Their lack of mouths to feed! Their ability to buy fabric and go into a room and listen to music – not listen to their kids tear apart the house! Yes, these last few weeks I’ve been pining to sew; yet in the few minutes I’ve had to do so I’ve felt crushed with the sense of responsibilities elsewhere: I need to spend more “quality time” with the kids, wash the dishes, put away the laundry, plan for, shop for, prepare the meals – but especially, spend time with the kids.
What I know about my family life is things change, evolve. There have always been times of sweet solace and rest since I’ve had my children. In fact, since we’ve become a family on one income, I would venture to say rest and respite have been there for us – albeit in unexpected ways – more than when Ralph and I both worked. But there have been times like now: where the needs of my children are pressing and it is foolish to pretend otherwise or to spend time wishing it wasn’t so. As babies, their needs were physical and intimate. Breastfeed a baby and you are more or less forced to sit or lay down; you cannot also scrub the bathtub or drive to the store while changing a diaper (even if, sadly, you allow yourself to feel intense pressure to somehow have resources you do not). These physical needs were so intense in my childrens infancies. I have come to believe these requirements were both a boot camp-style lesson in the rigor and hard work I would find inherent in caring for my children – but also, they were opportunities for me to see my life changed for a number of years. I know it was wrong and foolish for me to expect my children not to need so much from me – just because they are toilet-trained and can read and take walks to the grocery store. I stand corrected, and now that I’ve altered my perception, I expect to suffer less; I also expect that soon enough time will open up, and I will be back in my little sewing room crafting from wool and cotton and lovingly folding yardage. As it was, so it shall be, all in good time.
Today the children and I sat on the floor of their room and played a rather involved game of Legos. I had to accept that sitting on the floor with my kids was good for all of us: it wasn’t “less than” my long chore list in the day. It was so hard not to jump up after a few minutes to do the dishes, or IM my husband, or knit on the hat I’m still making. Over a period of an hour and a half I grew to enjoy our time together; my kids liked it even more still. They are so incredibly creative and clearly loving; I even found myself interested in the construction of a small ship and the character of an Intergalactic Horse Thief. I don’t know if I’ll ever reclaim my long-buried (or lost?) sense of Play; but I know it is in there, somewhere. The important thing for me in sitting on my kids’ room floor and playing wasn’t that I try to be someone I’m not; it’s that I show up for my kids with who I am, and really be that person with them.
One of the things I was taught from the beginning of my sobriety is that if something’s not right in my world, I need to alter my expectations. This post sounds exactly like what I do on a regular basis to keep my head where it needs to be. I don’t know what it’s like to have children demanding things from me. I really don’t. When I watch my friends’ children, it’s all about the play for me. Because I don’t have the other responsibilites that the parents do. It’s easy for me to say, “Let’s go clean your room as a surprise for your mom!” because I’m NOT the mom. And it’s more fun to do it with me, because I’m NOT the mom.
I don’t know what I’m trying to say, but being present with children is one of the best gifts I get to have on a regular basis.
As a woman there are a lot of cultural messages these days that if I ever “alter my perceptions” than I’m settling, or being pathetic in some way – these messages are tenfold if the lifework you’re currently in is SAHM-hood. Hm, maybe I’m reading too much in the feminist blog-o-sphere. 😉
Being present with kids is full of Win, but if you’re someone who can be present at ALL, I think you’re very special. It’s hard for many people.
Thank you for your comment.
I totally understand losing and/or misplacing your sense of play. I have stress with that on a daily basis. We’ve gotta stop putting so much pressure on ourselves while still managing to be the best mommy ever ever ever. God, this is exhausting.
Yeah. I’m wondering. As a young mama of young children, am I totally crazy that I’m finding the pressure exhausting? I mean admitting I’m human and have so-so days is so damned hard. I usually feel like I should have “something” to show for myself more than I do. I don’t even know what this “something” is, because I look at my family and home and pets and creative life and it’s all good. So WTF is all this pressure about…?
Cowgirl asks me this all the time. I tell her that just for this moment, everyone’s fed, no one is currently bleeding and whether they’re naked or not seems to depend on their mood and the day so who cares? Being a mom is HARD WORK. The “tangible” something that you search for as some sort of “proof” that you’re accomplishing something just doesn’t exist. Admitting that you have bad days is awesome. Because it allows other moms to do the same.
Okay. I would like to rephrase that. It makes it sound like if they were hungry or bleeding, it would be your fault. Which it isn’t. I’m going to shut up now.
No K8, you didn’t make it sound like that, but I got a laugh just the same.
Speaking of hungry, my son has been eating his body weight the last few days. My daughter hardly eats at all. Weirdos.
I have been struggling to find my inner play also. The other day my girls asked me if I would play with them, but I had so much to do and I said, “I’m sorry, I can’t right now sweeties.” My oldest, Phoebe, asked me if it was because I didn’t know how to play. She then said, “Mommy, I’ll teach you.” I think we need to let them teach us.