First off, I know… I’ve been absent. Like totally, completely non existent for the last week (seriously 7 days). I have a zillion (yes that’s more than a million, I teach math) excuses. I don’t need to share them outright, I’m sure you can guess. Travel, projects, elSage stuff; oh and then there’s this little deal of having an almost 3 year old and a just 3 month old. Jesus, it’s enough to make anyone lose track of themselves.
So rather than pretend and try to catch up on my write every day assignment, I’m admitting to imperfection. No, seriously?
Right, I hope you never thought I was trying to pretend I was super woman… this girl? Not perfect and proud of it.
Part of doing this assignment is participating in what I asked my students to do, and to realize first hand how hard it can be. So, whatever, I missed a few days and I’ll catch you up when I get a chance. We’ve been on Whidbey Island working on a mural on some shed doors. it was a success but so much work and stress.
While I was focused on not fucking up the mural I was thinking about society and culture, the expectations for women and mothers, body image and self-esteem along with family relations and what’s really important in life. I know, right, ticker tape is what my husband calls it. Just a running stream of ideas, thoughts and opinions.
So now we’re home. I’m processing my thoughts here and there. Wondering what will actually make it to writing. We’re fraying a bit in these parts… we have a baby who seems to be teething (yes, I realize it’s a tad early but there’s drool, sleeplessness, tears and chewing… so yeah, I think teething) a two year old who is quite opinionated and refuses to be potty trained and two sleep deprived adults.
It’s just that it’s hard.
That’s really all I have to say about it. Parenting is super hard. It’s beautiful, it teaches you things that you cannot learn any other way, but it’s insanely hard.
One more thing before I quit trying to nurse and type at the same time:
The other night (or maybe a week ago) we were watching some tv show via the internet and there was a scene where a mom was sending her teenage daughter out on her first date, then the camera cut to the mom looking at a photo of her daughter as a baby. I burst into tears. Jon looked at me like, oh no, here we go. I was crying because I realized: they are going to grow up. These boys are going to grow up and not want to be around us and possibly marry women who hate me (yes, I realize my husband might need a support group just to deal with me).
So as hard as this whole parenting thing is, I want to keep it. To put it in a box and hang on to the nursing and the baby smell and the tiny little body needing his mama. I want to put D’s pride in deciding he’s ready for his bike and excitement about riding in a golf cart in there too. Don’t hang on too tight, I keep telling myself. And then I tear up. This is really hard, and yet I love it.
Speaking of boxes, I have to put all of our 0-3 and some of our 3-6 month clothes in a box. This baby is growing like a weed. Next time I write I will have photos, I promise.