"It all" gathered up steam recently over a situation with my baby calla lilies. I love calla lilies. In case you don't know what I'm talking about, here's a look.
These are definitely my favorite flowers. Completely unscientifically, I believe that of all flowers, these have the highest percentage of consistently perfect flowers. They aren't perfect when the bugs eat them or they are dying (no surprises here) but otherwise... perfect. Anyhow. My point is, I like them.
I obtained some free calla bulbs. I have a few pots outside, so I planted them to see what would happen. One day I noticed the very small beginning of something like this (you know I'm stealing all these photos from the internet):
I was extremely happy. Wow! I couldn't believe any of those things were actually growing! There were two tiny little green things poking out their shy little heads from the black, moist dirt and I couldn't have been happier.
Four or five days later I came home, laden with bags and all sorts of junk which should be illegal to haul around just because you are a Pack
At that moment I wasn't even mad; I was overtaken by a grief-filled resignation. Not crying grief, but the this-is-my-life grief. I felt like it was a (admittedly negative) representation of my life as a wife and mom. Kids are beautiful, sweet, smelly, and messy... Your life and some of your favorite things are turned upside down and ripped apart when you have kids and yet you smile and carry on. I'm just not so sure about this. It hit me even more when I was reading a younger, unmarried friends' facebook page today. Her section on future goals included these:
write a book.
go to Israel.
backpack through the wilderness.
own a grand piano.
live in another country.
have an art studio.
teach English in a foreign country.
tour the world on a yacht.
speak another language fluently.
live in the middle of a big city.
own a car with a sunroof.
live in a house with a porch swing.
to see the Taj Mahal.
Do I have any goals left in me? I'm happy if I show up somewhere bathed and on time these days. All that I knew to be "me" is no longer and it really makes me wonder about these other moms out there. How can you be so flippin' happy to make three organic, home cooked meals from scratch every day; play with your precious babies; do the laundry; and be you? I'm a do-er, a go-er. I've already corrupted my 3 1/2 year old. If he doesn't ask me before bed about the next day, he asks me the minute I come in for him in the morning -- before he's even out of bed "Mommy where are we going now?" Is the best I have the promise of yet another trip to the zoo? Another job sweeping the porch or moving the laundry from the washer to the dryer? Another walk to the grocery store?
I hear you saying I'm molding and shaping these precious little lives to be productive contributors to society. I find it more humorous the farther along I get in this whole child-raising thing that I'm supposed to be doing the very thing from which I am almost completely removed because I am raising children. What's wrong with this picture?
Yes, childrearing is most likely for a short, short season in the scheme of things. But I don't want to spend years starting from scratch when my kids are grown and gone.
Motherhood=delayed gratification training.
