Bag lady you gon' hurt your back,
Draggin all them bags like that.
I guess nobody ever told you
All you must hold onto
is you. - Erykah Badu
Why do we hold onto baggage and let it hold us down?
I have spent the past year it seems, upacking all of my baggage. All of the mess that has really weighed me down since I was fourteen years old. Ten years of mess. Foolishness. Man, oh man. And I am tired, real tired, of carrying it on my back, on my mind, and in my heart.
Let it go, let it go, let it go, let it go. Thank you, Erykah.
My husband and I just spent the weekend dredging up history, laying it out on the table, and pulling it apart. You know, we have known each other ten years. That adds up to a lot of history. Bags. We have our childhoods. Bags. And our adolescence. Bags. And college. What I'm gon' say? Bags! You know it! Don't get me wrong. I loooovvvvvee that man. Together we have endured tests and trials, and have experienced more joys and blessings than I can count. But when we lay it all out on the table, we have taken alot of those experiences and carried them for those years. Truth be told, and let it please be told now or never, I tend to hoard most of the drama. Is it a female thing? Ladies? I don't know. I don't. But what I know is that I have had E-N-O-U-G-H! Carrying this mess around with me is hurting me. And my husband. And my children. And anyone who comes into contact with me, really. Because they cannot see me through the mess that I have covering me up.
Now, let me speak some truth to you all. And please tell me if I am on point or not, okay? We hold onto our baggage to hide. To cover up our fears of actually being someone, doing something in the world. We hold onto it for self-pity. We carry it so that we don't have to make someone else shoulder the burden. But let me tell you something (as my mother-in-law would say), other people, the people in your life, are there to shoulder that burden for you. That is why they are in your life. And if they are not willing to be there for you when you need them to hold your hand, then let them go.
We are not here to waste time holding secrets, holding hurt and fear and shame in our hearts. We are on this earth to love and to show others how to love by giving them love. We don't always receive the love we need. True. We don't always know how to be the best lovers, friends, parents or neighbors. But to use our baggage as an excuse for being in the place that we are in our lives? I am here to tell you that is unacceptable. We are better than that. I am and you are too.
Be truthful.
Show love.
Take a chance on those you love; let them love you.
"Sometimes we forget what we've got,
Who we are, and who we are not.
I think we got a chance
to make this right.
Keep it loose, keep it tight."
Amen!
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
Dear Baby
The following is a letter to a friend's fetus. Tomorrow she is having an abortion. You might view this post as an editorial about my views on abortion. This is not my goal. This post is my reaction, my personal process of dealing with the death of a child and the ramifications of that action on the life of my friend.
Dear Baby,
Tomorrow you will die.
You know nothing but warmth and water. You are floating in a small, insulated home. Inside a woman who is probably awake when she should be resting. She is tired and anxious because she has made a decision that will impact your life and hers forever. I don't think that she knows yet the extent of this decision, how far or long it will affect her as a human being, as a woman, and perhaps, one day, as a mother. She is a mother because of you, yes. But she is giving that up, I think, because she believes that it will allow her to live. She is giving your life for her own.
Your mother, the woman who now holds you in her womb, believes that she cannot deal with this situation. She is young, younger than I was when I gave birth to my first child, and I too was young. She is alone in a place where she sees many relationships going on all around her. She is trying to make relationships of her own. She is trying to get somewhere in life, somewhere that many people around her have not gone. She is struggling, and you have made her tired. You take what you need, because that is what growing children do. Your little body soaks up her nutrients and her energy, and she feels less motivated and sick.
She knows that she could bear you. She could physically bear the pain of the labor, and the annoyance of the whining, and the years of working to support you. You would be hard work. And she has not even begun to get at a place called "stability." She is trying, I think. At least with as much heart as she knows how. She has been told that she is lazy, and in the same breath that she is talented. She has not experienced unconditional love from the people that she needed it from. At least I don't think so. And I don't know, I don't know if you came into being because she consented to sex, or because she was forced into it. I just don't know.
I don't pass judgment on her. I will not. People say that they don't, that God is the only judge. But they don't mean it. In their minds they are thinking, passing judgment. But I will not. She has made a decision. It is her choice.
Here is the rub, as we say. In my view, a choice is not only a right, but a responsibility. A choice implies that one is making a conscious decision between one thing and another. And if we defend our right to choose whether or not to terminate our pregnancies, than we also need to be making choices that will help protect us and our humanity. I don't think there is one pro-choice advocate in the world who does not view abortion as the termination of the early stages of life. There are different views about the spiritual significance of this action, the moral implication, the physical impact. But we can agree that the act of aborting a fetus ends a life that was beginning to develop. So, I don't think anyone enjoys it. It is not a process that we would volunteer for, it is rather our way of dealing with the development of unexpected, unwanted life.
That is you, my dear little one. Though I am saddened by this, by the fact that you mother has to make this decision, and by the fact that you will not live through this stage in your physical life, I do not view this as your end. I think, I hope, that the only pain you will ever feel is that of tomorrow. That beyond those few moments you will feel nothing but pure joy, in a stage of life that many of us will not see for many years. For this reason, I must make a request of you on behalf of your mother. You must guide her through this life. She is trying in the best ways that she knows, to become someone in this world. More than anyone else, she needs you. She does not realize that you would be a joy in her life. Or, if she does, it is not enough to outweigh the difficulties she believes you would bring. She is trying to better herself, to give herself the opportunity to grow in this world, by deleting you from it. I ask that you not abandon her in her time of need, when she needs you the most. It is my belief that in the world that lies beyond death, your work will be much greater that any we are doing here on earth. Like all of the good we can muster multiplied by a million. You will have power and love beyond measure, and I ask, in your mother's name, that you embrace her with your true self at all times.
Dear Baby,
Tomorrow you will die.
You know nothing but warmth and water. You are floating in a small, insulated home. Inside a woman who is probably awake when she should be resting. She is tired and anxious because she has made a decision that will impact your life and hers forever. I don't think that she knows yet the extent of this decision, how far or long it will affect her as a human being, as a woman, and perhaps, one day, as a mother. She is a mother because of you, yes. But she is giving that up, I think, because she believes that it will allow her to live. She is giving your life for her own.
Your mother, the woman who now holds you in her womb, believes that she cannot deal with this situation. She is young, younger than I was when I gave birth to my first child, and I too was young. She is alone in a place where she sees many relationships going on all around her. She is trying to make relationships of her own. She is trying to get somewhere in life, somewhere that many people around her have not gone. She is struggling, and you have made her tired. You take what you need, because that is what growing children do. Your little body soaks up her nutrients and her energy, and she feels less motivated and sick.
She knows that she could bear you. She could physically bear the pain of the labor, and the annoyance of the whining, and the years of working to support you. You would be hard work. And she has not even begun to get at a place called "stability." She is trying, I think. At least with as much heart as she knows how. She has been told that she is lazy, and in the same breath that she is talented. She has not experienced unconditional love from the people that she needed it from. At least I don't think so. And I don't know, I don't know if you came into being because she consented to sex, or because she was forced into it. I just don't know.
I don't pass judgment on her. I will not. People say that they don't, that God is the only judge. But they don't mean it. In their minds they are thinking, passing judgment. But I will not. She has made a decision. It is her choice.
Here is the rub, as we say. In my view, a choice is not only a right, but a responsibility. A choice implies that one is making a conscious decision between one thing and another. And if we defend our right to choose whether or not to terminate our pregnancies, than we also need to be making choices that will help protect us and our humanity. I don't think there is one pro-choice advocate in the world who does not view abortion as the termination of the early stages of life. There are different views about the spiritual significance of this action, the moral implication, the physical impact. But we can agree that the act of aborting a fetus ends a life that was beginning to develop. So, I don't think anyone enjoys it. It is not a process that we would volunteer for, it is rather our way of dealing with the development of unexpected, unwanted life.
That is you, my dear little one. Though I am saddened by this, by the fact that you mother has to make this decision, and by the fact that you will not live through this stage in your physical life, I do not view this as your end. I think, I hope, that the only pain you will ever feel is that of tomorrow. That beyond those few moments you will feel nothing but pure joy, in a stage of life that many of us will not see for many years. For this reason, I must make a request of you on behalf of your mother. You must guide her through this life. She is trying in the best ways that she knows, to become someone in this world. More than anyone else, she needs you. She does not realize that you would be a joy in her life. Or, if she does, it is not enough to outweigh the difficulties she believes you would bring. She is trying to better herself, to give herself the opportunity to grow in this world, by deleting you from it. I ask that you not abandon her in her time of need, when she needs you the most. It is my belief that in the world that lies beyond death, your work will be much greater that any we are doing here on earth. Like all of the good we can muster multiplied by a million. You will have power and love beyond measure, and I ask, in your mother's name, that you embrace her with your true self at all times.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Back to Life, Back to Reality
Yesterday I was on a high. All day. I found out that I received an amazing fellowship from the University of Minnesota Graduate School. I was excited, understandably. I have worked hard as a student, and as a mom, and have been fighting to figure out my path in life. I am also a self-professed research nerd. So, you know, a chance to go back to graduate school is wonderful. And the fellowship allows me to excel in my program by paying me to go to school. I will be able to afford day care, I will get to watch my daughter as she experiences a "real" school for the first time, and I will be able to do it all without stress. At least not financial stress, not the stress of knowing I am borrowing ridiculous sums of money from the government.
Today, today. Today. Today, is not so sunny. I am still excited, and ready for the year to begin already. But I remember that the world doesn't stop for me. That doing the program is going to mean getting up, getting myself and everyone dressed, getting Leila to school, Akeem to daycare, and Malik to grandma's. Getting reading, writing and studying done. Completing two field placements. I know it's going to be tough. But, this time is different. I feel prepared. I feel like people are behind me, are excited for me to be going into this field, to begin connecting myself to the world through a different venue.
I am ready.
Today, today. Today. Today, is not so sunny. I am still excited, and ready for the year to begin already. But I remember that the world doesn't stop for me. That doing the program is going to mean getting up, getting myself and everyone dressed, getting Leila to school, Akeem to daycare, and Malik to grandma's. Getting reading, writing and studying done. Completing two field placements. I know it's going to be tough. But, this time is different. I feel prepared. I feel like people are behind me, are excited for me to be going into this field, to begin connecting myself to the world through a different venue.
I am ready.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Field of Dreams
My favorite scene of any movie is when James Earl Jones is invited by a team of baseball players to pass on to the next world. He walks from the "field of dreams" into a field of unharvested crop, holding out his hand. I am not sure if his hand is held out in caution, as one entering an unknown place, or in anticipation that someone will take hold of it, and guide him through his passage. As his fingers brush the golden crops, he begins to smile and giggle like a child, like my children. He looks forward and back, forward, around the long stalks, and finally through, laughing and laughing...
Sunday, March 9, 2008
thank you
I just wanted to say that I am so happy you all are reading. Every last one of you. I really wasn't sure who would check it out, and I was even less sure who would take any interest in it. The comments you have posted are wonderful, and the responses I have received by email or facebook messaging are just...phenomenal, really. I had hoped that my writing would allow others to open their voices, but I hadn't even the slightest clue the thoughtfulness and sincerity that would ensure. My dearest gratitude to you all. Keep writing!
Friday, March 7, 2008
Minnesota Spring
It is freezing today.
I have really become immune to Minnesota winters. But Minnesota springs are just unbearable. You get through five months of arctic weather and then you come into March with visions of green grass shoots in your eyes and the smell of mud and slush and the hint of warmer winds in your nose... And then you wake up and look out the window to find a new layer of fluffy, white snow, just enough to cover the inches of dirty snow that have carried you through the winter. It used to be that there were more feet of snow, that there was some warmth for playing in snowpants and mittens. Or at least it seemed that way. Global warming seems to have combined slightly warmer temperatures with decreased precipitation here in the MinneApple. Ick. That's really all have to say about that.
But there is hope. I can taste my garden already. I can feel the round, ripe cherry and plum tomatoes in my hands. I remember my children squishing the overripe ones underfoot and between their toes. The morning glories that we pulled right before they blossomed. Novice gardeners, only second year vets, who didn't realize that the periwinkle blue blossoms open only after the summer season seems to be at its end. We will wait this year. I am determined to try dahlias again. And to remember basil this year. And to enjoy every moment of it. Even as the kids pull down all of the other fences in the community garden, and taste veggies from other plots. Because that is the joy of summer. The warmth and the joy and the warmth.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
POV
Do you need a change of perspective? Think about it. How many days do you spend "on edge," crossing the line into frustration more often that you might want to admit? Or, do you typically see things negatively? You are late for work, so you know it will be a horrible day. You can't catch up on dishes, laundry, or sleep, and so you are always feeling like everything you do is unfinished?
This morning, before 10 AM, I practically catapulted my voice box out of my mouth yelling at the top of my lungs. My kids were running the halls, laughing and yelling, while I was frantically trying to get dressed. I have been trying to catch up on laundry for weeks, and I finally got some done this morning, really only because my two-year-old was out of Thomas the Train underwear. So I am scrambling around, my husband saying sweet things to me and trying to help, while my pressure meter just keeps rising. Right after he offers to grab the laundry, I finally just pop the top, and out comes this ferocious scream. I mean, really, really ugly, scratchy, make your throat hurt scream. At my kids. Immediately after the noise stopped and the kids went to their room, I thought, "Now that was totally unnecessary. Why did I do that?" I look at my husband, surely with a guilty look on my face, knowing I had really crossed the line, and hurled some major tension at my children. He just looked at me and shook his head, in disbelief, or more like disappointment. He knows me, knows how I give up way before my limit, knows that I am explosive (to his calm) in a pressured situation.
I really, really needed an attitude adjustment. Not like a momentary one. Because I can't say that these mini explosions don't happen frequently. True, now they are not followed by a total breakdown complete with tears and self-pity. They are however, not helping anyone, especially my husband and kids. After my mid-morning blast, my husband was really just done with me for the day. I mean, how much can a loving, supportive and helpful husband take, right? And what the hell is my problem anyway?
So, let's call it an overhaul, an attitude overhaul. The real truth, like the nitty-gritty of it all, is that I really think this is about me. That IT is about me. Let me explain. I get frustrated by the laundry mountains, the toys in every possible nook and cranny, the endless mounds of mail and paperwork, unwashed dishes, etc. And when the kids get going with the noise, and the baby is crying and my husband just wants to have a conversation, it's like, ENOUGH ALREADY! I think yesterday I practically threw my hands up, looked skyward, and said, "What do you want from me?!" Unfortunately it is not the laundry, the dishes, the children or my beloved husband that are driving me crazy. It is my inability to handle it all. To juggle it. Life, I mean. And that's a valid sentiment. I think it is. But, in all fairness, I need to get over myself. So what I didn't shower this morning, the living room is a mess, and the last kid wasn't asleep until 9:54 PM? Because the kids ARE asleep, my husband still thinks I look amazing, and if I put my mind to it, I can clean up all of the mess in my house in about 20 minutes. And if I don't get to it, whatever, right? Because it can always be done tomorrow. Especially if it means twenty uninterrupted minutes with my husband on the couch. Amen to that.
This morning, before 10 AM, I practically catapulted my voice box out of my mouth yelling at the top of my lungs. My kids were running the halls, laughing and yelling, while I was frantically trying to get dressed. I have been trying to catch up on laundry for weeks, and I finally got some done this morning, really only because my two-year-old was out of Thomas the Train underwear. So I am scrambling around, my husband saying sweet things to me and trying to help, while my pressure meter just keeps rising. Right after he offers to grab the laundry, I finally just pop the top, and out comes this ferocious scream. I mean, really, really ugly, scratchy, make your throat hurt scream. At my kids. Immediately after the noise stopped and the kids went to their room, I thought, "Now that was totally unnecessary. Why did I do that?" I look at my husband, surely with a guilty look on my face, knowing I had really crossed the line, and hurled some major tension at my children. He just looked at me and shook his head, in disbelief, or more like disappointment. He knows me, knows how I give up way before my limit, knows that I am explosive (to his calm) in a pressured situation.
I really, really needed an attitude adjustment. Not like a momentary one. Because I can't say that these mini explosions don't happen frequently. True, now they are not followed by a total breakdown complete with tears and self-pity. They are however, not helping anyone, especially my husband and kids. After my mid-morning blast, my husband was really just done with me for the day. I mean, how much can a loving, supportive and helpful husband take, right? And what the hell is my problem anyway?
So, let's call it an overhaul, an attitude overhaul. The real truth, like the nitty-gritty of it all, is that I really think this is about me. That IT is about me. Let me explain. I get frustrated by the laundry mountains, the toys in every possible nook and cranny, the endless mounds of mail and paperwork, unwashed dishes, etc. And when the kids get going with the noise, and the baby is crying and my husband just wants to have a conversation, it's like, ENOUGH ALREADY! I think yesterday I practically threw my hands up, looked skyward, and said, "What do you want from me?!" Unfortunately it is not the laundry, the dishes, the children or my beloved husband that are driving me crazy. It is my inability to handle it all. To juggle it. Life, I mean. And that's a valid sentiment. I think it is. But, in all fairness, I need to get over myself. So what I didn't shower this morning, the living room is a mess, and the last kid wasn't asleep until 9:54 PM? Because the kids ARE asleep, my husband still thinks I look amazing, and if I put my mind to it, I can clean up all of the mess in my house in about 20 minutes. And if I don't get to it, whatever, right? Because it can always be done tomorrow. Especially if it means twenty uninterrupted minutes with my husband on the couch. Amen to that.
Monday, March 3, 2008
The Big Why
I think we all ask the fundamental questions at some point in our lives.
We have to. We exist and so we have to wonder why. Why are we here? What is our purpose? What will happen when we die? Those who know me well, know that these fundamental questions of life/existence/purpose have been a source of...turmoil for me ever since I was a child. I remember when I was a kid, couldn't have been more than six years old at the time, I was sitting on my living room couch late in the evening sobbing my brains out while my parents tried to console me. "But WHY?!" I kept asking, insisting on an answer. Why is God infinite? Why do we live for eternity? Why can't we just die and be done? A bit of an existental crisis, no? In retrospect, though, I think these were perfectly logical questions for a child to ask; for anyone to ask. Everything is so defined, so definite and factual in our world. At least we like to think so. We like facts and statistics and formulas. Evidence is the highest level of proof. But we have no way to prove answers to any of those questions. And so sometimes, even now, I get overwhelmed by the thought of it, of everything. Of the fact that we exist at all, and what that means.
Lately, I have found more interesting to me, and perhaps more relevant, is that we all, ALL of humanity, we have these thoughts/feelings/intuitions that there is a reason that we exist, that we have a purpose in this existence. I'm not talking about evidence of God or a Creator; that is an entirely different blog. But just the notion that our existence, apart from all else, is purposeful.
I am in a certain position in this world. I am American, which denotes a certain privelige. I am a VERY light-skinned African-American, White and Native American (mulitracial) person. (Don't mistake this descriptor for a celebration of lightness in any shape or form; it is just an indicator that I have been perceived as white most of my life.) I am a woman. I am in my twenties. I have a college degree. I am married with three children. I stay at home with my kids and my husband works a management position in retail. We could be perceived as a middle-class family. All of these indicators place me in a certain status, socio-economic perhaps, on a national and international scale. However, these indicators say nothing about my spiritual maturity. They give no notion of how I feel about my life and my purpose. They say nothing to the crying six year old or the existential crisis.
That is why we are all united. Because we share a common humanity that is divisible only by our willingness to make it so. And at each moment in our lives, we are asking derivatives of the basic whys. For example, perhaps our momentary crisis is not, "Why did God put me on his green earth?" but, "Why did God put me in the PLACE?" Or "How did I get here?"
I am trying to answer some of my whys, some of my fundamental questions, by giving myself purpose. Or at least creating paths for myself to investigate that purpose. The blog is an example of that. Trying to determine why I am here, I have decided that I have a voice and a love for writing that seems to express that voice. Through my blog, I am able to think through my whys and begin to develop action. Writing is one of my actions. And it enables me to speak to you and to myself about the things that matter to me.
What is your why? And how will you use action to answer it?
We have to. We exist and so we have to wonder why. Why are we here? What is our purpose? What will happen when we die? Those who know me well, know that these fundamental questions of life/existence/purpose have been a source of...turmoil for me ever since I was a child. I remember when I was a kid, couldn't have been more than six years old at the time, I was sitting on my living room couch late in the evening sobbing my brains out while my parents tried to console me. "But WHY?!" I kept asking, insisting on an answer. Why is God infinite? Why do we live for eternity? Why can't we just die and be done? A bit of an existental crisis, no? In retrospect, though, I think these were perfectly logical questions for a child to ask; for anyone to ask. Everything is so defined, so definite and factual in our world. At least we like to think so. We like facts and statistics and formulas. Evidence is the highest level of proof. But we have no way to prove answers to any of those questions. And so sometimes, even now, I get overwhelmed by the thought of it, of everything. Of the fact that we exist at all, and what that means.
Lately, I have found more interesting to me, and perhaps more relevant, is that we all, ALL of humanity, we have these thoughts/feelings/intuitions that there is a reason that we exist, that we have a purpose in this existence. I'm not talking about evidence of God or a Creator; that is an entirely different blog. But just the notion that our existence, apart from all else, is purposeful.
I am in a certain position in this world. I am American, which denotes a certain privelige. I am a VERY light-skinned African-American, White and Native American (mulitracial) person. (Don't mistake this descriptor for a celebration of lightness in any shape or form; it is just an indicator that I have been perceived as white most of my life.) I am a woman. I am in my twenties. I have a college degree. I am married with three children. I stay at home with my kids and my husband works a management position in retail. We could be perceived as a middle-class family. All of these indicators place me in a certain status, socio-economic perhaps, on a national and international scale. However, these indicators say nothing about my spiritual maturity. They give no notion of how I feel about my life and my purpose. They say nothing to the crying six year old or the existential crisis.
That is why we are all united. Because we share a common humanity that is divisible only by our willingness to make it so. And at each moment in our lives, we are asking derivatives of the basic whys. For example, perhaps our momentary crisis is not, "Why did God put me on his green earth?" but, "Why did God put me in the PLACE?" Or "How did I get here?"
I am trying to answer some of my whys, some of my fundamental questions, by giving myself purpose. Or at least creating paths for myself to investigate that purpose. The blog is an example of that. Trying to determine why I am here, I have decided that I have a voice and a love for writing that seems to express that voice. Through my blog, I am able to think through my whys and begin to develop action. Writing is one of my actions. And it enables me to speak to you and to myself about the things that matter to me.
What is your why? And how will you use action to answer it?
Saturday, March 1, 2008
I HAVE A BLOG! And 5 things I am doing for myself.
I just posted my blog link to facebook...maybe people will read it now. Cross your fingers for me.
1. Eating gluten-free! I feel better than I have in years. For more info on gluten intolerance or celiac disease written in a witty and hilarious and elegant style please visit www.glutenfreegirl.blogspot.com. She is wonderful!
2. Yoga, yoga, yoga. I actually have an appetite for life now.
3. Being honest with myself and others. I have taken heed to the statement, "Truthfulness is the foundation of all human virture." Letting go of your past through being truthful is so liberating.
4. Playing with my kids. Set down the damn dish, and walk away from the sink, mamas. Just for 10 carefree minutes. You'll thank me later.
5. Hmm. What is the fifth thing? Probably the daily application of hope and patience.
1. Eating gluten-free! I feel better than I have in years. For more info on gluten intolerance or celiac disease written in a witty and hilarious and elegant style please visit www.glutenfreegirl.blogspot.com. She is wonderful!
2. Yoga, yoga, yoga. I actually have an appetite for life now.
3. Being honest with myself and others. I have taken heed to the statement, "Truthfulness is the foundation of all human virture." Letting go of your past through being truthful is so liberating.
4. Playing with my kids. Set down the damn dish, and walk away from the sink, mamas. Just for 10 carefree minutes. You'll thank me later.
5. Hmm. What is the fifth thing? Probably the daily application of hope and patience.
Oh, what to write?
So, my husband says to me yesterday, "You know what you should do? I think you should write a blog about people in your sitution." And the conversation ensues:
Me: I have a blog.
Husband: You do? Where?
Me: On Blogger, the Google blog thing. But nobody reads it. I haven't written anything on it in a while.
Husband: Why not?
Me: It was all depressing. What do you mean, "People in your situation?"
Husband: You know, young, stay at home mom...
Me: No one would read it.
Husband: I think it would be good.
The thing is, I hate my label. The "stay at home mom" label. Truth be told, I got pregnant at 18, gave birth to my daughter at 19, and then madly began the life cycle at superspeed: baby-school-baby-husband-school-graduation-baby... Three babies, one lovely husband, and an English degree later, I am asking myself," What the hell is going on here?!" I managed to successfully complete three-quarters of the life cycle in the span of 6 years. Yay!...I think. Don't be mistaken, I LOVE my husband and my kids and I even love waking up to a bed of with five sets of fingers and toes and sleep-deprived eyes, but I find myself kind of floating in a void where I am not quite sure what my purpose is anymore.
Which brings me back to the mom label. I really became a stay-at-home mom by default. I was in school full-time with first two dumplings, and by the nine-month warning of the third, I was going part-time and caring for the kids while my hubby worked full time. (Hubby, what a ridiculous word). So, I graduate, the baby is old enough to put in childcare, but the cost of putting three kids in childcare is insane, right? Insane!! It should be illegal. I mean, the government should pay for it something. Or at least put up a stipend. And you don't want to send your kids to a cheap daycare...It's like going to a dentist that practices in his basement or something. You just don't do that to your kids. You want the best for them.
And so I am here, in this privileged position, not feeling so privileged. I want to be out in the world, asserting some sort of individual identity, but most people see me as a mom first or a wife. That sounds just horrible, doesn't it? I mean, really now. But I am determined to do both: be with my kids and work, or something to that effect.
I am playing the waiting game now. I have about 2 weeks until I hear from graduate schools I applied to (my reentry into the "real" world), and then if I don't get in, I am going to have to get a job. Even just a few days per week. Because my kids need a sane mother. And I need happy kids.
Me: I have a blog.
Husband: You do? Where?
Me: On Blogger, the Google blog thing. But nobody reads it. I haven't written anything on it in a while.
Husband: Why not?
Me: It was all depressing. What do you mean, "People in your situation?"
Husband: You know, young, stay at home mom...
Me: No one would read it.
Husband: I think it would be good.
The thing is, I hate my label. The "stay at home mom" label. Truth be told, I got pregnant at 18, gave birth to my daughter at 19, and then madly began the life cycle at superspeed: baby-school-baby-husband-school-graduation-baby... Three babies, one lovely husband, and an English degree later, I am asking myself," What the hell is going on here?!" I managed to successfully complete three-quarters of the life cycle in the span of 6 years. Yay!...I think. Don't be mistaken, I LOVE my husband and my kids and I even love waking up to a bed of with five sets of fingers and toes and sleep-deprived eyes, but I find myself kind of floating in a void where I am not quite sure what my purpose is anymore.
Which brings me back to the mom label. I really became a stay-at-home mom by default. I was in school full-time with first two dumplings, and by the nine-month warning of the third, I was going part-time and caring for the kids while my hubby worked full time. (Hubby, what a ridiculous word). So, I graduate, the baby is old enough to put in childcare, but the cost of putting three kids in childcare is insane, right? Insane!! It should be illegal. I mean, the government should pay for it something. Or at least put up a stipend. And you don't want to send your kids to a cheap daycare...It's like going to a dentist that practices in his basement or something. You just don't do that to your kids. You want the best for them.
And so I am here, in this privileged position, not feeling so privileged. I want to be out in the world, asserting some sort of individual identity, but most people see me as a mom first or a wife. That sounds just horrible, doesn't it? I mean, really now. But I am determined to do both: be with my kids and work, or something to that effect.
I am playing the waiting game now. I have about 2 weeks until I hear from graduate schools I applied to (my reentry into the "real" world), and then if I don't get in, I am going to have to get a job. Even just a few days per week. Because my kids need a sane mother. And I need happy kids.
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