sometimes, occasionally, i get a burst of creative energy. i feel good about myself, fun. and i think,
“THIS IS WHAT I USED TO BE.”
i know i said this wasn’t going to be a mommy blog. and it isn’t. when i think of the “mommy blog”, i envision warm-hued images of barefooted babes and stories of diy art projects and domestic bliss. a fantasy-reality of mothering in the 21st century where work life and home life co-mingle in some profitable business of selling an ideal. this is a story lots of women are telling right now.
the thing is, i don’t think that ideal exists. at least not for me. it’s not my story. and the fantasy-reality mommy blog doesn’t resonate with me like i know it does for lots of women out there.
i’m not mourning the loss of my former self. but i am saying that it isn’t easy to stay in the moment and make room for the creative spark to happen while keeping a home and earning a living. i would love to sew my kids’ halloween costumes, make 12 dozen cookies for the holidays, recycle old cans into beautiful toothbrush holders, whatever.
intellectual, creative, admirable women struggle to live up to their own expectations of who they should be. and they might even want to explore this wrestling match between the superhuman ideal and the day-to-day reality. maybe this other conversation has a place too—right in between vintage pucci pants and an obsession with chairs.