Mired + inspired (or, mama rhythm)

It's a balancing act, with a little rhythm thrown in.  I feel like I borrow from one essential part to nurture the other, push this out of the way to make way for that like a surly construction crew traffic director.  There are always the details of maintenance: dishes, laundry, the floor covered in Cheerios if we're lucky and rice if we aren't.  There's too much shopping which is a total distraction from the boy, and a distraction from the details of maintenance and happy life things like weather, music and stillness. 

There is always, always this little boy, waking up from nap as I just drift off accidentally and immediately shouting, "MAMAMAMAMAMA!," which is: "I'm rested and raring to go and I NEED YOU TO GET ME OUT OF THE CRIB THIS INSTANT."  He "bam, bam, bams" his palms on the dinner table to be a drummer (my secret role in my club-going, cool alter-person-I-never- was-yet self) and then he winces and seeks pity for his poor little hands, smirking and laughing with the whole process.  He squeezes me close in a split-second almost without meaning to, as he's a busy, busy boy with countless picnics to orchestrate.  There are sentences now, Cavemanish, but also the brilliance of language development in each of his waking moments.  He makes jokes, he demands what he needs and wants, he pumps his arms with excitement.  He loves the color orange like there's no tomorrow.

But there is a tomorrow and as it comes he changes and learns and grows.  I haven't missed any of it but I miss what's passed all the same.  As it comes I try to push the maintenance out the door to nurture just a little bit of that mama self, just enough to clip the nails that are unsightly, read an article that has nothing to do with toddlers, sit for just a second with a quiet mind.  I regroup on new landscape, find my footing in new terrain.   

We had to do this rhythm thing in movement class once, the one class that made me roll my eyes surreptitiously more than any other in my education.  In movement class we were in groups of four and had to do something with music and rhythm; the teacher mentioned, when we were done, how wonderful it was that we all had our own strengths and were able to teach others in unique ways just as so and so was able to teach me, as someone without rhythm, how to do the activity.  Now, I maintain that I was kicked out of ballet as a four or five year old though Mom says we just stopped going.  I'm not graceful and my rhythm isn't the best. I'd been having so much fun for once in movement class though.  Seriously, this teacher pointed me out in the middle of everyone and though I was in my twenties it still stung and was still a bit shameful and it taught me a lesson about teaching the teacher didn't know.  Sometimes in the back of my head I worry that someone, once again, is going to point out that I don't have my balance yet and I haven't got any rhythm.  I worry that what I lack is blatant somehow, or that my footing and the waving cars through and the silliness and the stillness is off-balance.  I'll say, "I was having so much fun though."  Do I have mama rhythm? 

Then I think that nobody has ever been a mama to this little boy, and no one could do it better.  Working to find what works, what clicks for us and me, is the journey we get to take and if it was all quiet and clean and predictable it'd be hopelessly boring and uninspiring.  When I watch this boy sleeping at night my breath catches on the intake and that small understanding of "miracle" hits me again.  I am completely inspired.  I'm mired in the details, my hair is frizzy, my shirts are stained, there are piles and bills... But I am finding my own balance and my own rhythm and I am inspired. 

Comments

[Leah Adams]

So well said. Motherhood is all about balancing. I love the line about "no one has ever been his mama before". Despite all of the moments when I don't live up to my own ideal of motherhood, my son still tells me many times a day that I am "the best mom in the world", probably because I know just what he needs.

I've recently discovered your blog, and am thoroughly enjoying your writing. I look forward to reading more and more.

[Amy]

Your very delight in being a mama is inspiring. Your boy is lucky to have such a wonderful mother!

[Jessica]

So, so beautiful. And right you are... as much as i long for quiet and clean, i don't think that it's where the magic happens. That happens everyday, even on the tough, chaotic mama days, when we are stretched by the littlest among us who call us "Mama." i love the details you are noticing along the way on your mama journey -- and i love reading what you have to say about them. lucky boy, your boy.

[Vasilisa]

Beautiful thoughts. Just wait, in a very short time your son will learn to say: "I love you piles ja piles mama, I love you so much my love is bigger than a mountain", or something inventive like that, and it's probably just the most wonderful thing you can ever hear, grammar mistakes and all. Then you'll really feel you get a reward for all those chaotic moments.

[Taryn]

I was 'kicked out' of ballet around the same age. I remember my mom dropping me off and right as I was walking into the door of the studio, I turned around and said "I guess I'll go this time, but ballet is so stupid!" (this was after many sessions where I discovered I was painfully uncoordinated and inflexible) and my old grouch of a teacher overheard my outburst and gave a lengthy lecture to the whole class about my naughty faux pas.

Despite that, I've been dancing off and on throughout my life and I've had many more traumatic experiences with various instructors, but I still love it. I like the way it feels to move with music and after hours of practice, to get it right. We may not be great or perfect and yes, unbalanced (very much so), but I also have taken many art classes throughout my life and my favorite lesson I've learned there was that the unbalanced created interest. I like to apply that to myself. We're all unique and interesting, especially when we lack balance.

[Amy]

So beautifully written... My daughter is 5, my son is 3, and it has taken me about 4 years to become one with the Unbalance...and to realize this is the way it is, and will be...so my house is a constant mess, my piles of " to do" are always unending...and I feel the most creative, and fulfilled I have ever felt in my entire life...go figure...

Thank you for your writing, I know I can always come hear and find you have said so eloquently what is in my heart ....Your a Great Momma, and a brilliant Writer....