Thursday, 1 March 2007


Spring! Ha! The neighbourhood kids are out shovelling walks, Mr. S. is stuck on a bus somewhere on his way home, and we are cuddled up inside:

In an attempt to ignore the universe laughing at me, I'll just change the subject.

A couple of days ago I noticed my friend and neighbour out in her backyard, just sitting. On second glance, I also noticed the top of her child's hat bobbing around the backyard on a curious path as children often do. But it was the look on my friend's face that caught my eye. It was the look of a mother blissfully retreating into herself (babe busy...i have a few minutes to think...). In my creative unravelling I wonder a lot about my daughter and how this will weave itself into her life. One of the reasons I am determined to do this involves my relationship with her, but very often I come up against a blank wall trying to integrate her creatively into what I'm doing (and I'm talking now about when it's just she and I - when Mr. S. is around or is doing something with her, it's different, obviously). And so, I end up writing/crafting during her nap or after she's gone to sleep, or something I'm trying to make gets put down so that I can play with her, or (gasp) I put on the t.v. My child is a person and as such I don't like to ignore her (as I would not like to be ignored). Not a shred of me resents this, but I'm not afraid to admit that it can get frustrating.

When you ask someone "how they do it" everymom's stock answer is "oh, I don't" which is honourable and humble, but not very useful. I'm not asking if, I'm asking how. I really truly enjoy playing with Safiya and watching her and revelling in being fortunate enough to have such an interesting, incredible person in my life. However, I believe in the great AND: not the forced dammit-i'll-do-this-if-it-kills-me-and-it-probably-will kind, the just-breathe-and-dance-and-go-with-it-kind. Besides, isn't this how children learn? By our side? I'm just not sure how to swing this dance yet.

Young Mother Sewing, 1900
Mary Cassatt

I'll keep trying though.


job said...


job said...