And here's my last whiny post of 2005.
December 30, 2005Oh, but I am feeling low.
I could blame the chocolates my mom bought my husband--my delightfully Jewish husband who is all, “I do not understand you Christians and your strange Christ-birthday; who is this ‘Christ’?” and then insists that my family only give him presents that he can consume. So we get these damn chocolate confections that are incredibly delicious; one of them makes you feel that you require twelve more, and then the second one provides you with the sensation of needing to tear your skin from your face and set your pants on fire. I ate three.
Also, Henry is sick. We put him in preschool and he fought off every virus that came his way, but one weekend with my family was all it took to bring him down. The night before last he had the CROUP, and we immediately rushed him into the steamy bathroom and sat there until the ceiling melted. He continued to whuuup and hurrk far long than he ever had before, but then as we discussed our imminent trip to the ER, he decided hospitals were not his thing, and the episode passed. But now he’s all drippy and crusty and feverish, and when I’m not worried about him I’m worried about how I’m going to keep from killing him.
He is moany and whiny and needy and I can understand why, but he’s not needy in a way I understand. Lying on the couch requesting blankets and tea—this I can understand. Running around and throwing toys while wearing nothing but socks and screaming at me to take off his socks—this is his version of being sick, and it makes no sense to me. No he does NOT want soup, take that blanket OFF him, he LIKES shivering, and don’t THINK about giving him Motrin, on second thought the Motrin tastes like candy so give him EXTRA, what do you MEAN extra is bad for him? THE NAKED BOY WANTS EXTRA MOTRIN.
When he isn’t demanding that I overdose him, he wants me to play, except what he really wants is not for me to play—he wants me to sit next to him and watch him as he plays. This way lies madness, as we know, but I am not given much of a choice in the matter. If I try to pick up an action figure and join him in playtime, I am berated. If I attempt to rise and get a glass of water, or maybe use the bathroom, there is much screaming and pleading for my company. If I sit right next to him and read a book, the book is torn from my hands. My attention is demanded constantly, but it’s only to acknowledge whatever it is he is doing. “Look, Mommy!” he announces, holding up Batman. “I am holding Batman!” Pause. “Look! Look! Look! Look! Look! Look!” and so on, until I respond, “Yes, that’s Batman, all right.”
Repeat this with every one of his two hundred figures.
I am bored out of my mind. Literally, I have no mind.
So maybe this is not the best day to take stock of my life. But whoops, too late.
Waaaay back, I got an MFA in creative writing and I told myself I would have a novel published before I had a child. Ha, ha! No really, I did! I know! Then when I was pregnant I downscaled my ambitions to, “Hmm, I should really get a short story published before I give birth.” I didn’t make that goal either, but I did eventually get two stories published. And a poem. Which, okay, more than zero! Not so bad! But really if I consider myself a writer, I should have more than two stories published in my lifetime. Two stories (and a poem) would make a crappy collection.
So now I’m working on a book. Which is nice, to have an idea, to be working on something. To finally, after years of struggling with rock-bottom expectations and crippling self-doubt and blar de blar twelve years of therapy blar, be doing what I’ve always want ed to do. Except! I have no time! Ever! Because there’s this child! Whom I think a great deal of, who’s really a great kid, but who demands every second of my time! And I may be just a wee bit resentful about that!
I’ve been getting up at six in the morning to write. I am not a morning person. But Henry isn’t either, and as he gets up at 8 at the earliest, it seemed the perfect time to get some things done. But by the time I get a cup of tea, turn on the lights, find my robe, use the bathroom, stare at my freaky morning hair in the mirror, turn on the computer, and try not to throw up as I see what I wrote the day before—by the time I’m ready to write it’s 6:30. So the most I can do is an hour and a half of writing. And it’s not enough. I need that much time just to remember why I’m sitting there, what brought me to that place and what it was I wanted to say, again.
Today I made the mistake of reading an interview between Paul Auster and Jonathan Lethem, and they were talking about the five or six hours each day they devote to their writing, how satisfying it was to have SO MUCH time to write! Devoting those hours to their Art infuses the rest of the day with a “kind of grace,” they agreed. And I thought, if I see you fuckers on the street—and there’s a good chance I will; they’re both around here somewhere, I’ve seen them before—I am going to kick you in the shins. Six hours! Hey, Jonathan: once we were at the same party and you were dancing and you danced like a moron and I laughed. And then you went home and wrote a masterpiece. Wait, that didn't make me feel better. Asshole.
I don’t know how anyone who is a mother is also a writer. I suppose you have to achieve a certain level of success so that you can hire a nanny without killing yourself from the financial burden or from the guilt or choosing your nonexistent career over your child. But if I don’t have the time, then I can’t write the book, so I can’t get the money, which I need to, um, have the time. I go around and around like this, and then I want to throw up. Or maybe that's the chocolates.
I am sorry to end the year like this, so I will say Happy New Year, and then I will go to bed, and maybe tomorrow, the last day of 2005, will suck a tiny bit less.
Reader Comments (107)
I think you're missing a key point. Here's the thing: I have decided what kind of mother I want my children to have. The kind of mother I want to be isn't one who hovers and dotes, but one who is attentive, accessible, involved and interested. I can be that mother playing one-on-one with my child and I can be that mother while keeping house or while engaged in various other activities. It would be very difficult for me, however, to be those four things listed above if I were deeply involved in a creative process that demanded my attention and required inspired, uninterrupted focus.
Also, I don't have any kids, nor any pets, nor any houseplants that have survived my not-quite-green-more-like-death thumb, and I still don't have time to do anything productive. Other than leave blog comments, that is.
This was written by someone who is currently on her fifth 3 year-old. Last week he was lying on our couch, drinking soda while he recovered from a fever/flu thing. At one point, he told me he wanted to sit in a different chair (the better to see the T.V.? I guess?) and even as I was lifting him up to move him he shreiked at me: "No, I don't want that chair!"
I actually thought about dropping my sick kid on the floor.
It does get better and it is possible to combine creativity and motherhood - difficult but possible.
I took a notebook everywhere with me, so that even when I wasn't able to make art, I was could write. It helped.
People tell me the same thing, all the time; that everything will be better once the twins are in school. (Indeed, the mothers I know whose kids have just entered school DO look a little calmer!). I miss my own time to connect with the adult world so badly I'm constantly having to remind myself to stop thinking about two years from now, and enjoy the cute little girls they are now. But yes, it is agony, just letting everything go...there's no time to even jot down crappy little brainstorms on post-it notes.
I guess the bonus that OvaGirl and I will share is two kids entering school at the same time. YAY!
Happy New Year. The book will come. You have so much talent.
1. Do not give a child with a low fever fever reducing medicine. Sick kids need to lie around the house, which they will do if they have 101 or 102, but not if you lower the fever. The last thing any mom needs a sick kid that doesn't feel sick anymore. If they have 104 feel free to dispense the fever reducing medicine because then they are likely sick enough to lie around regardless. Remember that those fever reducers are hard on their little livers and they don't need the added burden when they are sick, unless they are very very sick.
2. Preschool time is YOUR time, use it to write, and then drag Henry on all the errands that you could have been doing while he was in school when you pick him up. Also, this is a great time to send him off on playdayes alone, you can work something out with a friend.
3. Lighten up on yourself, if you were cranking out the books, we would all suspect that your kid was neglected anyways, so this is really one that you just can't win. He'll get older and you'll reclaim your life. It is inevitable.
May each day in 2006 suck a tiny bit less than the day before, and may you find Time.
I might have a bit of a hangover! Happy New Year!
Finished and/or Published works: NoneHalf-started works: 1,062,478Amount of time alotted to personal hygiene: 5 secondsNumber of fancy baby blankets I made and sold this year, 'cuz this was going to be "my home business": NoneTime spent breastfeeding: 27 hours/dayNumber of brain cells I have left: 4 and a halfTime spent with baby sleeping on chest while I channel surf, but quietly so he doesn't wake up: at least 7/day
Let's just run away!
P.S. Can we at least know the stories you had published so we can read them? I enjoy your writing so much and would love to read more!
so thank you.
Happy New Year!
this post brings to mind that scene in The Last of the Mohicans where Daniel Day-Lewis has to jump down the waterfall to escape the Indians who are going to kill him and he implores Madeline Stowe to "Stay ALIVE. I will find you." And then he jumps into the massive, crashing water. (God, such a great scene, I got goosebumps just remembering it).
Anyhoo-- I want to implore you to Stay SANE--the book will find you! It will come. You will make it through this challenge. And there will be a book-- many books, as many as you want to write and you will have time! Hang in there-- you are a fabulous writer and it is your destiny.
i am always amazed at how much better everything seems when a cold or child's illness has lifted
i'll stand in the kitchen and suddenly realize that i feel good - where did this energy come from - and i figure it out - yes, we are all finally healthy again
those brief energetic moments are what i imagine it will be like when i sit down to an uniterupted period of time with children at school - except i'm sure that i will miss the days like this one where a sleepy nursing baby causes me to type one-handed messages void of grammer all e.e. cummings-like
some things just take time
and ditto on the low-fever no motrin thing
Henry is a demanding child, and you tend to give into him because (and I would too) it's easier than finding another way. But there are other ways, including finding the RIGHT daycare situation for him, even if it means a sitter in your house for a few hours per day while you're locked into your office. Honest, it can be done, even with a high needs kid.
The effexor helps, of course. I'm never going off it.
[pregnant pause]
Ha ha ha.
Only kidding, the third child, she has made me ever so slightly maniacal.
And staying home with a sick kid (even though you love him dearly) sucks the big pudding! I HEAR your pain!
I agree with the other comments about writing. I blog because I don't have the time or discipline to do something like a novel. Talent I have in spades, but time? forget it. But someday I will enter NaNoWriMo again and actually get something substantial written, dammit!