The Present Imperfect
What does it mean when my eyes pop open at 2:30 AM, and I am seized with the idea that I must produce my blog? It is Saturday.
The fact that Saturday is now first and foremost Blog Day (as opposed to Put Away Tons of Laundry Day) has great meaning to me. I wish I could bottle this Saturday morning anticipation, this kid at Christmas feeling I get when I rush to my computer.
Later, after I sneak back to bed for a few more hours sleep, I will wake up to a day to catch up with housework, take Gavin to Coral’s birthday party, and get ready for a dinner dance. The babysitter comes at 5, and she is a housekeeping-inducing trick the way this blog is a writing-inducing trick. It really works: when you know someone else is coming on the scene, you try harder. I am not much of a housekeeper, but since Annette is coming I will drag out the vacuum, finally scrub the sink, and remove that growing pile of miscellaneous items from the hallway table.
Why the pile on the table? Why have I not simply put these things away as I go? I do have a loose routine at work, but here at home any regularity is hard to find. There are always sippy cups to wash and lunches to be made in the morning. There is always the dishwasher to load or unload, the maddening mountain of laundry to process, Ricky’s need for a walk and a dog treat. And yet every morning there seems to be great variation in how these things get done. I have been oversleeping (I am trying to hibernate), so that throws everything off. Gavin has had to get “time outs” for some really rude behaviors. And then there is the searching for the left mitten, the right boot, the car ice scraper. The pile on the table exists because full-time work, parenting, and the ever growing task list leaves me exhausted. Winter (and its supplemental Christmas task list) just adds another layer of complication.
While my life may feel like chaos, Gavin does have a morning routine that he can count on: night time diaper off, getting dressed, breakfast with PBS (thank God for Dragon Tales), grooming for school, and the great flight out the door, one parent always urging, “Come on, Mommy (Daddy) is very late”. He seems reassured by our daily rituals, imperfect though they may be.
Gavin is intensely attached to the Sharkboy and Lavagirl video this week. One concept that fascinates him is that if Lavagirl goes under water she loses her light. Although I don’t have her pink hair, I feel like Lavagirl this morning. Instead of lava, it is creativity that courses through my veins and sustains me. If I let myself go completely under this sea of tasks, my light will fade, too.
Within the mess on my table is a wealth of reminders on my blessings: a Crayon map that Gavin drew, a Christmas gift for my brother, a half-written essay, a carefully typed schedule that I only follow sporadically. The mess is, well, a mess, but it is also hope and effort and letting go.
Maybe it is okay to have piles to sort through. It is a chance to start fresh. Every day I have to learn, simultaneously, how to work/parent/housekeep efficiently and how to let things go. Writing is the same. It is the yin of showing up and writing intensely, the yang of Web surfing and failing to rework a recently rejected piece. And I fall somewhere in between the expert, successful writer and the amateur who just can’t get her act together.
Dreaming of future perfection, which I do a lot, serves an important purpose. But I have discovered an early Christmas gift this year. I am learning to appreciate the present imperfect.
The fact that Saturday is now first and foremost Blog Day (as opposed to Put Away Tons of Laundry Day) has great meaning to me. I wish I could bottle this Saturday morning anticipation, this kid at Christmas feeling I get when I rush to my computer.
Later, after I sneak back to bed for a few more hours sleep, I will wake up to a day to catch up with housework, take Gavin to Coral’s birthday party, and get ready for a dinner dance. The babysitter comes at 5, and she is a housekeeping-inducing trick the way this blog is a writing-inducing trick. It really works: when you know someone else is coming on the scene, you try harder. I am not much of a housekeeper, but since Annette is coming I will drag out the vacuum, finally scrub the sink, and remove that growing pile of miscellaneous items from the hallway table.
Why the pile on the table? Why have I not simply put these things away as I go? I do have a loose routine at work, but here at home any regularity is hard to find. There are always sippy cups to wash and lunches to be made in the morning. There is always the dishwasher to load or unload, the maddening mountain of laundry to process, Ricky’s need for a walk and a dog treat. And yet every morning there seems to be great variation in how these things get done. I have been oversleeping (I am trying to hibernate), so that throws everything off. Gavin has had to get “time outs” for some really rude behaviors. And then there is the searching for the left mitten, the right boot, the car ice scraper. The pile on the table exists because full-time work, parenting, and the ever growing task list leaves me exhausted. Winter (and its supplemental Christmas task list) just adds another layer of complication.
While my life may feel like chaos, Gavin does have a morning routine that he can count on: night time diaper off, getting dressed, breakfast with PBS (thank God for Dragon Tales), grooming for school, and the great flight out the door, one parent always urging, “Come on, Mommy (Daddy) is very late”. He seems reassured by our daily rituals, imperfect though they may be.
Gavin is intensely attached to the Sharkboy and Lavagirl video this week. One concept that fascinates him is that if Lavagirl goes under water she loses her light. Although I don’t have her pink hair, I feel like Lavagirl this morning. Instead of lava, it is creativity that courses through my veins and sustains me. If I let myself go completely under this sea of tasks, my light will fade, too.
Within the mess on my table is a wealth of reminders on my blessings: a Crayon map that Gavin drew, a Christmas gift for my brother, a half-written essay, a carefully typed schedule that I only follow sporadically. The mess is, well, a mess, but it is also hope and effort and letting go.
Maybe it is okay to have piles to sort through. It is a chance to start fresh. Every day I have to learn, simultaneously, how to work/parent/housekeep efficiently and how to let things go. Writing is the same. It is the yin of showing up and writing intensely, the yang of Web surfing and failing to rework a recently rejected piece. And I fall somewhere in between the expert, successful writer and the amateur who just can’t get her act together.
Dreaming of future perfection, which I do a lot, serves an important purpose. But I have discovered an early Christmas gift this year. I am learning to appreciate the present imperfect.
posted by Katherine H | 1:19 AM
2 Comments:
excellent ending, and again, a nice encouraging tone. i like the lava woman analogy and the gifts you find your pile on the table. it's nice to find a jewel in the sand, even if it's in your own house in what you thought was a disaster area. happy holidays - and happy blogging.
~K
http://www.livejournal.com/users/kateyschultz
Hello there,
Really like the blogg (found whilst reading Katey's) and have added it to my homepages.
It was especially poignant to me as I am to become a father next March and am thinking a lot about child and writing career.
http://www.livejournal.com/users/chucklemonkey/
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