Somebody's Got to Be the Mommy

This week’s blog was almost unwritten.

Gavin has been sick all week. He has an ear infection and a wicked virus. He refuses to eat. No Jello, no ice pops, no toast. Nothing but water.

We went back to the doctor yesterday. He did not find anything exotic—just an excruciatingly slow-healing virus. We are on Day 3 or 4 of sips of water every five minutes, offers of every food under the sun. At this point Gavin can have candy for breakfast if only he would eat. My healthy Gavin would jump at the offer. This other, listless boy is not even faintly interested.

Motherhood can be heartbreak. When I suffer so much with a relatively minor illness I think a lot about how other mothers cope. Mothers with chronically ill kids, mothers in Third World countries who are watching their babies die. I can’t even imagine what that’s like. Despite my attempts to rise above, even a minor illness brings a veil of sadness and worry that lifts only when Gavin is back to his normal self.

In her book Composing a Life, Mary Catherine Bateson (see last week’s blog for a link) tells the story of her bright and busy friend Johnnetta. Johnnetta had to travel to finalize her move to a Georgia college where she was president. While she was away, Johnnetta’s daughter became sick. Despite all of the backup she had orchestrated, Johnnetta rushed home without a second thought. A million mothers could tell the same story, maybe with different jobs and demands, but essentially the same story. What struck me was how this superwoman, a college president and no doubt a master thinker and organizer, summed up the simple, unavoidable fact that propelled her home without hesitation: “Somebody’s got to be the mommy.”

This week, there were many times when Gavin wanted only me, even when my husband and mother were there to help. I stole away, when Gavin was sleeping or when someone else covered, to see if I could complete a short piece. Needless to say, it was not a big week for creating literary masterpieces. Even my small attempts at creativity left me feeling a bit guilty.

Guilt is a common theme in the survey results I have received. I cope with guilt by reminding myself that I wouldn’t be “digging with a spoon” if I wanted no part of being a mommy. If I had chosen my writing as my only real priority, I wouldn’t have much interest in making it work while mothering. I would simply fit in some minimal mothering when I could, between books, book awards, and book signings!

I love Gavin passionately, and I am crazy about writing. And I know that there are tons of mothers out there with these same two passions, all working hard to strike some sort of a balance. Nancy Slonim Aronie talks about balance in her book, Writing from the Heart. She is one of those mothers with a situation I can not, do not want to, imagine. Her son was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. After a long period of grieving, she learned that even such a serious illness did not define her or her family: “It is not us; it is part of us.” From that realization, she moved on to bringing even her deepest sorrow into her creative life, to sharing what her struggle has taught. I attended her workshop, and there were a lot of tears and creative breakthroughs associated with this lesson. We all have our sorrows and strains. We all have something important to share.

What has this week taught me? I love my son; I love my writing. I can do both. Even sadness, or maybe especially sadness, can engender creativity. So I keep going.

My Mona Lisa Moment

It all started with a trip to the movies. My mother, my sister Linda, and I wanted to see Mona Lisa Smile, the inspirational story of a university art teacher in 1950.

Katherine, the protagonist, is a passionate artist who is ahead of her time. She becomes increasingly frustrated with her all-female class. Her meticulously groomed, well-educated students are exclusively focused on becoming wives and mothers, and it is clear they have been programmed for constant self sacrifice. They seem to be killing time in art class until their boyfriends finally propose. This infuriates Katherine, and she spouts indignant opinions at every turn. She jars her narrow-minded class with slides of radical abstract art, encouraging them to know their own minds. She insists to a newly married student that she can still find a way to attend law school.

We rooted for Katherine’s stubborn, progressive courage all through the movie. During the car ride home, we tittered at the old fashioned notions of contraband contraceptives and 1950s advertisements for the life-altering effects of products like girdles, bleach, and ironing starch. I paraphrased the Virginia Slims cigarette slogan: “We’ve come a long way, baby.” We sighed, grateful for how much things had changed.

Pregnant pause. Linda piped up, “Have we really come such a long way?” Longer silence.

I knew what she meant. I thought back to the movie, and remembered Katherine looking lost when a student argued that marriage and motherhood were as relevant a choice as an artistic career. Here we were, well-informed women of the new century, and what we related to most was Katherine and her students’ ambivalence about pursuing their own dreams versus having a family. “You can do both,” Katherine exclaimed, but her own life as a loner said otherwise. I thought about how I, too, feel like a loner when I descend into my basement office to write, half guilty about the family demands that I leave upstairs, half thrilled at my slow but insistent steps towards a full-time writing future.

I added to Linda’s question. “And what about kids? None of the Mona Lisa students had kids yet. If they were already so devoted to their husband’s careers, and then the kids came, they were doomed to lose themselves completely. They would never be artists.”

Our nonchalant movie selection had my wheels turning. After I had what I now call my Mona Lisa Moment, I looked for practical books that encouraged mothers in their creative pursuits. I found nothing. Too often I found the message that we need to choose art or motherhood, and can’t possibly do both well. I was especially irritated with an excerpt of an interview by the acclaimed author Katherine Anne Porter:

Now I am all for human life, and I am all for marriage and children and all that sort of thing, but quite often you can’t have that and do what you were supposed to do, too.

This made my blood boil. Yes, sacrifices must be made. Choices are difficult. But Katherine Anne Porter never had children. What did she know?

Since few books supported my efforts to write while mothering, my counterattack was to vigorously research creative mothers that have been successful, and record what works in the effort to balance artistic passions with family responsibilities. I read about both extremes: from Sylvia Plath (one author theorized she could only escape domestic expectations by committing suicide, leaving 2 young children behind) to Harriet Beecher Stowe (who had 7 children before Uncle Tom’s Cabin). I wanted to know more about Harriet and less about Sylvia.

Book research wasn’t enough. I have talked to as many creative mothers as I could, and that is really the thing that sustains me. In response to a survey I wrote, I got a flood of encouragement from persistent author-mothers (also some artist- and musician- mothers, and one from an author-father). Here is some of the wisdom that keeps me going:

Julie, a fantasy/sci-fi writer and artist/nature photographer in California, wrote, “Include your children in your [creative] pursuits”, and many respondents echoed this theme. Moms give their children mini-easels and have their children stamping envelopes for submissions. The children take great pride in sharing their parents’ work, and seem more likely to view it as work (not just “Mom’s hobby.”)

Bonnie in Illinois (writer/painter/potter) wrote, “I get inspired daily by the way [my kids] discover and devour the world”. The most optimistic respondents saw things this way. They embraced their children as a source of inspiration, rather than framing them as competitors for artistic time.

These moms are masters of multitasking in the best sense of the word. They seem to always have a notebook or a tape recorder. They are leaving themselves messages on their cell phones for when they have writing time later. Bonnie took a clay class with her 3 year old. She admitted, “It doesn’t help my freelance career…but it keeps my mind in creative mode.” She added, “I’ve found long walks with the stroller…help with the flow of writing ideas”. You can see her constant search for creative activities. Some might not be “productive” in the strict sense of the word, but creative mothers seem to view every creative moment as productive! In my case, even attending a movie led to a new book idea, and the wonderful wisdom that came in response to my survey.

I have learned from these moms that the very desire to create drives a creative approach to life in general. Multitasking without thought is just an exhausting exercise. Doing it creatively takes some real forethought. Jacqueline in Pennsylvania (freelance writer/illustrator and aspiring decorative artist) wrote, “Each night, after [the kids] go to sleep I figure out what tasks need to be completed for [my projects]. I then break down the items into smaller jobs that I can get done while watching them…save the other jobs for when they are being cared for by their father.”

A lot of these moms talked about the poison of guilt, and the constant quest for sanity. Amy, a writer in Colorado, wrote, “My artistic pursuits help to keep me sane, recharge my batteries, and help me to be a better wife and mother.” But knowing this doesn’t always translate to as much creativity as we would like. Almost all of us want more creative time. In the meantime, until the kids are school age or until our work schedules improve, we do everything we can to keep our writing going.

So, clearly, I am not the only one “digging with a spoon”. As I said last week, this pursuit of author-mothers deserves some real attention and solidarity. I really feel the solidarity when I hear from these mothers.

A lot of mothers enjoyed taking my survey. They saw it as a great exercise for examining their creative life and how it mixes with mothering. If you would like to participate, please send your e-mail address for the survey, using the comments link on this page.

Until next week. In the meantime, here are some of my favorite recent reads:

Composing a Life, by Mary Catherine Bateson. The author, Margaret Mead's daughter, writes about women's improvisation and creativity in an inspiring way.

Katey Schultz is a lover of writing and of life, and her blog is always a good read.

First Dig

I tricked myself into writing today by switching to the third person in my journal. I told myself a little story:

Blocked? No such thing. Kathy made sure she got up each morning and wrote, no matter how crappy the content was. She was a writer, and writers write.

So she started her blog. She lugged her big notebook (stuffed with ideas for her unwritten book) downstairs, and flipped purposefully through the pages. She immediately found the quote she wanted, from the author Julianna Baggott.

Not that [my] children imprison me, but sometimes, I felt like a prisoner with a spoon. I could dig away, doing little bits at a time, hoping I would see the light.

Kathy felt an instant bond with Julianna, who had given her the inspiration for her blog's title.

Thank God for my bag of tricks. Writing about myself in third person lets me step out of my body, and I can write myself back into the scene. Fools me every time. Okay. I am back in the groove now. Here is what I want to start with:

Julianna's list of publications is long and impressive. But I bonded with this author mostly because her quote seemed written for me. She perfectly summarized my daily struggle for balance.

I am a working mother who writes. Sometimes my whole day is one long spoon dig. Just getting Gavin dressed for school yesterday bent a few spoons and left me clawing with my bare hands. But the particular spoon digging I want to cover in this blog is the persistence of mothers who write, who grab every moment they can to honor their creativity, yet remain good, loving mothers. Wait. That "yet" disclaimer did not belong in the last sentence. I am a better mother because I write, and I am a better writer because I mother. That is the whole point of this blog. Writing and mothering does not need to be an either-or equation. Digging with a spoon is worth it, even though you may need to stop and sob (or at least vigorously scrub your fingernails) once in a while.

This balancing of art and motherhood is no small feat. It deserves some serious attention, and some solidarity.

I wrote a piece for the Write from Home Web site recently, about my latest mother-author idol, Harriet Beecher Stowe. She had 7 children before she published Uncle Tom's Cabin. When I heard that, I practically had her picture framed. Here is the link: http://www.writefromhome.com/wwc/489.htm

Next Saturday, my Mona Lisa Moment.

PS the quote from Julianna Baggott is taken from an excellent interview by Cheryl Dellasega, from the Mothers Who Write series.