Authorities report petite 5’3″ Asian-American woman with brown hair, brown eyes, who had gone missing six-and-a-half years ago emerged tired but happy under a mountain of blogging notes in her office. Her story follows.
I was never sympathetic to mothers who wanted to step outside the home, whether for coffee or career. Until the poem st r u gg ling artist sprung a leak in my heart. Oh, I see. The women were trying to keep her in view, the SELF the roles within the four walls can easily consume.
I would never have written the poem my first five years as a mom. I had erased, along with myself, my capacity for wanting anything more than domesticity. With easy and undemanding husband and son, it was a self-imposed disappearance traceable to those troublesome standards of mine. I would give all as Mother. But as the st r u gg ling artist took on life it hit me that simmering and soaping in the kitchen for three hours was a bit excessive and not the best redemption of my education and time. Ah, there’s that question of woman’s place in the world, the loaded pistol. I consider homemaking among the noblest of callings, the kitchen the literal source of nourishment for the family. With joy I have poured years and love into that room. Another place with a tale is the car that is a second home for many Californians. I’ve realized rearview mirrors are for looking at someone else – not yourself. Just yesterday it had shown me my baby boy taking in the world in wonder. He now smiles back through that small mirror, full of questions and song and laughter. Okay, Mom, sit back. God’s blessed those years over stove and sink. Your boy thrives. And you?
Fall in love is what I did on the blog, the best thing I’ve taken up since marrying the man I did and having my son. Fell in love with the process, the art. What a thrill – not the instant rush in a roller coaster but the profound satisfaction of being communicated. Readers let me know, yes, I got through. And along the way, I discovered I am a person. A self-portrait of the woman who’d gone missing in the mothering reemerged from the words that came. She loves telling stories. She’ll pick her battles but on marked ground will dig her heels in, even to bleed in the fight. When she doesn’t have the answers, she could think out loud through the writing. And find a world was listening. My heart felt like it started beating again to put words together. How can this be, when I love my family as I do, when plenty of good filled my life?
When you are your child’s school and you try to keep up the home cooking, time is wishful thinking. This variable summary of the activities that fill my week doesn’t even include the groceries. In cracks of time, I’m reading our history text or planning my next post, though I’m scribbling away in my head throughout the day.
Fresh air/Extracurricular activity
Martial Arts/My workout
Son’s bed routine
Sink into office chair. Oh yes, I have something called a husband. Tend to homeschool matters. Get back to readers. Try. To. Write. Clean? Build my social media networks? Talk to more magazine editors? Write my ebook? Don’t forget my food blog.
So kidding me.
The Opinionated Man declined to answer this question in the recent interview: “If your wife had your personality, abilities, and drive (that is, were she your twin but by gender) do you think she could pull off blogging as successfully as the Opinionated Woman without compromising her responsibilities to her family – especially as a mother?” OM said he didn’t like to get into hypotheticals. All I know is when my husband takes our son out to leave me to my devices, he throws open a window for me but I can’t shake the guilt that I should be with them. No, women can’t have it all. At least not mothers. So while my statistics pale in the shadow of power bloggers, I take pause at this milepost of follows to look back on the road my guys and I have managed to pave. I came on WordPress in March, (backposted February’s thoughts) a neophyte in the world of blogging. Took a while to puzzle out the technique and art, and gained a modest 100 followers by May. I tried putting up this post right on the heels of a 1000 subscribers five months later – but you guessed it, time did not allow.
I rummage in the purse for a weightier token of my affection and gratitude for your faithful reading, the benevolent feedback. Thank you doesn’t seem to cut it. But night has fallen and the sand rises in the hourglass. The thanks will have to do. If you can stay a bit, here’s a lineup of oldies you might have missed. I saw day in their writing. It might not be clear that you can tap the links to open. Hope you enjoy. You’ve been amazing.
The post that launched the holistic journey:
Lessons from My 30s