I Am Blessed

I am blessed.

I have five beautiful children, all of whom are wicked smart, kind, and funny. I have a dining room table that is mostly clear of clutter. It is a clear, cold day, but the heater is turning the house cozy. My husband made me coffee, which is gently and deliciously bringing me into my day. I have big plans for a wonderful day of reading with the kids and delighting in the fact that we need not leave the house.

But give it time. Those five wicked funny kids are all still asleep.

In another two hours, I'll be writing another post entitled "I Am Cursed," about my chaotic house, my unruly children, my failure as a parent, and the general decline of Western Civilization.

It's an exciting life I lead, teetering as I do between abject despair and soaring gratitude. I changed the kids photo on my home page, and I think the new caption says it all: my family -- my life -- makes me dizzy.

For now, I am peaceful. I'm off to shower, so that at least I will be nice and clean when I turn into a raving lunatic later on today.

* * *

Untangling Restlessness

I am restless today. Unmotivated. Unsatisfied.

I can't find a way to settle down and be "in the moment," the way we are always told to be.

If I could do something of my own choosing today, I would curl up with a good book: I've been trying to read What is the What for weeks. But I can't do that, now, can I? Of course not. My life is not my own right now. I see people out and about, doing...things. I see them in their yards making progress on home projects. I see them bustling about doing errands and Getting Things Done. I see them spending time with friends. Whatever. Whatever they are doing looks divine, because I can't do any of it.

Two days ago, I spent 45 minutes untangling Toy Story parachuter army men from each other. That night, I found them again tangled in a compromising heap. This morning, I spent 25 minutes untangling a First Communion cross necklace that had four knots in it. So far today, in addition to untangling the necklace, I've done one load laundry, hung our new shower curtain, picked up a payment from a client, and fed people one meal. It's not so satisfying.

I yearn for more. I yearn to be creative and to be engaged in something interesting. Instead, I'm probably going to take the kids to the park, where I will engage in the most mind-numbing of my motherly duties: pushing a swing for as-yet-unable-to-pump-for-themselves children.

I also yearn to lose myself, to stop thinking about myself, to get caught up in something "other." The kids don't count, since apparently my words and actions determine their happiness and success so BAM! we're back to me. It's a sickening paradox: how do I pray for a loss of self, which necessitates being aware that what I want is a loss of self?

And I'm also thinking of the word restless. It means unsettled, uneasy, lacking peace and calm, being fidgety, dissatisfied and unfocused. But it also means without rest. I'm sure I would feel better if I could go to sleep for awhile. I can't.

Oh, and I'm also thinking that I eat too many carbs.

I'm kind of a mess.

And I'm off to the park with my kids.

* * *

Trying

I am tired of being a nagging mom. I am sick of hearing myself say to my kids: "Not now, I'm too tired." I'm tired of yelling. I'm tired of listening to my kids yell at each other. I'm weary of feeling like the tail is wagging the dog around here, and the dog is a big grump anyway.

So. I am trying to do things differently today. Two kids home sick...I'm feeling under the weather myself...one toddler-from-hell wreaking havoc wherever she goes. Everyone freaking out at the slightest provocation.

And still. I am trying to go gently through the day, taking time to explain things to the kids when they fight. Taking the time to find tape for the 5 year old, even though I'm writing a blog about trying to be patient and good, and would rather tell her that I can't right now. Trying to approach Mt. Washmore with the right mix of fortitude, efficiency and flexibility. Trying to do the impossible.

I think that's really the job description of motherhood: Get up in the morning and accomplish the impossible.

I just want to arrive at 8pm tonight -- hell, I'll take 4pm -- without feeling like I've been beat up, chewed up, spit out, run through the spin cycle, pushed through a wash board, and mocked by inanimate objects like my laundry pile, my dish pile, my paper piles. Everyone needs to experience success to keep them motivated and engaged in the task at hand: I need some success in the worst way.

I want to be the change I wish to see in my own family, but I don't know how to begin. The only ideas I have are to remind myself to breathe deeply and to drink water instead of another cup of coffee.

Help.

* * *

Contradictions

When I first started this blog, I wrote about wanting to blog as a way to make sense of the contradictions inherent in raising a family: the love and the anger, the joy and the despair, the exasperation and the exhilaration.

Contradiction is a compelling idea to me. I am fascinated by the way people actually live their lives, by the way people act differently than they truly believe is the right and good way to act. There seems to be some essential truth there, some kernal of meaning in the constant presence of two seemingly opposite things. I have come to believe that I am supposed to pay attention to the clash, to sit with it, wrestle with it.

And the more I pay attention, the more I see these contradictions all around me. They certainly are not limited to parenting. They are found in politics, art, education, the justice system...everywhere.

I am reading Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma, and enjoying it immensely. He is a wonderful writer. Having heard him speak, I recognize his voice on the page, and it is at once intelligent, warm, thoughtful, funny, and personable. I am a fledgling "slow foodie," and this book makes a compelling case for the need for a smarter way to raise, process, sell, purchase, and eat food than we currently have in this country. About half way through the book, at the close of chapter eleven, I had a strong emotional reaction to the following passage, describing one incredible grass farm in the Shenandoah Valley and its particular attention to the health of the land on which its animals are raised:

I'd always thought of the trees and grasses as antagonists-another zero-sum deal in which the gain of the one entails the loss of the other. To a point, this is true: More grass means less forest; more forest less grass. But either-or is a construction more deeply woven into our culture than into nature, where even antagonists depend on one another and the liveliest places are the edges, the in-betweens, or both-ands. So it is with the blade of grass and the adjacent forest as, indeed, with all species sharing this most complicated farm. Relations are what matter most, and the health of the cultivated turns on the health of the wild.

Here it is again: that state of contradiction that also produces the fullest, healthiest, most vibrant life. Relations are what matter most...even antagonists depend on one another...the liveliest places are the edges.

Pollan is describing a farm, but I see my family in this evocative description. The antagonists? Well, as I type, my husband is trying for the umpteenth time tonight to get my 9-year old to go to sleep. And as has happened to us both so many times before, he is trying to be firm, yet gentle, is getting exasperated and infuriated in the process, all while my son is being completely unreasonable (at 9! imagine that!) and argumentative and defiant and miserable and weepy and angry. It ain't pretty. But here it is: antagonists (two people who want opposite things) depending on each other to find their way through the messy parts because yes, the child needs to go to sleep, but relations are what matter most.

Pollan closes this chapter with a quote from farmer Joel Salatin of Polyface Farm, which I will adapt a little, as I did when I read it, and my mind held an image of this amazing farm at once with an image of my work-in-progress family: "One of the greatest assets of a family is the sheer ecstasy of life."

I love that the either-or construction is not borne out by nature, by grasses and forests and animals. It strengthens my conviction in the power of learning to live amidst contradiction, and to find the liveliest places to call home. And I find comfort in knowing that in my house, the cultivated and the wild are most definitely vying with and strengthening one another.