Why Do This?
May 12th, 2003
sharing my kids’ artwork, photos, and funny stories to know myself, to know
them, and to allow you to know us…
at something and it somehow rubs off on you; for example, marriage has made me
a better cook because my husband loves cooking and loves food. But sometimes
you marry someone who’s good at something and your skills just sort of atrophy
because it’s easier to let one person be responsible for that aspect of your
lives. So while I was pretty comfortable with computers before we got married
and learned quickly, the seven years since I’ve officially been employed and
contributed to the gross national product have been unfortunate for my computer
skills. Also rather unfortunate is my husband’s chronic overextension of
himself, a reflection of his extensive interests and commitments, that have left
our web page sadly out of date.
So I
am very excited to have found software that allows me to easily publish to the
web. I guess I have three reasons for doing this. The primary one is to share
my excitement at my children’s growth and achievements with interested family
and friends. Really, it’s not bragging, it’s sharing! I’m proud of my kids,
but only because they’re amazing. The other two reasons are a bit more
complicated.
Mothering has allowed me
to draw on all of the education I’ve ever received, it’s challenged me and made
me grow and develop all sorts of interesting new skills. But I sometimes feel
like something of a bluestocking mama, a little overly analytical and given to
various intellectual conceits and bouts of interest in all sorts of odd
subjects. This has had some interesting side effects, like my little darlings’
freakish vocabularies and a stack of books on my bedside table, that, if it ever
topples over, could take me a while to dig myself out from under. Being a
stay-at-home mom is simultaneously high on the isolation and low on the
solitude, which can make a sane girl a little crazy, and I’ve discovered I am a
much happier, more effective mama if I’m feeling connected to myself through
writing, yoga, painting, or just listening to music, and feeling connected to
other mamas struggling their similar struggles. I’ve been very fortunate to
find mama friends in Dallas who understand the challenges and the joys, and we
undertake a lot of cheering each other on. I’ve come to rely on the wisdom and
great listening skills of my fabulous friend Gail, mother of the wonderful Emma . And in
the ongoing weeks of quarantine when one of our children is sniffling or
fighting off an ear infection, I take solace in the proliferation of
interesting, well-written virtual communities of mamas in Austin (our home until
two years ago and a great place to live) philosophical
mamas , hip mamas ,
mamas
who write or natural health
oriented mamas . But the life of a lurker is sort of like that of the
perpetual bridesmaid, I feel like a cyber-wallflower, bobbing my head and
admiring all of those gay people out there having a gay time in the middle of
the dance floor. I’ve never felt confident putting myself in a place where just
anybody could read my words. Which is sort of funny in a medium supposedly
marked by anonymity and so on. It’s just words are important to me, they seem a
more accurate reflection of who I am than my face or my voice. So this is me
tentatively stepping out to dance.
Ok,
so if I feel like it’s my turn to add a few words to this enormous
world-document that is the web, why write about my sorta-sweet, sorta-innocent,
not-at-all hungry for celebrity babies? I was reading a letter to Salon that
attacked Ann Lamott for writing about her son, a thirteen year old whose
writer-mother has been writing about him and publishing with great success since
his earliest babyhood. The thing is I’ve never been the sort of mother who
remembered to put anything in a baby book until my child turned three and I
realized he had a whole set of teeth and they weren’t there when he was born…
and then I’m always being asked questions about these things registering at new
doctors’ offices or schools, things like the age at which the child first spoke
in complete sentences, or something. I guess I’ve just realized that after you
do the basic things, caring for your children’s bodies, keeping them safe, fed,
dry, warm, (mostly) clean and rested, and caring for their minds, teaching them
the essential skills — how to tie shoes, tell jokes, put their own cereal bowls
in the dishwasher, stand up for themselves, catch bugs and let them go, and read
comic books –your job as mother is mostly to know your kids. You have to pay
attention and know that your 18 month old is freaked out by toys that move by
themselves, what your four year old’s favorite color is, which c.d.s at night
cause nightmares, how to advocate for a classroom that works best for your six
year old who is easily distracted… Maybe that’s all any of us really want, to
be known and understood. And so a loving chronicle of these fleeting years is
the gift I want to give the men my sons will someday be.
