Collage of Significance

It is an illusion that writers live more significant lives than non-writers; the truth is, writers are just more in the habit of finding the significance that is there in their lives.

-Vicki Vinton

A couple of years ago I took some painting lessons from an artist friend and each time I went to her studio I fantasized about becoming a professional artist. Watching her effortlessly mix her colors and create beauty out of a blank canvas was magical. Every day she packed up her dogs, and traveled a few short blocks to her cozy little studio, where she would find significance in the insignificant. When I read a memoir or personal essay, some part of me longs to live such a significant life –one that is interesting, humorous, adventurous, reflective, transformational… And then I lift my head and feel disappointed at the ordinary life that I live. A life filled with mundane realities – bills, laundry, dishes, early mornings and early nights.

During Thanksgiving break, I had time and space to watch and see the significance in my life. My spirit took each event in and created a masterpiece of beauty out of my ordinary life.

Pet Rocks and Pumpkin Books

Under my boys’ bunk beds is a clear tub filled with art supplies; paintbrushes, empty paper towel tubes, stickers, coloring books… Early Saturday morning, we emptied most of the tub onto our dining room table, transforming our eating space into creation station. Each of us picked through the pile looking for our own inspiration for brilliance. Zak quickly began elaborately designing a house for his latest pet rock. Greyden designed detailed books about adventurous pumpkin ninjas. For me, it was a magazine collage that would reflect my delight in the moment, as well as my hopes for my week of freedom. We glued scraps, tore magazines, and painted shoe boxes. We rejoiced in each other’s creations. It was pure.

Kitchen Floor

Here is a major difference between Mike and I – he is a night owl and I am an early bird. Not always a good mix. Take these extremes and mix in a little morning stress and you have yourself “the perfect storm.” The day before Thanksgiving, I woke feeling stressed and had begun to create a mental “to do” list even before my head left my comfy pillow. I took my anxiety ridden self to the kitchen to prepare our family breakfast. When Mike emerged from the bedroom I started badgering him with questions, and his response to being pestered was to bury himself deeply within the newspaper. Not a pleasant beginning of the day for either of us. Somehow we were able to push past this very unpleasant routine, and found ourselves plunked down in the middle of the kitchen floor. We were honest and authentic. We laughed, I cried. It was intimate.

Crate&Barrel

Black Friday strikes terror in most people’s hearts. Venturing out at midnight to find the deals strikes terror in my heart. However, an afternoon with my sister, Jessica, without our four boys is true bliss. Our day had a simple pattern – eat a little, talk a lot, shop a little, eat a little, talk a lot, and then talk some more. Crate&Barrel was our final stop of the day. After meandering through the festive dishes we found an inviting little living room. Surrounded by bedroom sets, dining room tables, and delicious colors and textures – we began to discuss important things like design. It was a day of layers. Little by little we worked our way through our lives. We laughed. We enjoyed. We dreamed. It was friendship.

True Confession of a Crazed Mommy

I’m finally ready to admit this to “the world.” There is a room in my home… that I hate. Yep, I hate it. It wasn’t always this way, but time and children have changed things.

I hate my children’s bathroom. It’s really a pretty little space. The walls are covered with shades of sand and the shower curtain sparkles with aquamarine circles that reflect sweetly off the circular lights. Wash clothes or towels hang on the whimsical metal hooks that sport two carefree surfers. Grey thinks the two figures are mommy and daddy, and I often find myself gazing at the two beach bums and wishing that I really was somewhere surfing on the waves.

Before children, I painted the bathroom a shocking shade of sunshine. I intended for it to be a soothing buttercup color, but missed by a few shades. Honestly, “a few shades” is an understatement – man was it bright! We lived with it for years, and I still liked that bathroom more than I do today.

The truth is it’s not the actual space that I hate; it’s who I become when I enter that room. It transforms me from a reasonable, calm woman into an impatient and crazed mother. Every night at around 7:30pm the change begins. I stand in the bathroom and inform my boys that it’s time to get ready for bed. My voice exudes strength and resolve. Shockingly, they do not come running to begin the nightly ritual. I try again, carefully asking them to repeat the directions. “It’s time to get ready for bed,” they reply. Slowly, so very very slowly, they work their way to the bathroom. My internal voice starts to unravel, and no longer matches the external one. I begin to feel the weariness of the day sinking into my shoulders; I really just want to go to bed. Since that is not even a remote possibility until they are snuggled into theirs, I persist.

“What do we need to do before we read stories?” – Mommy

“I don’t know.” – Zak

You have got to be kidding me!!!!! – Mommy’s head

“Zak, what are the two things you need to do?” – Mommy’s words

“Brush my teeth & do my breathing treatment.” – Zak

“Ok, Grey time to brush your teeth.” – Mommy

“I don’t know how to brush my teeth.” – Grey’s very long drawn out whine

You have got to be kidding me!!!! You were brushing your teeth last week – Mommy’s head

“Do you want me to help you?” – Mommy’s words

Our song and dance continues; the internal voice gets louder and crankier by the minute until I finally sigh and say – “Mommy has five minutes of energy left to read stories. Anyone who is ready can listen to it.” A couple nights ago I read a Highlights article to myself. Not my idea of relaxing nighttime reading.

(For those of you who are thinking – “Really! You just sigh and say…” There are many nights that the internal voice blares through and the very fragile calm routine I long for is demolished by my sharp and angry words.)

When Zak was an infant I thought we had created a wonderful routine – jammies, stories & songs, prayers & kisses. Such good parents!! But now - he’s more independent, and there are two of them. Thank God there are two of us; otherwise I fear that I might resolve to throwing them in their beds and locking the door. Who cares about clean teeth? Of course, I would shout a quick “I love you” as I turned the key. I’m not a complete monster.

I have to wonder if I have created a fantasy bedtime routine that is getting in the way of my reality. Parenting magazines always make it sound like such a bonding and soothing routine; one that I rarely achieve. If there was a way to skip all the necessities (jammies, teeth, breathing treatments..) and just be transported to the cozy chair in their room, I would be so much happier.

Anyway, there you have it. My confession for the day – I hate my boys’ bathroom. Next time, maybe I’ll tell you about my favorite room in the house – my bathroom. Specifically, the two by three foot toilet space – with a door. It’s my small slice of heaven - complete with magazines, books, and a bulletin board with lovely quotes. My internal voice is almost always kind and calm in there.

Happy sleeping!