Art journalling

Since my son was born nearly 18 months ago, I am afraid that my long time papercrafting passion has gone by the wayside due to lack of time and opportunity to indulge. Oh, I still get my Scrapbook etc. subscription in the mail, and I am keeping all my supplies and continuing to take photos, but I have pretty much stopped shopping, and haven't completed a single layout for months. I kept telling myself the opportunity would arise again, and maybe it still will, but in the meantime my soul was withering away from creativity dehydration.

Enter art journalling.

For Christmas, many members of my family write wish lists, and post them on my brother's web site, to make shopping easier on us all. I didn't have many things on my list this year, which resulted in getting not one, but two, copies of Kelly Rae Roberts "Taking flight", one of the books on my list. A fabulous, inspiring, tall-drink-of-water book, but I still didn't need two. So off to Chapters I went to exchange the second copy for another book of the same type. I looked through all the scrapping and cardmaking books and magazines, feeling sort of ho-hum about them, and then a new type of book caught my eye: Sharon Soneff's "Art Journals & Creative Healing". I knew Sharon Soneff's name from the scrapping world, best for her Sonnet's line of scrap supplies, and so I flipped through the book, deciding almost immediately that it was the book I had been looking for.

Being the research-oriented kook I am, I had to read multiple more books, magazines, and online articles/blogs on art journaling and altered books before I was ready to put pen to paper in my own version, but during a recent holiday I took the plunge, picking up a spiral bound sketch journal, and a giant jar of gesso at Hobby Lobby. My work is simple so far, consisting of drawing and/or painting with a wide variety of mediums (watercolour, pen, coloured pencil, crayon, oil pastel) and handwritten thoughts. I hope to get into more collage techniques in time, and also complete an altered book honouring my love of children's literature, in a old copy of A. A. Milne's "Winnie the Pooh".

In the meanwhile, I am staining my bedsheets with art supplies, working in my journal before bed a few nights a week. It has proved a wonderful tool for combatting overthinking and negative self talk, and I hope create a record of personal growth (a la Sabrina Ward Harrison). The spin off benefit of beginning this new hobby is that, in addition to meeting my needs of getting messy and making things, I feel more in touch with my inner artist than I ever have, and I am having the strangest cravings to read poetry, or spend a day at the art gallery. If only I could afford real art lessons...

Fear of a unique path

There are days when I feel like we are on a totally original parenting path. Choosing not to conform to the parenting choices around us seems to mean choosing to blaze a new trail. No, not in the global sense (we are not inventing totally new ways of doing things), but in a local sense. Being the first of the 'real' people we know, the first among our peers to do things differently, has left us feeling like pioneers, and we've experienced the accompanying sense of aloneness.

I have found that parenting has no autopilot. Every day brings new choices. Even if it is a choice you made yesterday, you have to choose to make the same choice today, or to do it differently. What is more, each choice seems to lead to one camp or another. Once you take the first step in a particular direction, it is hard to know how long to walk that path. Like joining a religious movement or a political party, there is pressure to conform, and I wonder if the "others" will accept us if we don't buy into everything. Can I choose to cloth diaper, but not buy organic? What if I breastfeed, choosing even to nurse past one year, but don't wait for child-led weaning? What if I pick up my son when he cries, never leaving him to sob himself to sleep, but keep him happy in a swing or exersaucer every chance I get? Am I leading a false life if I profess natural parenting, but my home is filled with plastic toys?

Adding to the stress of these external influences, the various schools of thought that make up my internal landscape seem to be at odds with each other as well. Sorting out how to remain true to what I believe, and also parent in a way that is filled with loving kindness, overwhlems me. I feel like a walking oxymoron at times. How can I rectify my respect for leadership and firm moral roots, with my heart's longing for gentle discussion and understanding, and my head's logical assessment of the science behind behaviour? To simplify, how can I belive in both autocracy and democracy, or natural development and behavioural reinforcment, when these things seem to be consistently at odds with one another?

How much easier would it be to just join up with a group and go with the flow? To do everything the same as the majority at church, or in my neighbourhood mom's group, or at my breastfeeding support group, or as the professionals in my workplace... My head is tired from the struggle, from considering things from all the angles, from thinking and thinking about the choices we make for our family, our son.

Is there any way for me to describe sufficiently the longing I have to truly connect with someone in real life? Because of the internet and myriad of published books out there, I am never at a loss to read the words of someone who shares my perspective or passion in any given subject. But message boards and books always leave the speaker at arm's length, only giving such a limited view of that person. Okay, so I know your thoughts on how nuture a child. What about your thoughts on spirituality, nutrition, marriage, work, art, fitness.... and the list goes on and on.

I guess I am afraid of walking a totally unique path, both as a mother, and otherwise. I don't need the whole world to share my perspective on every little thing, but meeting just one other would be nice. My longing for the perfect mentor mom is so pervasive. What a load off of my shoulders it would be to be able to have someone to run to the next time I don't know which way to turn! In my fantasy, she would have just the perfect solution, complete with logical and heartfelt reasons, and it would marry beautifully with the rest of my life. I would leave my meeting with her feeling competent and empowered, knowing just what to do next.

The reality of course, is that my perfect mentor does not exist. Adult life is defined by the struggle, the doubts and regrets, the wondering if you did the right thing, and what you will do next. It is not surprising that these feelings are brought into even sharper relief when undertaking a task as complicated and important as parenting. So we move forward, persistently weaving together our spiritual, moral, intellectual, interpersonal and intuitive knowledges as we come to each fork in the road. May you have God's blessing on the journey.

On being a working mom

I remember an episode of Sex and the City that I watched a while back in which Miranda had just returned to work, after her maternity leave. Narrator Carrie described her as being "politically incorrectly happy to be there." Miranda's facial expression was a mixture of excitement and relief as she arranged and rearranged the contents of her desktop. I can relate.

I think I had some vague idea of what motherhood would be like before I had Nik. I babysat extensively when I was a teen. I work with kids in my professional life. Plus, people told me that even if you aren't good with kids, it is different when they're your own kids, that you fall in love with them. I was anxiously looking forward to it.

While I was pregnant, I decorated the nursery and spent dreamy hours in the baby section of the local department stores. I had pregnancy portraits taken. I read books on pregnancy and infant development, and stocked up on baby supplies. I did everything I could think of to get prepared.

After Nik was born, I felt permanently off balance. I was consumed by both baby care and household tasks, feeling like it was impossible to even find the time to catch my breath. I told myself that things would get easier and that this was only temporary "I-have-a-newborn" craziness.

Time passed, and Nik got older. He learned to smile, to laugh, to roll over. He could play peek-a-boo. Then he could creep, and crawl, and finally walk. He could say, "Hi," and "Mom," and give sweet baby kisses. I began to find space in my day to have a cup of tea, or to check my e-mail. Laundry got easier to keep up with, and the house was cleaner. I read more books, and joined mom's groups and "Baby 'n me" classes. I did my best to embrace my new lifestyle, but despite everything, my feelings about motherhood did not change.

Enter guilt. I could forgive myself for not experiencing the fabled bliss of motherhood when I was tired and overwhelmed, but as things got easier, it seemed unreasonable to use that as an excuse. There are women I know who are deperately trying to conceive, and on my darkest days I would wonder why God didn't give my baby to them, instead of to unappreciative me. As the end of my maternity leave approached, I eyed the possiblity of returning to work as if it were the forbidden fruit. I believed that good mothers wanted to stay home. They would only return to work reluctantly, and only if they had to. I could not reconcile how I could profess to love my baby, and yet long for something that would take me away from him for hours at a time.

I went back to work two and a half days a week when my son was almost 11 months old. The income does help us make ends meet, but I can't pretend that was the reason I went back. I didn't go back to set some healthy example about having outside interests, either, as I've heard some working mothers claim. I wanted to go back. After my first month working, I have more energy, and am happier than I've been in months, and I have only recently learned something that allows me to admit that without wanting to hide under the rug.

As part of my constant research, I have recently begun reading Mary Sheedy Kurcinka's Raising Your Spirited Child. I expected it to help me better understand my son, and some of his strong personality traits, but it has had the unexpected benefit of helping me to better understand myself. In the chapter on extroversion vs introversion, Kurcinka writes that extroverts "feel exhausted when [they] have spent too much time alone or with young children" and need to be busy in interaction with others to keep from running out of steam. Like nutritional needs, these "energy needs" need to be met on a regular basis, or you are left feeling exhausted, overwhelmed and unhappy.

Finally, an explanation for my feelings that has nothing to do with how I feel about my son, or my role as a mother! It may sound odd, but it is validating to discover that I can love my son, and be unhappy at the same time. Now that my needs are being met by the 20 hours a week I spend at the workplace, I enjoy the time I spend with my son so much more. Though I have less time at home to accomplish my tasks, I actually have an easier time getting them done, and feel much more competent as a mother. There is also far less pressure on my relationship with my son to meet my needs for happiness and fulfillment, and this is allowing it room to grow.

For all these reasons, my return to work has been wonderful. I am "politically incorrectly happy to be there," and I'm not ashamed to admit it anymore.