as my parents tell the story, i began begging them for piano lessons just a few weeks before i turned four. when my requests persisted long enough to surpass the lifespan of most preschool whims, they took me to my first lesson. i had four different teachers in 13 years, during which time i discovered that i inherited the “playing by ear” gene from my great aunt billie. this discovery corresponded with my prideful refusal to practice and my less-than-enthusiastic attitude toward reading music… but i digress.

now that my little monkey is living out the last few weeks of his third year, i find myself hoping that he will clearly articulate or exhibit some sort of special interest in something. i don’t expect him to be a prodigy, nor do i want to usurp all of his free time (and mine) with a slew of resume-building activities. i do not want to enter him in pageants or groom him for the u.s. olympic swim team. but i do feel responsible for introducing him to activities that he might enjoy and arenas where he might experience success. these expectations seem reasonable enough, right?

but bordering on ridiculous is my somewhat unreasonable dream that one of my sons become a bluegrass fiddle player. this dream is merely the resurrected form of my own desires to play the fiddle. these desires died a painful death after a three-month fiddle rental and the fact that the excruciating series of cat mating sounds that followed caused my husband to question his decision to marry me. i now surround my children with bluegrass fiddle music and take every opportunity to impart to them my appreciation for its beauty. in my more generous moments, i have even been known to expand my hopeful projections to include instruments such as the banjo and the mandolin.

even so, i agree with ayelet waldman, who writes in her book, bad mother, that “the point of a life, any life, is to figure out what you are good at, and what makes you happy, and, if you are very fortunate, spend your life doing those things” (205).

it is my job to help my children do this. it is not my job to raise little people to fill the gaps in my own talents and sense of happiness.  i know this. and i know how to use the cd player to fill my home with bluegrass music, and how to play the piano by ear (thank you mom, dad, and great aunt billie). what i am less sure about is how to weave together the monkey’s leanings and my instincts, how to avoid over programming him and under programming him, and how to help him gracefully accept the inevitable failures that are mile markers on the way to success.

thoughts?

there are many common narratives in the collective story bank of motherhood, each with its own familiar plot and phrases. who hasn’t told or heard a “stuck child” story, complete with words such as

“…and then i realized that [fill in name of small child] had accidentally locked himself/herself in the bathroom.”?

and now, in an age when  modern mothers are increasingly appreciated and accomplished in the workplace, the “vocational turning point” story is becoming a collective throng. it often goes something like this:

“that day, when [insert chaotic clash of work and home life] happened, i knew i needed to change the way i was working.”

as it happens, these two prototypes converged for me last friday night. the bird was singing his own familiar tearful chorus as i showered and got ready to be the liturgist at the final montreat women’s connection worship service. after learning that it is virtually impossible to simultaneously hold a child and don a dress, i allowed him to use my leg as a teething biscuit as i hurriedly applied my makeup.

just as i was feeling smug about the fact that i would have a whole fifteen minutes to go over my part in the service after i dropped the kids off at my mom’s house, the monkey declared that he needed to tee tee. he did his business, and then, so as not to be outdone by his brother, he instantly deteriorated into a fitful rage that reportedly rendered him completely incapable of pulling up his own pants. i calmly closed the bathroom door and told them that he was welcome to come out once his pants were no longer around his ankles.

in his tornadic attempt to liberate himself from captivity, the monkey accidentally turned the tarnished brass lever above the knob on the old mountain house bathroom door. he was locked inside, and getting more panicky by the second.

my friends and temporary roommates calmed the (now hysterical) bird and hovered outside the locked bathroom door with these  necessary tools:

• a knife
• a spatula
• a phillips head screwdriver

meanwhile, i finished buttoning my dress as i walked outside and scaled a bear-proof garbage bin to get a look inside of the window. a neighbor strolled by and inquired as to why i was five feet above the ground, wearing a towel on my head, leaning at a 45 degree angle, peering into a window, and scaling the house’s exterior wall. he reported that in all of his 30 years of living across the street, he has never seen a person exhibit such behavior.

five minutes later, the monkey, who is apparently remarkably stellar at following my directions (when he feels like it), unlocked the door and waltzed out of the bathroom *with* his pants pulled up. i hopped down from my perch, shuttled the kids to my mom’s house, proceeded to the service, did my part without any major incedents, and moved on.

except that i haven’t really moved on. though i am new at telling the “stuck child” story, there are a zillion other stories that coincide with my attempts to maintain my identity as a person who works, albeit part-time, outside of the home. i’ll spare you the details of the “calling poison control” story, the “writing on the walls” story, and the “submerging daddy’s shoes in the bathtub” story. just know that all three of these plots unfolded while i was trying to fulfill obligations pertaining to my job as a minister.

i don’t know what sorts of shifts i will make in the way i structure my work life, but there will be some. and to the neighbor, who marveled at the site of a young mother living out the particulars of her own “stuck child” story, i have this to say:

if you look closely, you will find that mothers all around you are desperately trying to climb “the wall”. they can be heard pumping during conference calls. they can be found supervising third grade math homework while working on their own coursework. many are simply trying to shower for work in relative peace. women’s roles have changed during the last 30 years, but “the wall” is still there. when old challenges crumble away, they are quickly replaced by new ones.

i might be the first person you have seen shouting instructions to a three-year-old from a lofty perch. but i am by no means the first woman to employ flexibility, strength, and a sense of humor while creatively solving a problem and wearing a cute dress!

i returned last night from the young clergy women’s conference, the topic of which was “leading as ourselves.” as i sat in the sub-artic environs of our candler divinity school classroom and looked around at my fellow girl preachers, i was struck by both awe and jealousy. many of these women work full time in the church or other para-church settings. some of them have children, some of them work part-time or half-time, but very few seemed to be on the piecemeal job plan as i am, stringing together a haphazard collection of part-time gigs with the trials and rewards of stay-at-home motherhood.

i learned later, of course, that i am not the only one holding my life and life’s work together with odd combinations of pipe cleaners, vestments, therapy, wine, and a steam mop. the room was full of those who long, as i did, to have children; those who struggle for balance of all kinds; those who are facing transitions; and those who are wrestling with issues of identity. 

i did not know all of this on day one, though, when one of our beloved speakers, melissa clodfelter, asked us what leadership-related topics we would like to cover in our time together. so, i raised my hand and explained that i am often trying to lead from the margins. because of my simultaneous frustration and delight with the church and my desire to spend the majority of my time with the monkey and the bird, i am never central to the church’s power structures. i often feel like an outsider, and i wonder if i can ever actually effectively lead from this position. though i felt as if i were speaking only for myself at the conference, i know that the world is full of women who feel marginalized in the workplace, whether for reasons of choice or unfair circumstance. what kind of leadership do we, the women on the fringes, have to offer?

i was relieved when melissa answered that the margins are the places from which true leadership emerges. it is only by stepping outside of the structures that rule our world that we gain the perspective needed to change things. fitting in is not a prerequisite for effective leadership, as evidenced by gandhi, martin luther king jr., and jesus christ, himself! in fact, affecting change requires an uncomfortable, liminal type of existance.

i am beginning to see that leadership, from my own personal margins might look like this:

• changing the world, by raising boys who are emotionally intelligent, compassionate, and justice-seeking. brown eyes over scrambled eggs, and all that…
• remaining on the fringes of church in order to speak from a place of perspective and insight.
• remaining connected to the church so that my perspective and insight will matter.
• writing here about what it’s like to try fashion a real, meaningful life that honors my own leanings as well as the legacies handed down to me by superwomen, fifties housewives, and everyone in between.

but mostly, i’m beginning to be thankful that i never quite fit in anywhere. in an odd sort of way, i am in good company. and there is meaning to be found in the margins and proclaimed to the world. thanks for joining me in this process — this little makeshift revolution.

i think it is very telling that the diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders (DSM), the giant tome published by the american psychiatric association to aid mental health professionals in diagnoses and treatments, is revised regularly, in part, to reflect changes in our culture.

in other words, there is an evolving cultural consciousness that helps determine what sorts of behaviors are disordered and what sorts are not. and perhaps, more importantly, sometimes societal norms change to CREATE new disorders.

without further explanation, here is my letter to the american psychiatric association, suggesting that they consider adding a new disorder to the upcoming DSM-V:

dear american psychiatric association,

my name is mary allison, and in many ways, my life is a reflection of today’s motherhood and vocational trends for young(ish) women. i have a hard-earned master’s degree and two long-awaited small children, a part-time job in the world, and a full time job in the home. these conditions have led me to the following pattern of disordered behaviors, called  maternal part-time hybrid disorder (M-phD) from here on out. please consider adding M-phD to the DSM-V.

overcommitment: as one who suffers from M-phd, i commit myself to too many work-related projects in order to compensate for my fear that my four-year masters degree and growing passion about my work will forever lie dormant.

vanderbilt divinity school graduation with my friend maria

self-applied pressure: because my full-time work in the home means that my presence in the working world is abbreviated, i feel that my vocational output must be of exaggerated quality to make up for its lack of quantity.

failure to live in the moment: i have come to measure the worth of my days by the amount of work i have accomplished, which is silly when my days are full of soft, curly, wiggly embraces.

the above behaviours produce an array of symptoms ranging from feelings of inadequacy, guilt, and the permanent “storage” of junk under the couch.

i would greatly appreciate any strides your esteemed association could take in the diagnosis and treatment of M-PhD.

sincerely,

mary allison

first name: Mary

age: 27

current city: Denver, CO (hometown Memphis, TN)

living situation: I live with my (soon to be) five year old son, Wally, and my boyfriend, Jeff. 

occupation: As of now, I’m a mom and student. My photography degree is collecting dust. I hope that medical school is in my near future.

how do you structure your time and space? For the first years of marriage and motherhood, I found myself feeling guilty for wanting personal time and space; I thought the world would stop if I took 90 minutes of the day to enjoy myself in a yoga class.

Now that I have broken that bad habit, I never feel satisfied with what I choose to do in my free time. There are so many things to be done! Even if I spend half the day cleaning, I can think of a million things I could have done instead. The worst is when I am playing with Wally, and I feel like I should be doing something else. It’s really not fair for him or me. I haven’t quite figured out how to manage MY time. Taking in each moment and being thankful for each moment is what I am working on.

One of many things that I tried giving up for lent was bad thoughts. It’s really easy to let those thoughts in when I am having a bad day or am overly tired, but I have made a conscious effort to acknowledge those thoughts as just thoughts and let them pass. This helps me enjoy the moment that I am in. I’ve started trying to meditate for 30 minutes in the mornings and evenings. In the morning meditations, I allow my “What-Ifs” and “Shoulda Woulda Coulda’s”, to come in, just to give those thoughts a time and place in my stream of consciousness. The evening meditation is MUCH more difficult; I try very, very hard to let all thoughts go in one ear and out the other. If I don’t allow myself that time, I will spend hours in bed over-analyzing everything!

We recently moved to Denver, and Wally’s schedule was changed the most. In Durango, he was in a full day preschool program. Now, he is in a part time play-based pre-kindergarten program. I wish he were in a longer program, but I am always amazed at what he teaches me at the end of the day. I hope he will be going to an expeditionary style school next year, which uses the teachings of Outward Bound. (I think it is especially tailored to high energy boys.)

I feel best when I am elbow deep in some concoction I’m making in the kitchen. I spend most of my day in the kitchen. Cooking presents so many possibilities! I am working on perfecting mozzarella right now for our pizza nights, and I’m trying my hand at crackers.

I am seriously considering going to medical school. This notion has been a small voice within in me for years, and it has only gotten louder. It has taken me years to gain the self-confidence to own this medical school dream. I’m older, with a child, and I know I want more children in the future. Is it okay to sacrifice a few years of being the active kind of mother I am now? Whethor or not I could cut it in medical school is no longer the question. Now it’s about deciding what I really want for my future. Is it really possible to have it all?!

using the metaphor of seasons to describe the phases of women’s lives,

-what are the particular challenges and highlights of your current season? A challenge in this season is accepting that it takes time to regain structure after a change. In our recent move, I had hoped that all would fall into place and that things would calm down. I guess they have in some ways. I do have a much clearer idea of how I want to live out the rest of my life, what I want for my family, and how I want to spend my time.

-What season(s) preceded this one? Before my current season, I had seven years of hibernation and feeling lost. I built a cocoon around myself and let things happen without being fully engaged (marriage, giving birth, moving across the country, getting divorced, finally finishing school, finding my love, and moving again). I am just now realizing that I was probably dealing with depression while living my life at warp speed. I never felt like I had a grip on things. But, life has finally slowed down (or I am getting used to warp speed), and things are much clearer. I wouldn’t change how my life has panned out; I’ve learned a lot and still keep discovering parts of myself. Where I am currently in my life feels perfect! I feel like I finally have a handle on everything!

-What season(s) might your future hold? Full fledged spring: a time of growth, renewal, a new spring in my step, and shedding skins.

Favorite family activity/activities: Friday night is pizza-and-a-movie night. I make enough pizza dough for about 4 pizzas. Some nights, friends will come over, and other nights it’s just the family. I really love that we have made a family tradition into it and that it is an open invitation for our extended family to take part. Wednesdays are breakfast-for-dinner nights. I love those nights, also. 

favorite solo activities: imagining, creating, reading, taking in the sunshine, gardening, and being quiet

sources of inspiration: My grandparents. My grandfather was a doctor, but never let go of his creative, artistic side. He currently has a wood workshop, and he had a metal workshop and a darkroom for many years. My grandmother has a painting studio.  My grandfather loves digital photography and Photoshop, and neither of them has ever put down the paintbrush! My biggest issue with figuring out what I want to be when I grow up is finding that balance of left and right brain activities. My grandparents are the epitome of that balance.

Wally is also an inspiration to me. I would not be the person I am today with him.

Jeff keeps me grounded. I have an enormous amount of friends and family who offer 100% support to every, single idea that I have. Jeff offers that same support but he knows me well enough to know when one idea probably isn’t the best (law school, for example). 

My mom was a pioneer makeshift mom. Some of her makeshifting may not have been the best ideas (see below). She never seemed to be worried about the latest trends in parenting.

best MakeShift moment: I’ll tell you my worst! When I was in kindergarten, my mother would send me to school with a bottle in my lunch box. My brother was bottle feeding, and I guess my mom didn’t have any drink containers for me. I would get made fun of by the sixth graders! I called my mom everyday saying I had a tummy ache. Lesson learned: Don’t send elementary-aged children to school with bottles!

If I am making dinner and Wally is bored, I’ll give him a bowl of water with food coloring and expired herbs, he’ll spend hours making potions and spells.

I do most of my school reading on the toilet, while Wally is in the bathtub. When he was younger, he never had a real crib (just a pack and play), or his own room, or a chest of drawers. He lived in the living room and his clothes were in a little nook on the bookshelf. We also didn’t have a chimney, so for Wally’s first Christmas, I drew and cut out a chimney and hung up stockings on the faux fireplace.

[if you know someone who would make a good “mothers of invention” feature, check out the nomination process detailed on the sidebar pages to the right.]

motherhood, like every enduring institution, has its catch phrases. currently, most of these phrases seem to pertain to the enterprise of juggling. real life conversations among moms rarely occur without references to “juggling it all,” “keeping all the balls in the air,” “dropping the ball, ” and my personal favorite,”running off and joining the circus.” wouldn’t it be fun to mingle with a group of women and take a tasty sip of your beverage every time someone described her life as the ongoing exercise of hurling people, commitments, expectations, and roles into the ever-loving sky?

but i must concede that the juggling metaphor is a good one. it encapsulates so much about motherhood: the overcommitment, the multi-tasking, the sense that part of it is an act (and one crazy enough to be circus-worthy), and the inherent and inevitable moments of failure.

here are two women’s descriptions of juggling. the first is by ayelet waldman, author of bad mother and harvard law classmate of barack obama:

“i know that someday my daughters will chart their own courses, they’ll make their own mistakes. they in their turn will have to figure out how to keep all those balls in the air, how to maneuver despite inevitable frustration and failure. but just as i burden my daughters with my expectations, i also try to remind them that jugglers invariably drop balls, and no matter the persistent criticism of the Bad Mother police, balls do bounce. whey they fall, all you need to do is pick them up and throw them back up on the air” (41).

and the second meditation on juggling comes to us with a dose of humor by way of the fabulous tina fey, in last night’s saturday night live monologue.

now, if you’ll excuse me, i’m headed off to join the circus.

[source for this post can be found on the bibliography page, located on the sidebar to your right. the image in this post is from http://www.horizonstructures.com/]

there’s a little book on my shelf called present moment, wonderful moment by spiritual teacher thich nhat hanh. on every page, there’s a short meditation encouraging readers to live life in the present moment. ordinary activities like hand-washing, teeth-brushing, tea-drinking and laundry-folding are re-framed as potential moments of prayer and gratitude.

next to that book sits my camera, a birthday gift from my husband that truly has revolutionized the images i’ve been able to capture of my kids, who are growing up like little weeds before my very eyes. only, let’s be real. my camera is never just sitting on the shelf these days beside a book about meditation. it has quite the social calendar, filled with walks, vacations, picnics, holiday gatherings, dates with the charger, and hook-ups with my hard drive. 

the problem is, now when i am out enjoying glorious spring weather with my family, and the monkey settles into a posture of rare stillness under a tree and beside a lake, for example, i have two conflicting voices that battle it out in my head. thich nhat hanh says, “live fully into this present moment. use it as a prayer for thanksgiving.” on the other hand, that old kodak commercial asserts itself with the push to drop everything and run for my camera. since i cannot laminate my children and preserve these precious years for all eternity, i feel the need to at least capture moments here and there. poor thich nhat hanh. i rarely ever listen to him.

in their book, i was a really good mom before i had kids, trisha ashworth and amy nobile write, “…our children…look to us to figure out how to enjoy their own lives, to decide what’s valuable in their days. do you want your children to think of a rainbow as a photo op or do you want them to learn how to pause and appreciate the beauty that’s before them right now” (161)?

ashworth and nobile make a good point. i want my children to be able to enjoy beauty without having to take it home or own it or freeze it in a still frame. on the other hand, my dabblings in photography have also actually helped me to look more closely at the intricate harmony in the natural world. with camera in hand, i’m much more likely to lie down in the cool grass to see something from a different angle or notice how much sweeter a sunset is with a little blond monkey curl in the foreground. i want my children to embrace this way of seeing as well.

but what i’ll probably end up passing along to the next generation is the tension i feel between capturing moments and living them. in a world filled with such beauty, surely this befuddlement is all part of experiencing the awe. it makes me sad to think that someday, the monkey won’t remember how to stand under a brilliant tree next to a lake and smile at the wonders of nature. but maybe then he’ll do as i have done, and let the camera lead him back into the way of appreciation.

[my sister-in-law is the subject of the first picture in this post. she shares the tension i describe above, and the two of us are often mistaken for tourists at family gatherings. also, the sources for this post can be found on the bibliography page located on the sidebar to your right.]

i read karen horney’s book, our inner conflicts, when i was a 25 year old hospital chaplain and divinity school student. i had the painful and liberating experience then of seeing my personality spelled out in its pages. now, as a 33 year old mother of two, i see myself again in horney’s theories.

essentially, she explains that part of being human (or say… being a mother) is having to manage conflicting ideas and difficult choices. these things produce a natural anxiety which can be addressed in healthy ways or in a number of unhealthy patterns or neuroses. one such neurosis is “the formation of the idealized image.”

this way of dealing with life’s complexity and the darkness within ourselves involves “creat[ing] an image of what, at the time, [we] feel like [we] ought to be. conscious or unconscious, the image is always in large degree removed from reality, though the influence it exerts on [a] person’s life is very real indeed…. if the focus is upon the discrepancy between the idealized image and the actual self, then all [we] are aware of are [our] incessant attempts to bridge the gap and whip [ourselves] into perfection. in this event [we] keep reiterating the word ‘should’ with amazing frequency” (96,98).

i believe monday’s mother of invention, jessa, captured this notion more succinctly with her proposed motherhood book title, get a grip: stop shoulding all over yourself!

as a young adult, my ridiculous standards had to do with academics, body image, and being admired and adored by all. thankfully, i don’t feel so tied to these notions anymore. but motherhood comes with its own set of ridiculous standards that we often simultaneously despise and reinforce, both consciously and unconsciously.

i must confess that a couple of days before last christmas, i decided that i SHOULD sew each of my children the perfect pair of christmas pajamas. i did this partly because i love to sew but mostly because i had this picture in my head of my children opening their designated christmas eve packages, gleefully donning their new jammies, waking up in style on christmas morning, and beaming from head-to flannel-clad-toe as they posed for photos in nests of gifts and wrapping paper.

as you can see, the SHOULDS won, as they often still do.

but karen horney gave me the invaluable gift of being able to at least recognize (and sometimes even in the present moment) whether i’m being driven by my true self or some neurotic, culturally-informed idea of who i SHOULD be.

maybe there is hope for me yet. maybe there will come a glorious day when mothers everywhere stop shoulding all over ourselves. this is an idealized image i’m going to hold on to.

[it’s not too late to enter the “billboard bag” giveaway. also, the source for this post can be found in the bibliography page located on the sidebar to your right.]

“whole lives get set up to multitask. a mother winds up with a car that doubles as a living room and makes so many casual friends she can barely keep up with the people she really cares about. her life becomes busy… and this is supposed to be good. but busy has some serious downsides. busy can mean that although a mom thinks she’s making lots of good choices, she’s actually failed to prioritize. busy can easily start to feel crazy. in a very real sense, a too-busy mom has failed to make conscious choices at all” (ashworth & nobile, 60).

every year, instead of making new year’s resolutions, my husband and i each give a name to the coming year. i am usually excited about this ritual and a new outlook on life. but as 2010 approached, i found myself dreading the coming year. when the clock struck midnight, nothing would change. i would still be the same person, surrounded by the same people, places, things, and activities. 2009 was a great year, and there were no unusual stresses or crises marking my days. the dread seemed so unfounded and out of place!

after trying, unsuccessfully, to understand this feeling, i went with an old standby method for sorting things out. i started making lists. i listed all of the ways in which i spent my time. the list was long. then, i circled all of those things that i really didn’t want to do. almost every item on the list was circled! for each circled item, i asked myself why i have kept these activities in my life. in some cases, there was no choice involved. i take the kids to the doctor when they are sick whether i enjoy this task or not. but in most cases, i was doing things for reasons like this:

• i didn’t want to disappoint the other people involved in the activity
• i was flattered to be asked to participate in the activity
• i earned a masters degree in order to do that activity
• the activity fit in with my idealized image of myself
• i simply didn’t think very deeply about the time-commitments of the activity before saying yes.

very few of the circled items were there because they were fulfilling, life-giving, healthy, and fun. hence, the dread. i decided to name my year, “the year of rearranging,” and i set about adding things that are fulfilling, life-giving, healthy, and fun. but to do this, i would have to be more intentional, take away other things, disappoint others, and part with aspects of my self-image.

i’m now three months in to “the year of rearranging,” and i’ve done quite a bit of life-editing. i’ve added this blog, for example, and i’ve taken a break from the very stressful enterprise of sermon-writing and preaching. but just yesterday, without thinking, i agreed to sew curtains for my son’s school. making conscious choices is not something that comes easy for me. 

if you see me driving around in a car that doubles as a living room (complete with preschool curtains), please remind me to make more conscious choices. it is the year of rearranging, after all…

[source for this post may be found on the bibliography page located in the sidebar to your right.]

[as promised, here is sarah’s new york times letter to the editor:]

To the Editor:

As a 28-year-old former New Yorker with a successful career in marketing, I am constantly thinking about work-life balance as my husband and I prepare to try for our first baby.

His thriving career would allow me to stay home with few financial sacrifices. Still, I’ve fought hard to convince him that I can share the privilege of providing for our family so that he’ll have the same freedom I do to pursue alternate career paths and a deep relationship with our children.

These young women who have their hearts set on dabbling in a job for a decade before raising families full time are about as realistic as Naugahyde – it’s the 1950’s all over again, with a twist.

They’re locking today’s men in the provider role just as securely as postwar women were locked into the homemaker role. Not fair then; not fair now.

Sarah

Tampa, Florida