the monkey fully embraced life in the mountains. he spent the month clad in silly bands, lanyard necklaces, shoes that were perpetually wet from creek walking, and a wide, sticky, ice-creamy grin. nothing spells camp like tight sweaty ringlets, the constant talk of  counselors and fellow campers, and a slew of silly songs playing on repeat inside an almost-four-year-old head.

meanwhile, the bird picked up his new favorite hobby: throwing rocks in the creek. he replaced his barely distinguishable babble with real words that actually made sense in context, and thereby joined fellow toddlers throughout time and space in demonstrating for their elders what a miracle the human grasp of language really is. he had his own pair of perpetually wet shoes and his own allotment of silly bands (thanks to the monkey). like his brother, he waltzed into clubs every day to a chorus of counselors’ welcomes.

is is possible that my children did an entire years’ worth of growing up in one month? from certain angles i took in their shaggy hair and occasional nonchalance and imagined their impending teenage years. i saw that what my friend steve says is true: “with parenting, the days go by slowly but the years go by quickly.”

or perhaps it was my own relaxed, campy persona that gave me pause to take a broader view of my children and their progress. with both children in childcare for the first time, i found myself hiking on mountain trails, practicing yoga in a local studio, and sipping coffee on the porch. this time afforded me a glimpse into a future stage, with increased spare time and possibilities.

parenting’s relentless onslaught of joy and duty seems to evoke a delayed sort of processing. there is no time to sift through the realities of one stage until the next stage is dawning. i have been a parent for almost four years now, but this recent preview of the future is the first real glimpse i have gotten of life beyond babyhood. i was able to remember what i liked to do before i had kids and imagine a life that will return me to those things someday.

but for now i am content to re-enter our memphis routine — the onslaught of  joy and duty. however, i do this with the new knowledge that though the days go by slowly, the years truly do fly by, carrying the sweet sounds of baby babble with them.

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.

following the daily email directives of the re[frame] productivity system for creative people  has helped me to organize and prioritize what was once a rain cloud of to-do’s that floated above me, casting down ominous threats.

now, the cloud is gone, and in place of it, i have this cute little box and this set of stacking shelves. no more hail storms of balls inadvertently dropped.

but this life of organization comes with a price. i used to be able to ignore the cloud for stretches of blissfully ignorant time. i am now acutely aware of what needs to be done. now that i’m committed to a daily study of the radar, i miss setting out for a picnic without the slightest notion of torrential downpour…

…but not enough to turn back.

the problem is, i’ve passed the halfway marker now, and my re[frame] emails have moved beyond the kind of concrete directives that have inspired me to organize corners of my house, clean out my email in boxes, and develop a bizarre obsession with note cards. i am now encouraged to brainstorm about what version of myself i would most like to be, what kinds of things act as barriers in this process, and what life changes i could make to facilitate a more centered way of being.

these second-tier questions are precisely the kinds of questions i LOVE! i ask them repeatedly in my work as a minister. it is not that i am negating their importance. it’s just that i’m still organizing corners of my house, cleaning out my email in boxes, and clinging tightly to my note cards. i cannot possibly think about organizing my vision of the future until i organize this and other proverbial visions of my present life:

but as you can see, i AM making progress.

so, i’m taking a week or so off from new challenges and questions so that i can keep up the foundational work. and because organizing my “to do’s” has taught me that i simply have too much to do, i think i need to pare down a bit before i can enter the next phase. i’ve got to dead head the rose bushes so other blooms can grow.

oh, that reminds me. i’ve got to literally dead head those rose bushes. excuse me while i jot that down on a note card…

motherhood seems to come with inherent questions to be faced daily, whether we realize we are facing them are not:

are we to measure the truth of what we read against the truth of our own experience, or are we to measure everything we experience against the truth of what we read? motherhood is not without its sacred texts or its powerful experiential learning. how can we weave these things together into an authentic version of motherhood, or moreover, an authentic way of being human?

on most days, for me, experience trumps book knowledge. i tend to draw much of my parenting tendencies from my own experience of being a child. there are many things about how i was raised that i want to duplicate for my children.  i expressed one of these ideals in my post about neighbors, in which i called to mind a time when “there were no scheduled play dates or activities. our parents simply let us loose to waltz through each other’s back doors and live out our days covered in sweat, mosquito bites, and melted popsicle juice.”

but a comment on this post reminded me that we cannot simply transplant the parenting habits of decades past into our lives without having wrestle with our fair share of questions. lane writes:

“I am challenged to find a balance between encouraging the friendships and life lessons of playing outside and the very real dangers that lurk in the spaces that we cannot supervise. How old to ride a bike on the street without a parent? How old to walk four houses down alone to play? How reliable is the adorable dog playing in the yard across the street? How well should you know a family (neighbor, classmate, whatever) before your child has unrestricted access to their house?

A Lebanese coworker of mine commented how Americans are the most generous nation of people to respond in a crisis, but as individuals, we keep our doors locked tight (figuratively and literally!). We DON’T typically know our neighbors, and we often don’t bother to try. I wonder how we can manage to be both at once?”

these are excellent questions, lane, and ones that move me out of the state of idealistic nostalgia and into a more real and complicated place. in fact, this is the place to which i keep returning, whether i want to or not. this place seems to be on the way to everywhere else i want to go. it’s a place of CONSTRUCTION.

what's a blog post w/out a cheesy stock photo?

i started this blog because i perceived that there is a gap between our cultural models of motherhood and the kind of mother i aspire to be. after looking high and low for models, mentors, and reading material to fill this gap, i realized that no ready-made solution exists. i will have to build one to suit me. we all will. so much of a mother’s job is construction.

and here, in the gap between the outdoor play of past and present and in response to all the questions about bicycle boundaries, strangers, and yard dogs, no ready-made solution exists. again, i will have to build one to suit me. we all will. so much of a mother’s job is construction.

i admit that i would often rather settle for a ready-made model and avoid the messy work and on-the-job training involved in building something new. but just knowing that there are other women out there donning their hard hats, scaling towers of literature, and descending into their own histories, actually makes this motherhood experiment fun. i’m so grateful for the company of so many who are committed to crafting something that is good and real.

my dad, a residential realtor by trade, has recently listed an antebellum home that was occupied by the same memphis family for 150 years. in response to my begging, he recently invited andy, the kids, and me to crash a happy hour gathering of architects at the site.

the archetects were like kids in a candy store, and joined me in shameless picture-taking and investigating every square inch of the home and its features, from these aqua curtain tiebacks (the product of the last re-model),

to the fourth story attic tower.

but what struck me the most about our tour of this magnificent home and the enchanted grounds around it were the conversations i overhead while we were walking around. “what would be the best use of this gem?” people asked each other. it could, once again, be a single family home, of course. or it could host a downstairs business and an upstairs residence.

or… (and these are the ideas that really inspired me) the home and grounds could be shared somehow. one architect’s idea was that two or three families could live in the home. there would be private residence space for each family and a few common area rooms. another thought was that a single family could live in the antebellum home, and several smaller homes could be built on the grounds. these “lots” would sell for modest prices, and the homes would occupy a small footprint and not diminish the manicured wildness of the tree-filled landscape. my imagination was off and running with dreams of sharing this place with family and friends, committed to raising our children in this expanse of nature located right in the heart of the city.

i have always been intrigued by groups of kinfolk and comrades who build a life together that strays from the “good fences make good neighbors” mantra of traditional american culture. when i was in divinity school, i became enamored with the bloomsbury group — virginia wolf, her husband and sister, and all of their various artist and writer friends who shared a home in england.

members of the bloomsbury group on the grounds of their home in sussex

what attracted me then was the creativity and exchange of ideas fostered by this sort of life. but now that i am a parent, i am also attracted to the idea of shared responsibility and the notion that communities or villages might just do a better job of raising our children than we can do alone.

let’s face it: andy and i cannot really afford to move our family into antebellum bliss. but our brief time on the grounds has me thinking about making intentional connections with neighbors and constructing a life where responsibilities can be shared. this is not a new idea, of course, and folks in other countries have been living this way since the beginning of time.

in bad mother, ayelet waldmen writes of her mother’s committment to shared resonsibility:

“during the headiest era of my mother’s feminist phase, she even figured out a way to spare herself the bulk of the cooking; she and the other members of her consciousness-raising group formed a supper cooperative. each day a different one of them would cook for the group, separate the food into individual family-sized portions, and drop them off at the others’ houses” (54).

along those lines, i have friends who take turns going to each others’ houses to help each other with home projects. and jennifer, who was featured in one of my early “mothers of invention” posts, wrote about a makeshift cooperative pre-school that she and other mothers created for their children.

perhaps we don’t have to pick up and physically move our families in order to move into a space of shared responsibilities. it has been said that by partnering with someone in marriage, one’s burdons are cut in half while one’s joys are doubled. perhaps this is true of all of our cooperative affiliations.

so, when i’m not thinking about how i can make the quick million i would need to move into “the big old house,” as my children call it, i’ll be pontificating about how my version of motherhood might entail becoming more of a village person. it’s fun to think about, don’t you think?

[for more info about the source for this post, check out the bibliography page 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.]

i spent a large portion of my young adult years convinced that the object of life is to be perfect. since i am a minister, some of this was steeped in what i thought was the perfection of jesus. in the area of my spiritual life, i was relieved to learn that the word “pefect” in greek really means “whole.” thank goodness!

but some of my drive for perfection was cultural and was fed by the sleek women’s bodies in style magazines, the pants-suit warriors hammering through the glass ceiling, and finally, the mothers who seemed to float along on lofty platitudes pertaining to breast-feeding, tv-watching, organic-eating, penny-pinching, floor-time playing, and the like. i am strangely grateful that my resolve for perfection died (for the most part) long before i became a mother, myself. it was a painful death, mind you, complete with anxiety attacks and some really good therapy.

but in my experience, we don’t move from perfectionist tendencies to normalcy all at once. there are stages involved, and stage one frequently swings the pendulum in the complete opposite direction. what was once an ugly competition to modal impossible ideals becomes an equally ugly competition to denounce them. in other words, the “i suck contest” begins, and in the context of motherhood, it usually goes something like this:

mother 1: “i haven’t showered in two days.”

mother 2: “oh, please. i haven’t showered in two weeks.”

mother 1: “well, my children watched six hours of pbs today.”

mother 2: “cry me a river. my children watched seven hours of dora today, and my son speaks only in spanglish.”

these conversations are rampant, partly because they are funny and easy. i have participated enthusiastically in these “i suck contexts” because the other common ways in which moms frequently commune (through defending or bragging) are truly abysmal. i am happy to be the very picture of imperfection all day long if the only other alternative is depleting fellow mothers or feeling depleted myself.

but surely there are healthier ways for mothers to be together! there has got to be a way for moms to come clean (pardon the pun) about the daily struggle for balance and sanity without all of this self-deprecating language. this is so difficult when language like this is popping up everywhere and is frequently opening pathways of connection between us. how can we embrace the “i suck contest” for its value and then move beyond it into something deeper and more life-giving?

cognitive behavioral therapists would say that we have to modify our thoughts and language first, and changes in our behavior will follow. so, to that end, i’ll go first.

my name is mary allison. i’m a mother. i am not perfect, nor do i suck.

who’s with me?

[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

here’s a fossil-like piece of advice for housewives in 1969:

“when father returns home in the evening, he needs a quiet transition period between the demands of the world and the demands of his family. father should not be met at the door with a bombardment of complaints and requests. a ready drink, a hot shower, the daily mail, the weekly magazine, and the ‘no questions’ period help create an oasis of tranquility that adds greatly to the quality of family life. from early childhood, children learn that when daddy comes home, he needs a short period of calm and comfort” (ginott, 136).

dear god, thank you for not making me a housewife in 1969. amen.

[source found in bibliography section of sidebar.]