…and breathe…

The thought occurs to me. Fraud. Teaching creative writing workshops, touting myself as a writer, when all I can do is stare at that blinking cursor as it gets brighter, louder, more and more mocking of my lack of ideas. I shut the computer and open my journal, furiously scribbling my frustrations. The muscles in my hand cramp around the pen as I press harder, faster, foresaking all penmanship lessons and disappointing my grade-school teachers. Angry, angry at myself for not only my lack of reasonable content for my work but for the anger itself. Fraud.

Midsentence, mid-word, I shut my journal and stand up. Leaving my things scattered around the small corner table, I walk through the crowded – and so damn noisy! – cafe where I’ve escaped for a few rare moments of writing (those moments so rare that I’d better have something to show for them, otherwise how can I justify them? The anger now becoming a sour taste in my mouth.)  

I walk into the restroom and lock the door behind me. Leaning against the wall, I lower myself until I am resting on my heels, elbows propped on knees, thumbs pressed into my brow. I close my eyes.

And breathe.

And breathe.

And breathe.

And the anger begins to dissolve, to stream from my pores and evaporate in the quiet of the ladies’ room.

I breathe some more.

The iron clamp on the idea of my imminent failure loosens until the idea itself floats past my mind like a cloud on a soft breeze.

I breathe once more, deeply.

I rise, stretch, leave the restroom, and get to work.

I have long been curious about meditation, and know without a shadow of doubt that it would be a beneficial daily practice for me and my insanely busy mind. The truth, though, is that I have yet to discipline myself to start a daily practice. However, the act of deep breathing, of closing my eyes and focusing on the inhale and exhale, has saved me more than once. It has allowed me to escape the firm grasp of negative thinking. Whether it’s the influx of oxygen or the distraction, or both, I don’t know. But this is what works for me.

Top 3 Thursday

Today it’s all about comfort foods. Why? Because we all have them. And because this week I’ve been stressed out and eating. It happens. I’ll go to the gym tomorrow. But for now, let’s celebrate those foods that really, really hit the spot, emotionally-speaking!

My Top 3 Comfort Foods:

chocolate-chip cookies (the good ones – soft, not crunchy)

chips (specifically nacho Doritos, but in a pinch anything will do – hence the fact we don’t have chips in our cupboard!)

red wine (explanation needed? Didn’t think so.)

Now it’s your turn! Don’t feel bad – indulge! Leave a comment and let us know how you soothe your soul with food/drink. And then maybe take a break from the computer and go for a walk. I will, too!

Resolve

I head up the stairs, pulled toward the comfort of my bed at last like a magnet. Yet, at the top, I turn away from my bedroom door and walk quietly into Small Boy’s room. I place a kiss on the palm of my hand and rest it gently on his cheek. He is too far down in the confines of his crib to get closer; if I could I would nuzzle that soft spot on his neck behind his ear and breathe in his sweet baby smell for hours. As my eyes focus in the darkness, making out the profile of his face, I promise that tomorrow I will do better. I will not lose my patience with your whining demands, your emerging toddler tantrums. I will read to you more and teach you the alphabet and play ball with you for hours on end to make up for all of the playing by yourself you had to do today. I’ll do better than I did today. I promise.

Then I tiptoe to the room next door, the floor creaking under my weight. Big Sister sleeps soundly; I could sing and dance the Macarena in here and she would never know. She snores quietly, illuminated by the pink “because I love pink, Mommy!” nightlight, and her face takes on the innocence of years already gone. As I lean down and kiss her, I make another promise. I will be better for you. I will be a strong woman for you. I will show you that what matters is the beauty that is on the inside, that whomever you decide to be is fine – just fine – and that you will always, always be good enough. Tomorrow I will not beat myself up, I will not tear myself down. I will be stronger tomorrow. I promise.

And, on this night as every night, I promise that I will do better tomorrow. For them. For me. For all of us.

Happy New Year

May the New Year bring you a fresh start.

May the New Year give you plenty of opportunities for laughter.

May the New Year offer you new ways to grow.

May the New Year shower you with beauty.

May the New Year support you with the courage you need.

May the New Year fill in anything you feel might be missing.

May the New Year surround you with the love of others.

May the New Year draw you out of your shell.

May the New Year protect you from things that hurt.

May the New Year teach you something you didn’t know about yourself.

May the New Year be filled with moments of peace.

Happy New Year, everyone. I’m looking forward to sharing 2010 with you all.

Guest Blogging at The Motherhood Muse

Happy Monday!  I’m blogging over at The Motherhood Muse this morning. If you haven’t seen this beautiful site, you are in for a treat! See you there.

Six-Word Saturday

The grass isn’t greener over there.

Six-Word Saturday is hosted by Call Me Cate. Check it out!

Top 3 Thursday!

Today it’s all about one of my very most favorite things in the whole wide world: BOOKS!

The Alchemist, by Paulo Coehlo

Bel Canto, by Ann Patchett

Love that Dog, by Sharon Creech

(May I add a fourth? Whatever, it’s my list. I just finished The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak. One of the most creatively written books I’ve ever read. Heartwrenching and beautiful, and I can’t get the characters out of my head.)

How about you? I’m always looking for new titles to add to my bookshelf. Please share!

The Motherhood Paradox

In the same breath that Motherhood is lauded for her miraculous beauty, she is mocked for her fashion sense and lack of opportunity to comb her hair. She is filled with boundless and overwhelming love, the force of which can bring her to her knees. While she’s down there, she can be found sweeping graham cracker crumbs into the dustpan while the baby spits up and the toddler cries, wondering whether she is being Punk’d.

A woman in the throes of motherhood can hardly comprehend the enormity of the power she wields, an ungainly wand with which she can nurture self-respect, honor individuality, impart wisdom, guide values. Yet she realizes that this authority becomes moot when confronted by a child who has transformed into a screaming beast when told that she would not be purchasing a one-ounce piece of plastic molded into the shape of a dinosaur.

A mother is strong, stronger than many would believe. She can summon the energy to lift a car off of her baby, protect her cub from bullies, and lobby for her pup’s educational needs. She be sick, sleep-deprived, and coffee-stained and still accomplish five errands and three meals. Yet a mother has a weak spot – that part of her where worry festers. Is she doing enough? Will her children be good people? Will it hurt them to eat chicken nuggets again tonight?

Motherhood is a beautiful, unsightly, joyful, frustrated, courageous, fearful, proud, disappointed, calm, and chaotic contradiction. It is an overwhelming responsibility whose rewards sometimes seem too few and far between; but, oh my, the rewards are sweet. The times they confide in you. The times they let you hug them just a little bit longer. The times they say, with their eyes big and round, “I love you, Mommy.”

A Moment of Zen

It’s raining, again. I lie in bed, the early morning light just beginning to filter in through the closed curtains. The quiet is broken by Big Sister’s voice pleading at the closed gate protecting the stairs from small bodies in the night – “Help! I’m trapped!” – followed by Small Boy’s gentle request to be released from his crib of captivity – “WAAAAAAAAAHH!”

Downstairs, the music of a typical morning. Emptying the dishwasher while simultaneously pouring cereal into a bowl and smearing strawberry jam onto toast. Shouts of “MINE!” blend with giggles and the noisy slurping of milk from cups. Little feet padding around in a game of take-the-toy-from-little-brother. The protests of a Small Boy who hates having his diaper changed. The protests of a Big Sister who…well, who knows what she’s upset about this time. Toy boxes emptied onto the hardwood floor. Nursery rhymes on the stereo. Rhythmic bouncing on the mini-trampoline, brought inside at the end of summer to offer some form of energy-release. Stories being read. Train sets being built. Laughter.

I lie in bed, the light of the morning now filling the room. It’s my turn to sleep in, a luxury Hubby D. and I offer each other on the weekends. Tomorrow, it will be me downstairs, emptying the dishwasher, making breakfast, reading stories, building train sets, drying tears. But now, in this moment, I relax, responsibility-free, and enjoy the sounds of my beautiful family…from a distance.

Brief hiatus…

Hi all! I’m taking a short break from blogging out of necessity as I get the Young Writers Studio up off of the ground. Or at least standing vertically. Thanks for your patience! The young writers in my community thank you, too. Because they’re cool like that.