Thoughts on mothering...

"We can't know or be or do everything; we can only listen, notice, and feel our way into who our children are, who we are, and what each of us needs in order to become fully realized as who we are. Mothering is partly about improvisation, creativity, and an openness to discovering what is emergent." - Daphne de Marneffe in Maternal Desire: On Children, Love and the Inner Life

Day #30...

A few days ago I was overjoyed to share a meal in honor of one of my professors. She was my first-year practicum leader. My fellow MHGSers know something of the uniqueness of this kind of relationship. But for those of you need some further explanation let me simply say this - she walked beside a small group of us as we began the process of growing a mind to see ourselves and the world around us in new and sometimes painful ways. She is a woman who is often referred to as the "good enough mother" of MHGS. To me, she is one of the only women in my life who call forth the little girl in me. When she simply looks into my eyes I am aware of longing to curl up in her lap to cry and to rage at the lack of nurturance, love, acceptance and connection that has marked so many lives. At this special lunch, my professor (a.k.a. my psychological mother) reminded us (her psychological daughters) of the fact that we all need mothers...or mothering throughout our lives...and that perhaps the most difficult task is to mother ourselves.

I have been in need of much mothering in the past week. And I'm feeling this need more acutely today. I'm trying to learn what it means to clean up my own vomit (as I had to do for Krisalyn yesterday) - to comfort and soothe myself while something inside is making me feel sick and uncomfortable. I need someone to see past my foul mood and the way it is being projected onto everyone and everything else so that someone can help me make sense of why I feel the way I do right now (something I've attempted to help Faith with tonight). I am longing for someone to hold me and to tell me that though the world around me feels like it's chaotically and uncontrollably shifting that the love they have for me is constant, stable, unconditional and accessible.

Learning how to mother and care for others has always been a passion in my life. It's mothering myself that feels like the much more difficult task.

The life of a Mommy Grad Student Intern

I'm realizing that it is going to be more of a challenge to keep up with blogging in the final stage of this three year adventure! Plus, it hasn't helped that we have had no access to internet in our new(er) apartment for the past couple of weeks. We were tapping into somebody else's wireless when we first moved in and we're pretty sure they either moved or wised up and password protected their connection. Too bad for us. So it will be a few days before we have internet (other than on our phones). It's amazing how much we've grown to rely upon something that I was officially introduced to when I was in high school - which wasn't really that long ago. Seriously...it's only been 16 years since I was a freshman in high school and signed up for my first aol account under the alias cheergirl or something like that! Okay maybe 16 years is a long enough to develop a dependency.

As I've already alluded to, life is pretty darn crazy right now. I've completed two weeks of internship and school and I've been off to a running start. I'm just praying that I can maintain the pace from now until Christmas when I'll have a brief interlude. So many thoughts have been racing through my head and I have a list of about five different blog-worthy stories or ideas...but of course I don't have the list with me right now as I'm sitting in Panera frantically attempting to get my internet-fix for the day! So instead I'll have to simply share the stirrings floating around in my head and piercing my heart in this moment.

Throughout this term I'll be insanely busy from morning till night every weekday except for Thursdays. Yesterday was my first official day off while all the kids and Bri are at school. I thought that dropping Krisalyn off at school for her first day of all-day kindergarten last Friday was going to be the BIG CRY day...but was surprised that the tears only lasted through my drive to my internship and for a few minutes after my arrival as I explained to my supervisor the significance of that day. The crying my have been prematurely cut-off because of the pressure to prepare myself for my first client later that day. Whatever the reason, I managed to cope (or distract myself) rather well that day. Suffice it to say, I was not expected to be nearly as emotional as I was yesterday after dropping the girls off at school and realizing that I would be alone for the entire day.

When I boarded the plane for my first trip to Uganda (when I went for 10 days by myself simply to become more familiar with the widow's plight so that I might assist in the development of a daily devotional or as I like to call it - Readings for Encouragment and Empowerment, something unexpected occurred. As soon as the doors of the plane were closed and securely locked I felt a lump surface in my chest -- not because I was afraid to fly or nervous about what I might encounter in the following 30+ hours of traveling, nor did I sense that it was linked solely with the anticipation of missing my girls and their daddy horribly. Instead, I sensed that it had something to do with realizing that I had not spent that much time to myself EVER in my life. I know that must sound like a ridiculous exagerration, but to my knowledge I had never spent more than a few hours in isolation (other than time spent sleeping at night and even in those times Lindsey and I often made our way to one another's bedrooms late at night in search of the comfort we found in one another's nearness). Without going off on too big of a tangent, the time I had to myself during that season of my life enabled me to begin peering into some dark and frightening doors to my heart that the constant presence of companions had distracted me from for far too long.

As I dropped Krisalyn off at her class yesterday morning I discovered that the uncomfortable and rather telling chest lump had decided to pay me another visit. But this time, I recalled the powerful nature of the time I spent alone on my way to Uganda, and I willingly allowed the lump to grow into an ache which permeated my entire body. It was an absolutely beautiful and wonderful day that consisted of two separate raw and honest conversation with great friends, a lot of cleaning (which obviously included singing loudly, dancing and more tears), and sitting on the little bench we have on our patio and refraining from dissociating for at least those moments. In those moments both joy and sorrow seemed to kiss, twirl and dip. How much I have loved the last nine years of my journey of motherhood - years of no sleep, diaper-changing, terrible (yet wonderful) twos, first smiles, first words, first recitals, first fears, first trips to the ER, first "you're mean Mommy"'s, trips to the zoo, finger painting, cookie-baking, fairy festivals, pumpkin carving, teething, personalized haircuts, and rituals of animal kisses and "how much does Mommy love you"'s.

Though many memories are yet to be made and I my role as a mommy has really only just begun in the big scheme of things, the season of having little ones at home has come to an end (at least for now). Bri and I are both still unsure of the journey ahead and whether or not we'll add to our already highly estrogen-dominant clan. But whatever happens, I am sure of one thing...I am an incredibly blessed woman to have shared in the lives of these three beautiful, strong and lovely little ladies. And I hope that this season of my life affords me the time and space to recover who I am behind all of those dark doors that have been avoided for far too long.