I’m awash in great ideas. In dreams. In stories. In paintings. I’m awash in emotion. I live in a drowning sea of joy and sorrow and fear and triumph. In friendship and loneliness.
Fiona is a part of all of this. She and I have been so tightly together that the act of having her away from me has forced growing pains. I feel adrift. She is starting the inevitable process of moving away from me that will end in her leaving home and living a life out of my sight. An invisible life (at least to me) that shapes her and changes her and makes her into who she is. Who she will be.
Such a terrifying lack of control. She’s already made friends whose names I’ve had to learn. Tricks and songs that she’s taught me. Games of which I know neither the rules nor the goals. She knows things that I haven’t taught her.
At the same time, there is the terrifying, exhilarating sensation of being just me. For the first time in years I’m having brief patches of time where I’m learning not to have one ear listening for trouble or pain or need. I’m disconnecting. Decompressing. Relaxing.
And it’s waking me back up. Which is good.
I find myself restless. I find myself frustrated when I have to stop creating and go back to being mommy. Not because I don’t want to be mommy, but because to slow down a creative idea is to risk it being derailed.
I find myself raging against housework.
I find myself torn between frustration at spending time on any activity because I want to spend time on all of them. I feel guilty for doing those things that I take joy in but find impossible when she’s home while she’s at preschool and thus making it so I have to do things like housework when she’s home. I feel guilty for the anger that guilt makes me feel. I am a person. I have the right to do things that make me happy.
And I paint. And I paint. And I paint.
It’s an obsession. It’s a passion. It’s like the silken soft gel of the paint transforms into pure emotion to be petted and pulled and lathed onto the canvas until a thought or a feeling has broken free of me to live on it’s own.
So, what was the point of all this? I’ve been feeling too guilty to write this blog when Fiona is home and awake and I’ve been to obsessed with the siren call of colors when she isn’t.
If you miss me, if you wonder where I went, don’t worry. It’s a combination of growing pains, mommy guilt and a frantic obsession with paint.
My two most recent pieces.