Three Kid Circus : A Moment To Myself

Monday, September 20, 2004

A Moment To Myself

This morning, the hubs took my oldest to Kindergarten, allowing me to wallow in the luxury of not rushing out before eight o'clock. My four year old son started swimming lessons today, but not until ten, so I was able to move at a sedate pace while getting ready.

At nine-thirty, I walked by the mirror in the hall where we place our keys. Mine? Not there. Again. This is a subject worthy of its own lengthy rant. I quickly surveyed the most likely locations for the missing keys. No. No. No no no no. Looks like we are walking to the pool. It's a mile, no biggie. I have time to get there, so I load the baby and the boy in the stroller and head out.

Our heatwave has ended, and in its place, the air was tinged with a crispness that made me want to take big strides and breathe deep. Oh, and wear tweed. But that is another subject worthy of its own entry. My son spent the entire 20 minutes of our walk asking questions. "Are we going to Grandma's? Are we lost? Where is the egg-plant? Are we going to school? Are you going to hop like a bunny?"

Gah.

We get to the pool, unload, boy swims, baby squirms on my lap and yells "WIM! WIM!" and flails herself toward to edge of the pool. At the end of the lesson, we dry him off and dress him warmly, then start the walk back home. Miraculously, both kids fall asleep within a minute or two. Then it was just me and my thoughts.

Okay, granted there was some sort of motorcycle rally going on, and the street I was walking down was full of traffic, but I saw the sun shining and heard the creek babbling and the trees rustling and even with the noise from the surrounding cars and businesses, it was just ME. And I was THINKING. About STUFF.

About a year ago, I had a dream that I had taken up oil painting. I was pretty good too. But in my dream, my three children kept snatching my canvases and smearing them, and try as I may, I could never get away. A startling moment in that dream found me curled in the fetal position while my children pummelled me, literally knocking the urge for creativity right out of me. I woke in a cold sweat, but had to laugh. I have always been a creative person, but lately I just can't get started. Not even a little.

I have come to the conclusion that if I want any vestiges of creativity of my OWN making, I am going to have to fight for it. Being a parent makes for an interesting dilemma. I nurture my family, but allow myself to wither. There is no easy answer, either. Someone is always going to think you're a martyr or selfish. Or both.