Impermanence. As the leaves begin to fall off the bay trees creating a blanket of gold, we watch the squirrels gathering acorns on our walks, we see the crows coming home to nest in the evening, I explain to Jack and Fiona that Fall is coming, then winter. Their little boy and girl faces let me know time plays no favorites, two and a half years have flashed by without any kindness or special allowances. I’ve only been given the time on the clock, twenty-four hours in a day. I sit here now in my studio, my wonderful, messy, place that is my own, paint still on my hands from today’s painting session, a glass of wine I got by opening a bottle with a screw and plyers in order to save time and not have to go in the house during my last forty-five minutes of solitude. My Teacher credential information and my CSET study book next to me, my strategy is to study while the paint dries. As I look through the book I keep telling myself, don’t freak out, you can learn this. It’s so much information! It’s just as hard to paint I tell myself. Everything is hard at first, but there’s time. We have time. Time to be creative, time to be our different selves. Time to expand our universe until we die. Having kids has been life changing for me, just like everyone said it would be. But maybe not in the ways people warned, I feel like I am re-connecting with my true inner self. I feel like all the knowledge I’ve acquired through my life is coming into play. I have a much deeper understanding of the interconnectedness of us all. How I change and how I stay the same, it’s interesting. The change is the courage to let my freak flag fly high, my heart is good, I am part of the change in our country, our world. My children will live on and carry the torch. I know there are no guarantees, but I just can’t imagine having Republican children. Jacks been coming up with the most amazing responses. I was talking to him the other day about Boyd Park, my favorite park of all time. It was designated a Park in 1905! It has a reputation for homeless people, which sometimes there are. We walked by one the other day, he was sleeping. I was talking to Jack about the homeless people, telling him they didn’t feel good and I thought we should bring them something next time. Jack said “Bring them dinner”. I said, “Yes Jack, we’ll bring them dinner.” I couldn’t believe it, how a two-and-a-half-year-old could think like that already. It made me feel really good. That’s all I want, for my children to have an understanding of the world as it is and to want to help people and help make the world a better place no matter how corny that sounds.
Category: art
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Not now. Nothing now. Only the quiet hums of the household machinery, fans, fridge, Billy’s rustling around to get comfortable, the chimes, alone at last. I have a strange feeling today. I don’t know why, anxiety? sorrow? A friends’ mom died, far too soon. I know what that’s like. That feeling of loss and emptiness. Combined with my deep concern and sadness for our world. The changing season, summer passing behind me, the shadows coming earlier and earlier each day. Leaves fluttered down in front of me yesterday as I walked along the path. Jack picks up acorns, some empty, some full. He remembers me telling him about the squirrels eating acorns, “don’t forget about the blue jays, they eat acorns.” I say. “And Raccoons?” asks Jack. “I don’t know Jack, I’ll have to look that up.” He walks the whole way back, sitting down sometimes to examine leaves and look for more acorns. Quiet house. A sound unfamiliar at first, I startle and so does Billy. I turn around, it’s just Fiona’s painting rustling in the wind. Billy jumps up and goes outside. I sit down and begin to write. Drinking my second cup of coffee, drunken cool and black, and my jar of plain yogurt, granola, and blueberries, I get up several times to put on laundry, change the diaper pails, ruin a canvas in my studio, freak out, get my studio ready for working in today, even though I said at the beginning of this piece, “Not now” because I knew in my anxiety ridden state I wouldn’t be able to sit down and write while all those other things needed to be done. But I reminded myself, “not now”. But I did them anyhow, went to my studio and worked on a canvas with oil and yuck! Just yucky mud now. I’m so mad.
That day ended, only memories now, distant, even faded memories of all that went on in between the empty spaces. The virus, the tantrums, the unpredictability, it’s been three days of no naps, no leaving the house, no studio, a sick baby, repeating my sentences over and over again. Every time I say something, explain something, especially to Fiona, she says “Huh?” over and over again. I start to sign it, explain it slow and louder. I hear her later at night in bed repeating the same sentence over and over again, memorizing every word, trying to remember the pronunciation. Jack carries on conversations with me or throws things and cries, there’s very little in between. Toddlerhood is like the infant stage but with big strong babies. I am SO thankful to have this moment in my studio. This moment to re-group, paint and write even if it’s WAY TOO SHORT!
My eyes, mind, body, buzzing. Paint on my hands. That felt GOOD. Just painted for almost two hours while the babies slept. NAP TIME PAINTINGS! I dig them! Built up inside me, I almost snapped. Needed to release some creative energy. Elections, speeches. Toddlers, baby lizards in the house and crickets. Just stop, take a deep breath. Be thankful for what I have. Babies creative. Got depressed this week watching Fiona draw, she’s so good. Babies waking up soon. Gotta go. Go take a shower, join the world. Be a functioning member of society. Friday. What a week. Moments of rightness. Sitting under the shady oak at Boyd Park today. Rabbit named Slippers at the park. Ladies talking about the best eyeliner. Nannies recognize Jack and Fiona. I draw, write, while they slide and investigate. All I fed them today were lollypops and Italian sodas. Not winning any parenting awards. Time to take a shower now. Time to go back in the house. Time is moving fast.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 