Last week I may have stormed up to my room.
I may have closed my door harder than intended (or perhaps, yes, as intended) and then I may have curled my legs to my chest, leaning back against the door of my big, messy closet.
I may have banged the crown of my head against the hanging mirror before realizing it likely wasn’t a good idea if I hoped to keep the mirror.
I may have gritted my teeth and lamented bitterly to myself about the lack of time and the exhaustion and the need need need to create and to write words and to think about something other than laundry.
My baby is three months old and the fog of pregnancy clears slowly.
I’ve been scribbling notes here and there, on napkins and in notebooks and on the backs of envelopes.
What does it mean to combine art and motherhood?
I’m typing now with a boy kneeling beside me, yellow paper ears stapled together and tied precariously to his head with blue yarn. The baby is learning to roll from side to side and my middle boy is hungry again.
I’m writing now, listening to the big boys whoop their way from chair to bar stool to piano bench to floor. Shelton is asleep upstairs but I hear him stirring on the monitor. Who could sleep through all this hollering?
I’m tapping my keyboard now, sitting at a tiny corner table in a coffee shop. My guy came home from work and shooed me out the door because my piano student canceled and the baby decided he didn’t mind sipping his mama milk from a bottle if Daddy holds it.
I’m sitting in the quiet now, a grey Virginia summer morning. Yesterday John and I took a grocery list and a few dollars to Costco for a date night of cereal and chicken breasts, pineapple and celery. We talked of life and goals and dreams and us. Later, the big boys asked to sleep in the basement and watch a movie. We said yes, because it is summer after all, but we heard their feet tiptoeing upstairs before midnight and we laughed.
This is life, wrapped together with a silk ribbon and spilling over to the floor.
I’ll catch the pieces that fall
and tuck them back in
and call it all art.
And such beautiful art it is, friend…
Ashleigh, this is just beautiful! I love the idea that the small moments of each day are lovely and worthy to be called art!!!
Good stuff, mama!
JJ is spot on. Each of those moment is absolutely life art. <3
This is beautiful and though I’m not a mom, I’ve struggled with a career that takes away from the art He has placed in me to create. I really needed to read this tonight. Thank you for writing this and sharing.
Oh, man, do I ever GET this. Beautiful.
Oh, I so loved this. Thank you for spilling your art here and letting us admire it from afar:)
Lovely words. I am an artist too, and it is definitely an interesting challenge balancing motherhood and art.
You know how sometimes you hear some words of poetry or delicious phrases that feed your soul and resonate around the hall of your heart?
“I’ll catch the pieces that fall
and tuck them back in
and call it all art.”
THAT. Right there.
Amazing writing – thank you. My soul feels a little more nourished.
Do you hear me cheering these words on? Do you feel the gold medal around your neck for typing them out – for living them out?
love this, friend.
beautiful, honest, inspiring words…thank you…i’m a soon to be momma and about to experience this!!
Wandering over from #SMS — I’m going to be learning this soon, too (hopefully…): “What does it mean to combine art and motherhood?”
I love your blog, and your vulnerability here. Off to explore the rest…
i can totally relate to trying to find the balance of art & motherhood – how to do it? where is the time? what can i let go in order to -? what is more important really? my sanity, right? i’m prone to shutting doors louder than i really should be, too. (#SMS)
“This is life, wrapped together with a silk ribbon and spilling over to the floor.
I’ll catch the pieces that fall
and tuck them back in
and call it all art.”
This seriously just made my day. If I could get away with inking it down my back, I would.
~Kristin