Remembering the Dream

My sweet husband recently told me I wasn't living up to my potential as a stay-at-home mom, and I should be doing more and working harder during the day.

You can imagine how that conversation went. I erupted in indignation.

But as the lava cooled, and he found some dry ground and clarified:

"I don't really mean more housework or anything like that.  This life is what you always said you wanted, right? Raise a family, pour yourself into creating a beautiful, enriching, nurturing home, all those things were your dream. But you don't really seem to be passionate about it anymore. Do you still care about all of that?
I want to see you work hard for your dream."

And I thought about it for a long while.

And on reflection, he was right. Caught up in the day-to-day drudgery of the basics day-to-day, I had forgotten to go beyond that.  I had stopped really trying to build up our life and home rather than just maintain it, or make the effort to pursue the things that I loved and always dreamed of doing.

I was shocked to realize I had given up on those dreams without even noticing. Tired and often overwhelmed by motherhood, I focused on coping with it instead of working hard to make it better. I was trying to fix the problem by taking it easier and doing less. And it helped for a while, as I got my mama feet on the ground.  But that is not how I thrive in the long-term. I'm an action-oriented person, and being easy on myself, day after day, was leaving my dreams and zeal for life to wither.

I should add, this is at a time in life when I'm strong, healthy, and my child is at a more independant than ever before.  I hold firmly to the belief that it's necessary to take care of yourself by taking it easier in certain seasons - like pregnancy and illness, or even just a really rough day. But taking it easy on routine has worn out its value for me right now, and without me noticing, has been doing more harm than good.

So I swallowed my pride, and said, "I guess you're right. I'll do things differently this week."

Mint, rosemary, and basil.

So the next morning I took a trip into town, bought groceries for some new recipes, and plants and soil.

I started a garden.
I made granola.

I've been annoyed by my sticky floors and the fact that it's hard to clean them with a toddler and he's getting so heavy to wear. I popped him on my back anyways, cranked up the country music, mopped the whole house and considered it my workout.
There, one big chore, Edwin's nap and a workout accomplished in one fell swoop. Just because I decided to do something that sounded too hard before.
With that out of the way, now what did I really want to do?

Sun-warmed cherries,
one of summer's greatest glories.

I spent the afternoon picking cherries with a friend.

I took Edwin to a farm to pet the animals.

All labeled and everything.

I went to the local thrift store with a mind of creativity, and came home with an old wooden high chair to clean up, a set of storage drawers and a mirror framed in an artistic atrosity of black, red, green and yellow.

I re-organized our toys. Which believe it or not makes me so happy.


That week I worked harder and did more every day than I have in a long time.  Every night I was exhausted, not in an overwhelmed-with-motherhood way, but in a satisfied way like I'd put in a good day's work.
And in the midst of it all, I enjoyed motherhood, and just being with my baby more than ever.

Friday night I was all set to enjoy a movie with my husband. Then he called from work and was going to be held up all evening a traffic problem on the highway.  But I didn't get as upset I usually would. I vented my disappointment to a friend, fed Edwin, took him for a walk and then put him to bed. I poured myself a cocktail of mint (fresh from the new garden) lemonade and vodka (thank you to my mother for that gift), sat out on my porch, and talked to that same friend about life.

My art project now sits above
 our  little coffee station.

Then, on Saturday, I had some time to myself and I sat out in the sun with that ugly mirror and my old paints, and made something beautiful.  I gave it to Francis as gift to say, "Thank you for reminding me about my dream."

I will forget it all again one day and need to me reminded. Thankfully my husband is not afraid to tell me how I need to change even at risk to himself.

Not everyone would find joy in organizing toys and watering tomatoes or feel like they're living their dream by painting a mirror to hang in the kitchen.  But I think most of us do have a dream. And I think once in a while, we all need to be reminded what we're working for.