scribblechic

Most days my world echos the hazy, transient space of a dream moments before consciousness.  Like Alice, having fallen through the rabbit hole, my responsibilities tower precariously around me making me feel small and lost.  I wander through my day absorbed in discovery and chasing after an ideal.

Housekeeping and meal planning, parent organizations and children’s activities are a never-ending tea party.  I return to the table each day a guest of routine.  I marvel at the limitlessness of motherhood, each moment of our days precariously tied to the promise of empowering confident, capable children through the riddle of simple tasks familiar across generations.

I squeeze myself into moments steeped in tradition, like unfamiliar games whose rules have been replaced with unwritten expectations.  I stumble into awareness, reveling in discovery as new questions emerge.

Responsibility follows me like a grinning cat perched in amusement over my curious fumbling.  I wonder if my mother and grandmothers felt lost or overwhelmed.  I welcome each new mother I meet to this place of beautiful nonsense where almost everything means something, some things nothing, and others everything.