Children can be the inspiration of great work, be it a painting, a poem, a novel or even a fancy dinner. Children inspire us to be creative, nurturing and responsible. But they also get in the way of being creative. It takes a lot of time and energy to be creative and, for me, at the end of the day, reruns of Golden Girls seem more fulfilling than writing inspirational poetry.
Before I launched into motherhood, I was a struggling playwright. I am proud of my successes, but my paycheques were the least of my accomplishments. Many years ago, I was presented with another vocation, one that I wanted since I was a little girl: to be a mother. For the last 16 years, that has been my primary job. It’s the job I have held the longest in my life, and the only one that I can’t tell if I’m any good at. No yearly performance reviews, no bonuses or raises, and lots of complaints.
Motherhood has been my great life’s work so far but I haven’t lost that little thread that ties me to my passion for writing. I’ve taken writing workshops, joined writing groups and have started numerous projects that still exist in journals, hard drives, flash drives and even floppy disks. Nothing ever seems to get finished. When my son was in Grade 4 he wrote a couple of poems for English. Two lines that always stick in my mind are “you can’t grow zucchinis in winter” and “it’s difficult to write in a kitchen full of dirty dishes.” Both lines seem to have more depth to their meaning than just the obvious, and gave me insight as to why I have been stuck in my writing rut. It is difficult to be creative when the necessities of daily life are always staring you in the face – hungry kids, laundry, homework, bake sales and dirty dishes. It is very difficult to nurture and grow something when the timing is wrong.
Every spring as the snow is melting, I dream about sitting outside in the evening, with a delicious glass of chilled wine, a pen and a new writing journal and working on a project, new or old – doesn’t matter. Every summer comes and goes, new pens get thrown into backpacks for school and journals get shoved to the back of the closet with only a scribble or two, and most likely a grocery list.
And here we are again, summer almost half over. I envy my kids, busy at summer drama camp rehearsing for their final production of Annie. Even my son in summer school is busy for hours doing his English homework, writing short stories, poems and essays.
But something is new this year. They are excited about me writing this blog, even encouraging me.
Our dishwasher broke and the kitchen has been full of dirty dishes, but the kids have been washing them. Children can be the inspiration and the gateway. No more excuses.
Mind you, I have yet to be successful at growing zucchinis – even in the summer.
