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One of these mornings
You're gonna rise up singing
Spread your wings
Take to the sky
But until then, nobody can harm you
With mommy and daddy by your side
Summertime, and the livin' is easy.
These are open-ended days for my children and me, mostly unscheduled, with day-camps and errands to fit in here and there. My parents have been visiting from Winnipeg and now have headed home.
It's been hot and languid for days on end, with temperatures in the mid-thirties and high smog and humidity, so we've all been feeling sleepy.
The subway...right...I'm supposed to be singing in the subway...singing "Summertime" and "I Can See Clearly Now". But I can't, very well, on days like these, but for the haze of family summer. Squinting into another unscheduled morning, I can barely see to the next hour ahead of me. What am I making everyone for dinner? Can we invite a little friend over for a sleepover? Shouldn't I be vacuuming?
It's a strange kind of tunnel vision, parenthood. Try as I do to set other priorities for myself, to follow through with a career path of some sort, I plunge back into this tunnel at regular intervals that are guided by the school year. Because my career is mostly artistic, I find it hard to justify expensive camps and childcare. Plus, the kids are good company right now, and I want to spend as much time with them as possible. Soon they will be independent, going out on their own to sing their own songs, and I won't be invited to the gig.
What's that other saying, "make hay while the sun shines?"
"Make hey!" might be more like it...as in "Hey! Look at this interesting bug!" or "Hey! Let's organize the craft cupboard."
This morning I can see that this paricular tunnel of love serves a therapeutic purpose for me, even though I sometimes also find it dark and claustrophobic. When I surface periodically and look at my career, which today seems as chaotic as my overgrown garden, I tend to panic and become self-critical. Throughout my life, I've tried to do many things well all at once, and inevitably I don't do all of them well, all the time.
Allowing myself to take a simple and loving path, perhaps walking to the library or the park with a child, is a perfectly worthwhile way to spend a morning. It's another way an artist can survive underground.
(That said, I was delighted when my neighbour mentioned that her 13 year-old has just taken a babysitting course and is eager to get some experience, perhaps for a few mornings a week. On the schedule, I notice that two weeks from now, I have Yonge & Bloor in the mornings.)
This morning I can see that this paricular tunnel of love serves a therapeutic purpose for me, even though I sometimes also find it dark and claustrophobic. When I surface periodically and look at my career, which today seems as chaotic as my overgrown garden, I tend to panic and become self-critical. Throughout my life, I've tried to do many things well all at once, and inevitably I don't do all of them well, all the time.
Allowing myself to take a simple and loving path, perhaps walking to the library or the park with a child, is a perfectly worthwhile way to spend a morning. It's another way an artist can survive underground.
(That said, I was delighted when my neighbour mentioned that her 13 year-old has just taken a babysitting course and is eager to get some experience, perhaps for a few mornings a week. On the schedule, I notice that two weeks from now, I have Yonge & Bloor in the mornings.)
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