Can you see me?

The thing about social sites is that they fool me. Pinterest tricks me into thinking that I have done something with the hours I have spent on the site because I am not just an observer. I am active. I am Pinning!

Red skinny pleated silk capri poncho pants with a hot pink plaid flannel shirt and a skinny patent belt? Hell yeah I could rock those to go and buy some Half and Half and kitchen garbage bags at Hannafords. Cookies made from a gluten free hand pounded flour mix? Who doesn't have the time?!

"Whatcha doin' today?" someone would ask. "Oh, just picking up some repurposed labels and recycled glass Mason Jars to make my washing machine detergent and dryer sheets aesthetically pleasing." (I'll do some leg lifts and mutter inspiring phrases as I get organized).

Pinterest makes me feel creative when I am actually sitting down and slamming back a bag of Sour Patch Kids. When I am nursing my wounds and celebrating the victories of getting through another day as a Stay at Home mom to two young children.

For most of us, I think the thing that it all boils down to is wanting to have time to nurture passion. But don't be tricked. It's not enough. Pinterest is just a bunch of pretty pictures. And we all know that all of those friends of ours on Facebook are not truly our confidants.

What I am learning is if I don't nurture me, it all falls apart. I can't be creative and energized for my babies if my creative stomach is empty. How can I feed them if I'm starving, right?

You see what I'm getting at here?

You know that feeling you get when the Gas Station attendent pays you a little extra attention even though your shirt is nasty and you feel like you just got slapped in the face by a whole box o' ugly? You know how it can change your mood for the day? How you feel about yourself?

Yeah it's like that.

I find that when I rely on Pinterest and Facebook and other social sites and blogs to fuel my fire, my fire starts getting less and less hot. And I get less and less excited about, well, everything.

But when I start thinking and moving and writing and singing, life gets better. And I get happier.

In order for me to get amped about being creative, I need to come to terms with where and what I am. I have made the choice to be a Stay at Home Mom. But a Stay at Home mom is not what I AM.

Get the difference?

In order for me to Carpe Diem, I need to seize myself. And I want others to see me too.

What we all want is to be seen. Not celebrity-walk-the-red-carpet seen (unless that IS what you want and, if so, go for it.), but rather to be recognized. Heard.

To have loved ones or friends or strangers think to themselves, hey, that chick is good at that.
That chick is capable.

A friend did this for me the other day. I had been sitting on my hands and dreaming about what I could be doing. Wondering if I was good enough to do it. Whammo! Out of the blue she emails me and says,"Hey, you know what? You should do this. You're good at it. I support you".

In other words, she saw me. And it felt awesome.

Moral of the story mommies? Do something for yourself. It doesn't matter what it is. If you DO like organizing your dryer detergent in Mason jars, recognize that! Stack those jars high and be proud. Make shoelaces out of old dental floss and food coloring and slap those pictures on Pinterest if that's what gets ya' going. Or run. Or write. Or rap, for God's sake!

But take a moment, too, to give another woman a pat on the back.
Chances are you'll make her day.

Tired.

Ho. Lee. Shit.

Let me tell you something about having a toddler and being tired. It is a force. An intrusive alarm clock ringing cymbals crashing body crushing force.

When they are young, these children go into bed around 6:30-7:00. They sleep, like sweet angels, through the night (if you are lucky and are past that infant "baby wakes every 3 hours-or twenty minutes- for a diaper change, bottle, nurse, binky, chicken caesar wrap [or whatever]" phase). Yes, if you are lucky and you have a toddler, that child sleeps through the evening hours while you are busy greedily capturing some time for yourself. You are doing laundry or catching up on emails or, as I tell in an earlier post, staring at the wall. You fall into bed around 11 and that toddler decides to be done sleeping at 5am.

(bear in mind you haven't gotten 6 hours of uninterrupted sleep because at some point during the night your husband drapes his arm across your face or the dog steps on your throat or the 4 year old needs a snuggle).

Anyway.
At 5am that toddler does not wake with the same molasses slow process we adults do. Oh. No. Sir. Eee.
That toddler wakes ready to motherfuckin' play.

Nope, play is not the right word.
That toddler wakes ready to interACT.
To bang pots.
To throw shoes at your head.

To communicate in the only way that they know how.
The high pitched wake the hibernating squirrels scream.

At this point, as an exhausted parent, you become irrational.
You bargain with God.
You offer to BECOME a hibernating squirrel.
You offer to do and give anything for five more minutes of sleep in a bed that seems like Mecca.

You think to yourself, if the doorbell rang and a stranger was standing there and that stranger offered to take my sweet child for the hours between 5 and 7:30am, I would give that stranger my child and crawl guiltlessly back into bed.

But, no such stranger comes and you find yourself peering out the window into the dark and seeing if there are lights in your neighbor's windows. Not because you would go over and knock on their door and hand over your toddler. No, you look to see if any other human is experiencing the same suffering as you.

Let me tell you, they are not.
They are sleeping.

And you. You? You, are feeding your toddler blueberry yogurt. You are gathering up dropped smashed cheerios because even the dog doesn't get up this early. You are playing farm. Picking up a thrown spoon.

By the time you speak to normal waking humans at around 8am, you realize that you have been awake for three hours.

Wanna torture prisoners of war?
Give em' a toddler and run.

I'm looking at the wall.

I am 17 years old and I have taken a sick day. Truth be told, I’m not that sick. I could definitely have muscled though it and gone to school. But, I didn’t. I stayed home. My brother is at school. My parents are at work. And I am alone. At home. It’s around 11 in the morning.  The Today Show is over and The Price is Right (circa Bob Barker and bad wooden dinette sets) is about to come on. I run up to the kitchen for a snack and notice the sun pattern on the hardwoods. I stop. I realize that I can’t remember if I have ever seen 11a.m. weekday sunbeams in the house:

“Look at how motionless everything is; see how the light comes through the drapes like that?”

 I feel excited to be still and watching the living room.

 I think to myself, “When will I see these sunbeams again?”

I feel exhilaration and vindication.

I am justified in being home. How could I have witnessed that moment of stillness if I had been in Mr. DeFeo’s English class?

15 years later, sitting quietly poses a challenge. I am almost always doing something. I am moving. I am chasing my children. Reading a book. Folding laundry. Making dinner. Typing an email. Teaching a class. Going to a class. Going for a walk. Coordinating pickups and drop offs. Breaking up sibling arguments. You get the point. And, if you are a quasi normal human being, you are likely doing the same.

You are busy. Life is busy.

Once, one of my mommy girlfriends shared a secret with me: “Sometimes, when the baby is napping and I have a moment to myself,” she said with a smile, “I sit on the couch and stare at the wall.”

“Ha!” I said, “I do the same thing.”

Of course, this kind of typically guilt ridden quality quiet time has been something I have enjoyed since pre-mommy days. I find that the guilt doesn’t rise up if I am caught up on everything I am supposed to be doing (yeah, right). Guilt makes an appearance as I am carving out silent doing nothing time when, in actuality, I have seven zillion things I should be doing.

And, what’s worse, I am reachable (and therefore accountable) 100% of the time. Information is pouring in in endless ways-like a stock ticker in my brain. Even when I am trying to shut down and breathe, the information is present and, therefore, pulling and nagging at my consciousness. My text alerts are beeping while my email is refreshing as my facebook notifications are scrolling and my tweets are tweeting. And, for me, it’s like the call of a Siren. Goddamnit, try as I might, I can’t turn my back to it.

So, even when I am trying hard to succeed at doing nothing, I am doing something.

In a recent Sunday Times business section article, Phyllis Korkki reasons, “More devices can lead to more multitasking, which, though viewed by many as a virtue, has been shown to interfere with concentration. More devices also harbor more vortexes of distraction, like Facebook, shopping sites and cute animal videos.”

I mean, seriously, how many of us even just watch TV anymore? My husband and I bounce back and forth between conversation and the show on the tube and the updates on our Iphones. Have you seen the new TVs (or do you have one) with the Facebook and Twitter applications? Or is your TV linked directly to your computer? You’re watching. You’re checking. You’re reading.

We are never really alone. Our brains are never truly quiet. And, of course, I feel guilty about that.

This year, I resolve to carve out some time for guilt- free- 11a.m.- sun- drenched- motionless relaxation.

After all, it’s not doing nothing if doing nothing is what you are doing.