A few nights ago I rented the movie "Phoebe in Wonderland", as it looked like an interesting movie to to watch with my daughter. I hadn't seen the trailer, but the write up on the back had me convinced it would be the type of movie we could sit and watch together while discussing the issues being presented. We had done the same with "Clarissa", the American Girl movie, and got a lot out of the experience. Half way through the movie, despite my daughter really enjoying it, I realized it was far more adult intended than a child's movie. Much to her dismay, we shut it down and finished watching it on my own later in the evening. Without giving much away, I highly recommend the movie to all mothers struggling with the reality of trying to be everything to everyone while attempting to raise well adjusted children.With that being said, the title of my post become relevant. As summer comes to an end for us with school going back next week, I'm finding my patience level for children to be nearly non-existent. They have not changed, and are most likely just looking for a little structure and mommy created fun, but I am missing the spark to create. I want to be left alone, perhaps for weeks, with nothing but a good book or 10, and silence. I am feeling very unbalanced, yet trapped and at a loss for a way to get balanced. My husband would argue that I simply have too much time on my hands, thus have time to think myself in to misery. Which leads me to my second experience from an external source - Eat, Pray, Love.
In her above mentioned book, Elizabeth Gilbert is able to find balance. I was completely connected to her search for balance, peace and meaning during the majority of the book. However, towards the end, as I put it down at a call to duty, I was engulfed with anger - or perhaps jealousy. With no one but herself to be accountable to or for, a bank account filled with cash, and time - she was able to finally settle herself enough to know herself and get herself back on track after disappearing from the real world. (I type this as my 5 yr old sits beside me in a multiple room house blowing a whistle). By the end of the book I had shifted from being a convert wanting to take up yoga to a cynic believing it may be another 20 yrs until my search for meaning can begin.
Even though I have bounced between two completely different thoughts (being trapped and being free), the issue that remains constant in these two stories it a search for doing the right thing - right for self and right for others. Is this not the eternal struggle of motherhood? As much as I wanted to be Elizabeth Gilbert in the moment (as I do right now, rather than listening to a whistle), I see my current state of reality far more that of the mother in the movie. My goal now is to become the women somewhere in between.
