Monday, February 2, 2009
I just spent the night with Russell and Annie in Manhattan. John, too. no kids. Spent the day walking and buying fabric, eating and drinking and just listening and looking. It is so hard to be in such an orgy of sensation and then return to this life of mothering. I'm trying very hard to see my children as my art, my work.. so that I can feel the power and majesty of creating that R and A must feel so often. The problem, of course, is that the boys are alive- they make their own movements away/towards/up/down/in/out with absolutely no regard for my plans or desires for their completion. While I type, and the baby would ideally be asleep- instead he rolls on the floor and cries intermittently for attention/food/expression. And I lose track of what to say and how I feel about the beauty of other lives and what looks like ease in a world where kids are what belong to others.