A Snippet from my Suburban Birds Zine

It's only a week to go until my exhibition and zine launch!

I am simultaneously excited and terrified.

And busy.  There is always more to do.

Consequently, I did not post a blog yesterday.  So decided instead, to post a snippet from my zine for your perusal.  Enjoy!  The zine will be released next Saturday (25th of November) and you can purchase it from me for $15.  OR ask your local library if they'd like to buy a copy.  It's registered with an ISBN so totally easy for them to buy.

 Me in the pink - a country kid                

Nostalgia and Sense of Self               

 

This project was born of nostalgia.  Growing up on farms one of my favourite things to do was to lie in the paddocks' long grass and wait.  Eventually, the curious cattle would move so close I could peer right up into their wet noses and grass stained grins.  I would lie prone as long as my little body could hold the suspense, then leap up chortling at the terror I unleashed in the eyes of my horrified friends.  I climbed low branched trees and perched, with pen and paper, to write poems and short fictions while watching the birds above and the sheep below.              

For a time, at a very deep level of my consciousness this aspect of my person seemed lost.  Moving to the suburbs to start a family reinforced this sense of loss.  I never expected to raise children in the suburbs.  I never expected this because I could not imagine anything more amazing than growing up in the isolated country as I did.  And I naively assumed that either I would never have children, or that somehow having children would herald a return to rural life.

So I never expected to be a suburban housewife.  Most of the previous ten years of my life near the city I lived a frenetic life: day jobs, art projects, nights filled with gigs, openings and book launches.  

   Me featured in Black Magazine -
     Crazy knitting housewife lady

But somehow I simultaneously predicted this future.  I parodied housewifery through my work at design school.  I printed scenes of my family scrap-booking.  I knitted mundane objects – like life-size lamp-posts to poke fun at the every day.  My work investigated the meditative qualities of repetition, and its relationship to the female experience.  Life in the suburbs always struck me as so banal, so boring.  And in my view of my self – an art student who made ridiculous unmarketable objects - I was neither of those things.

But there I was, another suburban housewife.  Two children in under two years, pushing a Mountain Buggy with one hand, while pulling a reluctant toddler along with the other.  It felt simultaneously unreal and like the natural trajectory of my life.  I both missed my former life, and felt grateful for the excuse (children) to no longer live it.

But the longer I stayed away from my the book launches and exhibition openings the more invisible I began to feel.  I felt an enormous sense of loss, not just in the divide between myself and my childless friends, but in my sense of self.  I have always been a creative - but becoming a Mum sapped me of creative energy.  Before pregnancy I always planned on my kids having the most amazing knitted clothing and toys.  Pregnancy stole my brain; I locked the workplace toilet key in the toilet four times, I couldn't write my own patterns any more.

 Motherhood: Completely changed my world

And once my first child was born I couldn't write poetry either.  Holding this small thing my partner and I had made and were wholly responsible for made poetry seem pretty redundant.  How could anything matter as much as this small person?  How could I ever write anything as meaningful as her existence?  I attempted writing many times and deleted every line.  It all felt so dishonest.

Whilst genuinely enjoying the journey of motherhood, this inability to create fed my anxiety.

In times of difficulty in managing my mental health I have regularly returned to gratitude.  Regular contemplation of the things you are grateful for is a researched, proven and simple method to manage depression.  And it's a method that has always worked for me.  On one of my many excursions into getting well I realised how regularly what I was most grateful for, was the birds.

 

A rosella would flit briefly into the macrocarpa tree overhanging our driveway.  A sparrow would turn its head just so and throw me a cheeky look.  A blackbird would perch on the neighbours rooftop and its sing its little heart out just to mark the coming dusk.

In discovering how much of a salve birds were to my mental state, I began to wonder why.  Why did these little brown sparrows have the capacity to impact my life so profoundly?

Photograph from Day 6

I realised it was because I felt akin to the sparrows.  As a housewife, I felt like I had become invisible.  I was there, I existed, I went places and I did things, but because of my feelings of what it meant to be 'just a housewife' I did not really exist.  The sparrows were the same.  They were everywhere, they are brown and dull.  But looking closely you come to see them as individuals.  Like us, they live their lives in patterns, but moment to moment they can be dazzling and funny and beautiful.  Capturing a bird in a moment of joy is a window into a glorious life.

Seeing this in the birds, truly seeing it, day after day began to give my life more relevance.  Not only mine, but the lives of my peers.

In writing off my suburban parenthood as invisible, I had written off the value of my friends and family who were also parents.  This was not a conscious thing.  I am a feminist.  I strongly value women's work and experience, particularly that of parents.  But my belief in the value of the varied experiences of women was meaningless if I couldn't apply it to myself.

The birds brought back the little girl laid out in the paddock.  They built the bridge back through time to the suspense before the joy of simple things.  They showed me I had the capacity to completely engage with nature where-ever I was.  Because it was part of who I was.  They helped me value my experience, and the experiences of other suburban Mums. 

Discovering the birds reconnected me to my creative self.

 Fantail - drawing from earlier this week

On Having Amazing Mum Friends

I have some amazing Mum friends.

I have Mum friends that keep their houses tidy.

I have Mum friends that also have successful careers.

I have Mum friends that run marathons.

I have Mum friends with amazing hair.

I have Mum friends that are work and write amazing plays.

I have Mum friends who still create and exhibit art in galleries 

I have Mum friends that write award nominated books. 

                Andra, I think you're amazing

I have Mum friends that have no family close by.

 

I have Single Mum friends.

And while I love my family and life, it is a daily struggle not to compare myself with my many  successful Mum friends.

 

I am not sure if this is a thing that Mums from creative backgrounds struggle with more intently than regular Mums.  But I think not.  I think most Mums probably compare themselves in some ways with others.  And while I'm sure this has always been the case (how does Mrs Jones get her nappies so white?), I also think the advent of social media has exacerbated the ways in which we compare ourselves.

How do they get their nappies so white?  Maybe sunshine?

Because now we have an insight into our Mum friends kids lunchboxes, holidays, meal plans, work-life balance and how fine they're looking post baby-belly.

And it's tough.

At the moment my house is a shambles.  The rubbish bins need to be emptied.  The fridge and freezers need to be cleaned out.  The bathroom needs a general scrub and the kids rooms are both atrocious.  I did clean my bedroom this week - the state it was in was starting to impact on my sleep.  I am embarrassed to have my Mum over and fearful that - post recent surgery - she will tidy up while Abby and I nap (she did, by the way).

The house looks like shit but look! I drew this bird.

There are a multitude of reasons for this mess.  The main one being that I am working on my Suburban Birds project to get it set for the zine to launch in a few weeks.  And Abby's started waking more overnight and starts her day at 5am.  And I have been quite unwell this week and struggling to do anything.  And I have pre-schoolers who, bless their wee souls, leave a path of destruction in their wake.  So I tend to focus on the necessary cleaning (pee, poo, washing, dishes) and leave the rest.

But somehow in a few weeks, the parts of the house that will be seen will be clean enough, my zine will be complete* and my exhibition will be hung.  And even though this is the first time I've exhibited work since I've had kids, or written anything that's been (self)published, and even though my Christmas shopping is still not done, the garden has gone to pot and the floor in the kitchen still needs replacing I am sure I will have some Mum friends that will think 'How does she manage this when she's a Mum?'

Ahhh, my beautiful jelly.                 

What you can't see here is that it didn't set properly.

We need to remember that people clean up before we visit them.  That the biscuits they've given us aren't necessarily the first batch, and that some people have childcare available.  We need to remember that what we're seeing and comparing ourselves with is only what is presented to us - it's just a tiny snippet of someone else's life.  And on social media these snippets are edited and selected to put our best face forward.

When we compare ourselves to others we are often missing most of the picture.  We usually don't know how much people earn, their family circumstances, their expectations, their experience.  We don't know how much support people have, how healthy they are, if they have cleaners or nannies or family support.  We may know some of these things - particularly of our close friends - but it's unlikely we have the full picture most of the time.

It has taken me a long time to come to terms with the fact that I simply need more sleep to be functional than some people I know**.  Consequently, I have less productive hours in the day to work with.  Rather than feeling guilty or comparing myself to people with different circumstances, I should focus on what I am doing with the hours I have.  And to remember there are people who need more sleep that have even less time than me.

Check out this photo of a pigeon!  
Don't look in my kitchen...

And because I am embarrassed by the shambolic aspects of my life I, like many others, only post the images that project the image of myself, or my family, that I want people to see.  We have to realise that while we're busy coveting some aspect of another amazing Mums life, someone is likely coveting yours.

We are all amazing Mums*** in some form or another.  Rather than coveting those other amazing Mums we should revel in the amazing things we have, the amazing things we do and the amazing people we are.  Because within the context of our own lives - these snippeted highlights - even if they may seem small in the context of the larger world - are still extraordinary.


* It will not be perfect, but it will exist as a physical object in the world.

** I am pretty sure this is from when I had undiagnosed Glandular Fever in my early 20's as this seems to be when it started.  My immunity is awesome - I am seldom sick - so long as I get enough rest.  It's not a crazy amount - just 7 to 8 hours of quality sleep - but difficult to achieve with kids and intermittent insomnia.  I note this sleep thing because I know some people I know feel like 4 to 5 hours is ample.  And I kinda envy them.

*** You may not be someone's Mum exactly, but I'm sure you will Mum someone (colleagues, parents, guinea pigs).  And even if you don't - pretty sure this thing probably applies to most people.  Aside from those who think they are better than everyone.
 

On The Problem With Thursdays

Does anyone else get anxious about downtime?

Every Thursday my Mother and Father in law take the kids.
For.  The.  Whole.  Day.

How lucky am I as a mostly stay at home Mum of two pre-schoolers?  In case you don't know the answer to that - so friggin lucky?

The kids chillin' with Poppa - works for me!     

   

The problem is that before the kids have even left the house on Thursday, I start freaking out.  Because it is the only day of the week I can do things around the house that are tricky to do with small children.

In our house this means anything that I need to concentrate to do.  Because two preschoolers = being interrupted every few minutes.

And I'm supposed to also use this time to help manage my mental health by doing things like:

• Resting
• Basic self care (shower/bath)
• Socialising
• Medical appointments
• Other self care (bird watching/going to a movie/walking/just chilling)

I did take myself to go see Flatliners the first Thursday I had with no kids.  Loved it

And it's just plain easier to do some of the household chores without kids like:

• Grocery shopping
• Large amounts of clothes/bedding washing
• Concentrated* gardening (or dangerous gardening like lopping tree branches)
• Concentrated food prep (complex meal or things like jam or sweets)
• Vacuuming more than one room at a time
• General tidying

And at the moment I am trying to do numerous things which require a level of concentration to do including (but not limited to):

• Writing blog posts
• Sanding and re-painting the hallway
• Working on my art projects for an upcoming exhibition
• Packing half of the house (our floors are getting replaced at unknown date in future and we must move everything out of half of the house with 48 hours notice.  So I'm opting to pack all unnecessary things now to avoid future stress and hassle).

 So what has been happening fairly often since I got my Thursdays back (In laws were away in Africa for 7 weeks and was working Thursdays before that) is that I actually have a panic attack on Thursday mornings.  I am so overwhelmed by having this precious gift of alone time, and feel terrified that I will somehow squander it.  And then it'll be another week until I have this time again.

A regular Thursday list             

        

One of my coping strategies - just generally for life - is that every morning I write a list of what I'd
like to get done.  Over time I have learned I need to include things like resting and socialising to ensure I don't forget to just chill out for a bit, or feel guilty for going 'off list' if I do so.  What has been happening on Thursdays is that the list of what I would like to get done is often so extensive that I know I have to be on task all day to get it done.  Like, even if 'seeing a movie' is on the list there is a scheduled time for it, and I cannot deviate from that or I won't get the rest of the list of 'proper jobs' done.

Every Thursday morning feels like I'm prepping to run a marathon.

There are a number of practical solutions that would remedy this.  One would be doing more things in the evenings.  The only problem with this is that my brain is a day-time brain, and functions less well at night (particularly when I'm lacking in sleep, which is often the case).  So while I can do something things at night (and do) like photo editing and stream-of-conscious style writing, I can't do stuff that requires brain like editing or drawing.  The other solution would be to palm this work off onto the weekends.  Unfortunately, I work on Sundays and Saturdays is the only day of the week we get to spend together as a family, so it is difficult to justify using that precious window of time for things other than that.

But this Thursday I did something different.

On Wednesday night I was well aware that I had a day of potential freak out ahead.  After a big talk with Murray about general stuff (which was very helpful) I had a moment of clarity.  There are many genuine reasons for me to feel anxious at the moment.  But the biggest thing causing me issues is fear around my upcoming exhibition.

Having not had work on public display for a long time, it's natural I'm anxious about exhibiting.  It's also the first time I will have shown work alone outside of an educational setting.  I am used to the teamwork of an exhibition, the camaraderie, having people to critique your work and how you choose to show it.  This time it's all on me.  And even though this is not exactly a 'professional' exhibition, and have just opened it up to friends and whanau, it still feels like a big deal.  Because it's the culmination of a year of exploration.

I realised I had fallen back into the trap of trying to make things 'perfect'.  That when things were not working out according to my plan, rather than making a plan B I was just stuck.  And things were often not going to plan as I had kids now, and less time and brain, and should have been creating plans B through Z to manage this.  Instead, my anxiety would trigger because I felt stuck and that time was slipping away.  Consequently, I was getting little done which amplified this feeling. 

Magical list of wiseness.  What a difference a day makes, huh?

So on Wednesday night I wrote an extensive list of what I wanted to get done for the exhibition - including finishing the hallway, and the zine.  Then honestly ticked whether each item was 'necessary' or 'optional'.  This cut my list of what actually needed to be done down massively.  I then planned out the next three weeks with what actually needed to get done to be on track to having a finished show.

Yesterday I woke up, and felt a little anxious.  But I had a list.  I had a list which I knew was completely possible to achieve within the timeframe and incorporated in rest and downtime.  And I knew that I would not be behind schedule if I completed this list as in, I still had ample time to complete the rest of the tasks for this week.

And I had a great day.  I stuck to my list.  I fulfilled my tasks.  I was chilled out enough that I could actually nap - something I haven't been able to do during my 'rest' day Thursdays for about a month now due to chronic anxiety and/or time constraints.  And I managed to work whilst watching crappy wondrous TV - just like I used to do back at art school - one of my favorite work methodologies.  And I was happy with the work I got done.  In fact, I only have one more 'job' left to do this week to keep on track for the exhibition.

I drew something I like!

 

And while focusing on the exhibition meant not focusing on my blog, or the housework or a fancy dinner - the sky did not fall on my head.  And in reality I still actually vacuumed part of the house, cleaned the oven, washed the dishes and did two loads of washing and packed another box for when the floor gets done - so it wasn't like the house was ignored.

And also it provided some fodder for this cheat blog...

* As opposed to haphazard gardening - which I do irregularly with the kids (they're happy, and small bits get done - so I'm happy)