There are times when I wish I was a better Gemini or that I wish I could balance things better:
Working mother and homemaker.
Photographer and writer.
Wife and mom.
Gardener and crafter.
Peace-seeker and political activist.
Business and rest.
There are times when I feel so overwhelmed by all of the things I must do and by the longing for the things I want to do that I can accomplish neither of them.
There are times when I look at the women who seem to do all the things, who can volunteer at the school and work and make pillowcase dresses for their kids and have Teh Hot Seks with their mates, and I want to punch them square in the throat. Or demand that they tell me what the secret is. And I don't mean the secret to how to get all the things done; I mean the secret that they surely must be hiding somewhere beneath the well-moisturized skin and perfect hair.
There are times that I read blogs where women walk all day long through houses that are not only CLEAN but WELL-DECORATED and I wish I could vacation in those homes and lives, while my kids eat homemade black currant and coconut ice cream and play with the heirloom chickens in the backyard. And when I get back to my own home, it will be layered with beautifully refinished thrift store finds and modern lamps and tastefully eclectic art on the walls.
There are times when the religiosity of the culture in which I live grates against my soul to the point that I almost can't draw breath and I feel despair at ever finding the energy to explore and share my own faith and spirit as openly as I need to.
There are times when the cycle of getting the kids up and to a sitter and then getting me to work and the pictures taken and then back to the house and the meals and clothes and bedtimepleasegotobedsoIcanplaythisvideogamewithoutguilt will break me. I just know it. I will break into a million pieces and fly away on the wind.
Thank the Park Ranger...then.
The times when my children shout "Huzzah!" at the Ren Fest.
The times when the second pepper seedling breaks through.
The times when I get the perfect shot of the newborn.
The times when a weekend with my parents and brothers and the land and the river is waiting like a medal for good behavior.
The times when it will rain for days and we'll read in the library together under piles of blankets and the dog.
The times of quiet, in the morning before the day is really started, when I can write out my frustrations in a place that is my own and that is visited by people with a vested interest in whatever me it is that I wind up being.
Those times get me through.