“It's not that I don't want to, I just don't want to today
I'm not a fan of mornings and I love my chardonnay
No, I'm not saying never, I won't wish it all away
But my name can't be Mama today, oh no
My name can't be Mama today”
I’ve been feeling these lyrics from The Highwomen down to my bones. The problem is, I’m not sure what I want my name to be. I don’t want to be wife or chef or maker of the plans or keeper of the plans or volunteer or house cleaner or writer and definitely not mama. Being buried under the weight of expectations and obligations and the never-ending cycle of all the things has been exhausting. Debilitating.
Maybe it’s a case of the Januaries. Maybe it’s coming up on six years of motherhood. Maybe it’s the relentless to-do list and the house that devolves into chaos the second I’ve brought it to any sort of order. Maybe it’s the fact that the children have been louder than usual lately. (Kids: “Hey Google: volume eight.” Me: “Hey Google: absolutely NOT!”) Maybe it’s having things on our calendar every day of the week. Take your pick. But I’ve been feeling like I could crawl out of my skin.
These photos don’t do that feeling justice. In fact, upon reflection, as I sat down to edit, they look refreshing. That mid-afternoon winter light is a trickster. It makes even those loads of laundry look inviting.
Maybe that’s the lesson here, that there is beauty in the ordinary. Maybe even the tasks that are on repeat, that have been on repeat for years, are still beautiful.
Maybe it’s a reminder that there is beauty in this place even when I don’t see it. Maybe there’s beauty even if I don’t feel like being Mama.
As the lyrics say, “I’m not saying never, I won’t wish it all away”.
There is beauty here. I see it. Even when I just can’t be Mama.
Photo credit @pheonixfeatherscalligraphy for C+C, 2020.