mother ad revisited 2

There are women who answered my ad and women who didn't but considered it and women who wondered what kind of crazy person would place this type of ad and those that thought it was a joke and the one who recently wrote to me to ask me what ever became of my ad that her friend had told her about.

mother ad revisited

Subject: Re: your ad in NY Review of Books

Hi - I was wondering if you ever received an answer (or answers) to your advertisement.   A friend of mine saw it when it came out and just told me about it the other day. 

Thanks for your time.

Sincerely,
Anne Longley

motherly criticism 9

So what is the remedy for rejection?  Encouragement.  Recognition.  Acceptance.  So in other words Mother is the essential and fundamental cure for dismissal.  Kris asked me what my ultimate goal is for this blog.  Today I will share my desire without fear of ridicule.  I want to write a book based on the material I post.  Today I ask my readers to enact the role of mother for me.  Share your thoughts on the path of this blog. Offer suggestions. Ask for more of particular topics.  If you enjoy reading this blog, please send the link to others and broaden my audience, push me to continue.

motherly criticism 8

I begin to type the first missed week with the loss of the computer.  The physical act of typing and making a dent in this lost time feels good.  Now I am reclaiming.  Right now.  This moment.   The comeback of the rejected writer...

motherly criticism 7

When I hold my pen to paper, my intention to write feels solid.  The hand holds the pen, the pen releases the ink, words become visible to my eyes.  This is my doing.  These are my thoughts, transferred from mind to notebook.  I must have faith in these hands that have faciliated many things.  When my mind reminds me that I have no talent, that my prose is ordinary, the concept weak, I keep my hands moving.  I cradle the baby, embrace my husband, play with the dogs, and keep pen to paper.

motherly criticism 6

My grandmother never let me perform even the most menial acts around the house because she believed me too stupid to use a toaster, turn on the oven, boil water. Everything belonged to her-- the appliances, electronics, faucets, even the keys, especially the keys-- and I never dare touch anything but my own toys for fear of a strong hand or even stronger words.

motherly criticism 5

Tary calls me on resuming my notebook habit. Where are the posts? I am rightfully accused of committing the very sin I was meant to avoid--overly scrutinizing myself, hiding my work, fearing more than producing. I've dug myself a deep hole because now I need the time to type it all in and who has that kind of time right now when Sasha has decided he doesn't need to nap during the day.

Send them to me then and I will type them in, Tary offers.

Ever think of just tackling them one at a time, Lori counters.

Now that's an idea.

mother joy

Sasha and I stroll through New Canaan this evening instead of our usual woods walk.  At every crosswalk and corner, someone stops to congratulate me.  People comment on how alert Sasha is, how connected.  Lucky for you.  How wonderful.  Congratulations.  I just adore him, I exclaim, and I do.  Looking down at his goofy little face, I realize that I am doing something right.

motherly criticism 4

Elana sent me a video of my niece, Emma, performing in one of her guitar concerts.  My mother-in-law wonders who would have the courage to get up and sing as Emma does.  Watching Emma always makes me think back to my childhood and the many stages where I danced in recitals and talent shows.  But I never had a mother like Elana bolstering me the way Elana does for Emma.  I wish Elana was my mother, I say, which sounds kind of strange, but I mean it.  She is the champion of love, encouragement and recognition.  She is the queen mother of instilling self- esteem. I just want to drag Elana back in time and look out into the audience and see her cheering me on as I push my body to its limits.  Perhaps instead I can drag her across the country and into my office and have her give me a good old motherly thumbs up as I sit in front of this computer.

motherly criticism 3

This morning Lori tells me that I must resurrect the Blog.  She reminds me once again of what she always tries to instill in me--her theory that what people say is more a reflection of their own issues than anything to do with with me.  She may be right but I've lost my way.   My compromise is to keep writing on paper, one minute, two minutes, five minutes, anything to rediscover my direction.  I seem to be writing mainly about not writing and the many reasons I am not doing what I claim to desire.  So full with this story, I no longer sleep but I don't get up to write because it feels irresponsible. Shouldn't I conserve my energy for my child?  With each word I dare to commit, I hear Kris's voice join my own.  Then the dogs howl to go out, and Sasha cries for me.   A chorus of discouragement: What are you thinking?  You must stop this farce.  

motherly criticism 2

I want to write but I can't.  I turn on the computer, even click on Blogger, but laying my fingers on the keyboard exhausts me.  My mind is relentless.  Who am I as a writer?  Do I have anything to contribute?  Will anyone take me seriously?  Is this the death of my blog? Old habits resurface; I put my pen to paper instead.   I have failed at so many things.  Must I also fail at this?  And so soon.

motherly criticism

My friend, Kris, had never read any of this blog until her visit. I wasn't completely surprised when she shared this with me as she'd told me not to write it in the first place. She believes that writing about my mothering issues does nothing but rehash old wounds, the echoes of my life, and that I should direct myself instead toward the future. But motherhood saturates me all the more now that I am a mother. This subject feels substantial to me, essential, fertile, what I want to write down. And so without her blessing, I launched this blog and hoped that when she read an entry she might proclaim her discouragement a mistake.

independent mother 5

My friend Kris arrived from LA today.  She told me this evening that she's never seen me more content, that motherhood has really settled me.  Polly had said something similar to me yesterday, that she's never heard me sound so good.  With this crazy week, it is comforting that what my friends notice about me is a calm, confident mother.  Janet is the perfect all natural anti-anxiety drug for new mothers.  And it seems that her half-life is long; I feel her in me still--reassuring me.  And while I don't exactly feel calm or confident, what I have discovered about myself this week is that what I feel most despite the chaos around me is joy.  I love evolving as a mother.

independent mother 4

I am in such an anxious state over the computer, all I can do as I await the news is stay grounded in Sasha and what he needs. I read and sing and walk and play and bathe and feed and feed and feed this lovely little boy. During the day this physical act of childrearing keeps me sane and content but at night when he is asleep in his crib, I begin to worry that he will die during those hours alone and I will find him still in the morning.

independent mother 3

My fear of losing everything hums along inside me in the face of this computer crash.   When the on-site technician arrives to evaluate my computer, he tells me without a doubt that the hard drive is dead.  He then surprises me with a new concern--that something seems off with my automatic external hard drive.  For some reason the date of the last backup was a year prior when I installed the drive.  Now I am in a full blown panic.  Have I lost all of Sasha's photos and videos?  Have I not done enough to safeguard my life?  Apparently I haven't.  He advises that I use no less than three back-up methods for my computer treasures.  

Is there a way to back up all of my life? I need to find a way to safeguard us.   

Today is a day that I wish Janet was here to tell me that all will be well.  

independent mother 2

Today my computer screen blanked out while I was pumping. I had just finished breastfeeding and Sasha was sitting beside me on the bed contently playing with his Whoozit rattle in a nice solid milk coma so I foolishly imagined I would have the time to call Apple and quickly resolve the problem. All started off well. The technician took me through several steps to assess the situation, Sasha was still happy, the pumps were pumping along. Suddenly the sky turned black, thunder boomed, the dogs barked frantically. The dogs were still outside from our walk. I'd forgotten to bring them inside in my rush to feed Sasha. Without pause, Sasha began to cry, not his whimpering slowly building cry, but his full blown scream, face blotchy and purple, arms flailing.

independent mother

You will never be alone. I know that you fear this but I wouldn't let it happen.

My cousin, Jill, closed a letter to me last night with these words. I'm not sure if she realizes the significance of her words. I can't think of a single day since I developed a sense of self that I have not been scared to death of what will happen to me.

losing a mother 4

I've tried everything. I told Janet about the outbreak of measles in Brooklyn, that people are being run down by the police in Manhattan, that my milk has dried up from the stress and that Sasha is going on a hunger strike in protest but still I see her this morning, washing the linens, packing, organizing her room. Janet is preparing to leave. I am trying to prepare for this as well but how can I really prepare myself to see her drive away for the last time?

losing a mother 3

Everything Janet and I do together today feels like the last, especially as the day ends. Our last bath. Last time putting him to bed together. Last dinner. Last goodnight. It is all I can do to stop myself from crying every time I open my mouth.

losing a mother 2

On my way to the market I ask Janet if she needs anything.

"I need some soy milk but I'll only be here two more days."

Every time we have one of these moments that bring her departure to the forefront, my throat closes, tears press forward and I must leave the room.

As I begin to move through the aisles, I have to stop myself from reaching for the things she usually requests. I am so used to Janet being here, it's hard for me to remember what it was like before she came.

My neighbor John already speaks of Janet in the past tense. "Janet was a real find for you."

When I tell Janet, she says, "Don't speak of me in the past. I'm not dead. I'm just a phone call away. You and I are not going to say goodbye, just farewell for now."

That all sounds good but no matter how much she reassures me, I know that come Friday it will not be the same. I will not wake up to find Janet here in the house. We will not tend to Sasha together throughout each day. I will no longer have this little family we've created all under one roof.

But today I allow myself to smile and buy all of Janet's favorites as if Friday is not two days away.