Last Minute, Free or Cheap, Creative Mother's Day Gifts

This year has been so in flux, that I haven't much thought about mother's day. Not for myself as a mom, and not for my mother, either.

But here I am on Mother's Day, with an unexpected day off from my brand new job, and I am wondering again, what are the ways I can celebrate my mother... or for that matter, what are the things I would like to have for myself that aren't about buying something or planning for it way back in January?

• Pick a bouquet of wildflowers. (Please stay out of the neighbors' gardens.)
• Take mom for a sunset picnic, weather permitting, or if a full meal is not in the cards, how about sunset tea and cake al fresco. Or if it's cold and wet, spread a blanket on the living room floor and make it an indoor picnic.
  
• A List Poem about mom. There is no need to have flowery language or perfect grammar here. Just write up a list of the little things that make up who your mom is to you. Tell the concrete details that you come back to you when you close your eyes. The smells, the things she always wore or kept near her, the things she did that made you feel special, the sound of her laughter, her habitual sayings. Start listing. When it feels right, stop. Write it on a nice peace of paper, maybe with a pretty sticker or sketch to go with it, and there you are.
• If the mom is the mom of young babies who can't quite make something, how about a simple hand print or foot print.
• A cake, home made. I think we under appreciate the value of pastry made from scratch. It's not how fancy it's decorated, it's the effort and intention that goes in to making a treat.
• How about cleaning the house top to bottom. I can't even imagine how excited that would make me.
• Time off. An afternoon, a day, a week... whatever fits into your life. Give mom a break from the duties of being a mom. From being the primary care giver, house cleaner, cook, chauffer, grocery shopper, etc. Give her the time to focus on her own self.
  
• If you want to, create the classic coupon gift book of services. Anything from the above housekeeping kind of services to kisses and hugs and back rubs. It depends on what the Mom in question likes, and can be totally personalized to her.
• Or how about time. Give your mom time. Do you live far away? Schedule phonecalls on a regular basis. Do you live near? How about a weekly date with your mom for an activity of her choice.
• Don't forget the good old home made card. If you earnestly put your heart into it, make it something she would love, write about your true feelings and gratitude, decorate it with images that are meaningful, this could become a keepsake, not just another Hallmark to get stuffed into the box in the back closet.
• A collage of images. It could be one totally dedicated to her life, or your memories of her as your mom, or even of yourself, if she is distant and you want to share your life with her. Don't use valuable or irreplaceable original photos, you wouldn't want to ruin them. But you can easily color photocopy a whole page full and use those in your collage. Use paints and images and rubber stamps to fill the page. Write about the images, or tell stories.
• Take out your camera, digital and/or film, and do a photoshoot of the family. Have everyone dress up and find a picturesque spot, and just take pictures of everything, both posed shots and live candids.
  
• How silly is your mom? Would she enjoy it if you made her a princess crown out of tin foil and cardboard and a wand from a stick and Christmas tinsel? You could paint a sash with the words "World's Best Mom" or "Momzilla Princess" or "Our Sweetheart" depending on the personality of all involved. Drape her favorite chair with a pretty scarf and make it her throne from which to direct the evening-- her choice. A good tearjerker DVD. A family game of Monopoly. A Disco Dance Party. Or maybe kids and dad go out and leave the house to Mom, peacefully, quietly.

There are so many things you could do for your mother. All you have to do is think about who she is and what she likes. It really is the thought that counts, even if you don't have the money for a diamond tennis bracelet or the time for building her that backyard art studio.

Show her that you love her and want her to be happy, and that you are paying attention to who she is. I think that would make any mother happy.

How To Find Your Passion

This is a wide world. There are many thousands of possibilities to take advantage of, and many more paths to take. The question is, which one to take? What do I choose? What do I really want to devote my attention, time and energy to?

Recently, I've been turning to the past for my own answers to this.

What are the things I loved as a child? What are the ideas that keep coming back, no matter how many years since I first thought of them? What are the brainstorms I had way back when that stayed with me?

For instance, the idea of the monsters. Painting my little monsters that were inspired by my kids and selling or showing them in some way. Maybe even (some day, not now,) creating a children's book with them. That's an idea that burbled away in my brain for a while, exploded onto the scene in a burst of inspiration, and then swam away again, due to the demands of living life.

Hmm.

Or there's the image of a house, seen from the inside out. I first started drawing cross sections of houses when I was in first or second grade. Inside was furniture, and the inhabitants, going on about their lives. This idea morphed into the desire to be an architect, until I learned how much math it would take. The idea went away for a while until I was much older, then it showed up in my paintings again, in the form of buildings with scaffoldings, or buildings being built out of steel girders, both above and below ground. They were buildings both inside and out. From then on, I have been fascinated by the evocative image of the way the city is built, the houses and apartments fitting together in grids, and the lives burning away inside of those grids. The histories and stories collaged together to create something so very complicated.

Then again, certain ideas have come back again and again. My first attempt at novel writing was in the Science Fiction/Fantasy genre, and that has come back after years of not writing or of trying to write serious literary fiction. My space ships and colony planets are back, along with the relationship of sisters, the power and mystery of the wilderness, and rebellion against oppression.

These ideas, images and questions have come into and gone back out of my life so many times. But they have never gone away.

It is those things that don't go away that have the staying power to feed your passion. It is the dreams that keep poking at you that are the ones from the bottom of your psyche.

How to capture them?

Never throw anything away. Have envelopes to toss them into, or an old trunk or whatever, even if you think you will never look at them again because they are complete trash, DON'T throw them out. Some day, a few weeks from now or a few years, you might go through that pile of discards and discover it wasn't your passion that was lacking, it was your fear and insecurity that was taking over. If you look at that old idea, and the spark comes back and it starts living in you again... hold onto it. (Let us ignore for now the urge to organize and purge and get rid of clutter. For the ideas, don't let them go.)

Another way to track these old passions is to keep a journal and every once in a while go through the old entries and take note of those things that keep coming back, those wishes and hopes and ideas and projects.

If you don't have a backlog of papers and books documenting your old ideas, then time to delve into your biggest storage closet... your memory. Think back to your favorite activities as a child and take them up again. Write about something you loved to do when you were a teenager or young adult and talk about what it was that got you, your feelings and thoughts while you were engaged in the activity. Or talk with a good friend about the dreams you always had, whether those were sleeping dreams or waking ones. Share your dreams and pay attention to those things that keep coming up.

Here's something that you shouldn't worry about: why those dreams went away. Sometimes we aren't ready to go after them. Sometimes they need more time in your subconscious, or you need more time in the world before the seed of the idea can bloom into life.

The important thing is to find those passions that won't go away, no matter how busy you are or what you have to do to pay the rent or where your actual life has taken you. If they keep coming back, if they won't go away, those are your passions-- those are the contents of your soul. Pay attention to them.

How exciting.

What are the ideas and dreams from your past that keep coming back? Can you imagine taking them up again?

The Monsters Inside

I spent some time yesterday painting an unfinished drawing of a few monsters frolicking in the forest. I was just flipping through my journal when I found the drawing and decided to take out my paint set.

The boy was enraptured. So was the girl. They wanted to see the monsters, they wanted to roar and to touch and to see. Something about the monsters on the page lit up a light with in them.

They wanted to help draw, they wanted to paint, too. I took out their paints (instead of mama's nice paints) and let them play around with color and brushes. Ivy spoke a new word. "Paint! Paint!" I also showed them the other drawings I had in the journal, the monsters who I had ignored for the last 6,7,8 months.

It turns out the wild roaring of those monsters will not be silenced by the time or the closed journal. They want to be let out of the cage of mama's busy little head. They want to come back. They want to have more monster buddies to play with.

I wonder if those little monsters I drew for the kids actually have more of a connection to the little monster inside me. Who are they? Nightmares? Defenders? An expression of our own inner power? Maybe they are just about fun and the wild rumpus. It's fun to yell and stomp and dance about, despite what you are "supposed to do."

And then maybe watching the reaction of my kids to my old drawing is an affirmation of something that I knew already but had doubted, and tossed away. There it is: another discovery in how mothering affects our art in surprising ways. I am a monster myself, who has sneaky little desires that will not lay down quietly and go to sleep, and I see myself in my children. And I see myself anew through their eyes.

I have decided that it's time to dust off the old goal of going public with my art, to try and make some money off the work that I have been doing almost my whole life. I think it's the monsters who want to be seen, and to be shared with children of all ages who love the idea of the monster inside.

Secret Weapon: The Bathroom

How does a mom find the time to be creative? Any way she can. Even if she has to sit on the can. Hardee har har.

It's a new tactic I've found. A way to increase my creativity. When I go up to the bathroom, I don't bring the cross word with me, anymore. No magazines. No light reading. Nope, I take my journal and some pens.

That is where I can write an instant poem. Or I can brainstorm a scene in my novel. Or I can sketch a drawing I've been thinking about but never had the opportunity to get started on. I can make lists of what I want to accomplish that day. I can also take the time to write down all the thoughts and feelings whirling around in my head and haven't been able to get out.

Maybe this is just a little corner of that "room of one's own" Virginia Woolf talked about. Maybe this is just a little hint of trying to get back that focus that I used to have before I was a mom. I can stay for longer than the time it takes me to pee, and no body starts yelling at me that the kids need to be changed or they want to go for a walk. It's not a babysitter for the afternoon or a naptime break, but maybe that little bathroom trip can be a pocket break, just enough to keep the creative juices flowing for when you do have an extended period of work time.

Even if I don't manage to actually write that novel up there (I don't know, do you think the extension cord for my computer could reach into the bathroom?) the few moments spent thinking about what is coming next allow me to stay in the mental game of creativity. Even if taking my paints up there would be too awkward, the planning can be done for the real painting can be done, and maybe I'll get so inspired to start, not even a cranky kid can get in my way.

And sometimes, we just need to take those fifteen minutes and focus on what is going on inside of our own heads, instead of what is going on with the kids or the household. Catch those ricocheting thoughts and inspirations before they dissipating into everything we have to do.

The Inspiration to Create

I've been doing this a long time. By "this" I mean being an artist, a writer, a creative. There is nothing like being engaged in the fire of inspiration. Feeling that heat bubble up inside you and burst out onto the page or the stage or the canvas or whatever is your chosen medium. There is nothing like being caught up in the divine flow of creating. It's a natural high. Ecstasy.

There are some people who chase that inspiration their whole lives.

But I'll tell you something else a lot of people don't understand about creating. It isn't actually ABOUT inspiration. Sure inspiration is a part of it, but the biggest part of being creative, I've found is actually the commitment to being creative.

When you commit to being creative, you commit to being present and putting the time into making that art. You commit to facing the things that scare you and working through them. You commit to putting that ass in that chair and just getting to work.

Why do I bring this up today? Because it struck me anew yesterday. Yesterday I was inspired. Thanks to Corey Moortgart and her wonderful art. The pump was primed and the ideas were flowing, but when the kids went down for their nap and I was supposed to pick up my drawing pens and create... I chickened out.

I spent the whole afternoon going through and editing old digital photos, using the excuse that it was "creative" editing. But I knew the truth. I knew I was taking the easy way out, and what I really should have been doing was facing my fears of the blank page, not taking up my valuable nap time with busy work.

I was more committed to my fears and laziness than to my inspiration and creating.

Ahh.

The first step, though, is to realize what the story is. This I did. I realized my stoppage. Good for me.

Next step, re-commit myself to facing the uncertainty of what will come when I put pen to paper.

It doesn't have to be a big step. It doesn't have to be a masterpiece, but it is a step that MUST be taken.

A Royal Pain in the...

I threw my back out putting the baby girl in her crib, something so simple, but it has made me miserable for the past week. Every move I make (except for laying on my back and standing straight up) causes it to twinge. Do you know how hard it is to raise two little children without lifting, twisting, lunging, crawling, reaching, carrying, climbing, and so on?

I think it's getting better, but it's hard to tell, because I can feel better and then pull it again and it starts all over.

The royal pain I refer to in the title, though, is not my back. It's me.

All my energy goes into being in pain, coddling my back, and feeling sorry for myself.

That is the worst, I think, feeling sorry for myself. That is what keeps me from writing, or from taking out my paints, or making the effort to do something creative. Actually, you know what? It doesn't necessarily even keep me from being creative, but my miserableness keeps me from paying attention to my creativity.

While I have been nursing my ouchie back, I have also drawn several drawings in my journal, sorted through my previous journal drawings, written at least one poem (focused on being miserable, but so be it,) written passionate and/or witty emails to old friends, cooked dinner every night this week usually with recipes of my own invention, taken a billion and one photographs (so what if my technoidiocy prevents me from posting them,) and actually gotten a chance to read a book and watch multiple movies.

Wait a minute. I have been living my creative life despite all my various sorrows and miseries.
No matter that I have the feeling I should be doing more or it should somehow look different. (Perhaps like one of those wonderful studios I keep seeing on various blogs, full of light and color and paints and fabric scraps and works in progress and all that devotion to work.)

I make a vow to myself to pay attention to the creativity that is trying to make itself known. It's there, trying to BE, just like the little tadpoles in our fishpond, just now budding their little pollywog legs, trying to be hoppy frogs.

Sometimes the transformation is so gradual, and I am looking so minutely, that it is easy to miss my growth from exhausted mom to mom who gets her mojo back. I'm going to really value those tiny little pollywog legs I'm growing. They are getting me back on my journey.

Do It Yourself Creativity

My grandfather never bought anything, if he could help it. He would go up and down the alleys before garbage pickup, and salvage gorgeous wooden chairs, televisions, paintings, empty bins, scrap wood... whatever discarded treasure he could find. He would repurpose or restore or reuse them. If he couldn't find something he needed in the alleys, he would make it out of two by fours or fiberglass or cement. He even built a huge sailboat in his horse barn and he and my uncle sailed it down the Mississippi into Tampa Bay.

Granted, building a sailboat from scratch is not for the amateur, but the same creativity can show up on the large scale or the small.

My grandmother used to sew and crochet our dolls clothes, or create liniments and ointments that the neighbors all wanted.

My mother used to make fresh breads and pizzas and biscuits... mostly because they couldn't afford store bought, but it doesn't matter. She used her creativity to solve problems when she didn't have money to pay for things.

Friends who saw paintings in museums or magazines or books and would never be able to start collecting professional art were inspired to pick up their own paintbrushes and create their own pieces.

When someone needed a wedding cake, and couldn't afford a professional one, my friend volunteered her novice baker services and baked a delicious treat... even though she did vow never to make a wedding cake again.

It has always impressed me when people managed to create things of beauty or use out of nothing but their own two hands, some basic materials, and their ingenuity. Sometimes I think that having money can be a detriment to our creativity. If we can go out and buy new all the things we want, how much motivation would we have to sit down and figure out some way to create something meaningful out of what we have right there in our lives at our disposal.

When I was a child and we had no money at all, I wanted to read a new book but didn't have a library card. So I decided I would write my own. I started my first novel out of that, at 15, and sure, it turned out to be a lot harder than I ever imagined, but it also opened up a whole new passion for me that I am still pursuing, twenty some years later. If I'd had five dollars to go to the bookstore I wonder if I would have decided I wanted to be a novelist, and if I would have had the nerve to go for it.

Have you used your creativity to get what it was you wanted that you couldn't afford? How did it turn out?

BREAKTHROUGH!

Here is the balance between creativity and motherhood:

THEY ARE THE SAME THING.

Creativity and motherhood are not separate entities. One does not detract from the other and there is no weighting one by shorting the other. It is not about stealing time for creativity from being a mother and vice versa.

Where one lets off, the other begins. Not even. They work in tandem. Creativity infuses motherhood, and your motherhood colors everything about your creativity… and mostly in very good ways.

Motherhood is not an activity, it is who you are, forever. Even when the kids are with papa or sleeping or grown up and living on your own. Even when there are no kids about, you are still and always a mother. When you are writing that novel or jotting lines in a poem or painting a giant canvas or cooking a gourmet meal or knitting socks or staring up at the clouds changing shape… you are a mother and all that means.

Creativity is a holistic approach to life. It is not just about that novel/poem/painting/meal/sock/cloud, it is about the way you look at things. It is about being open to the adventure. It is about looking for new uses for old things. It is about coming up with solutions to problems that do not seem solvable. It is about seeing beauty and meaning in the mundane. Creativity is about learning to speak what is in your heart. It is about looking for and nurturing possibility. It is about feeding your soul with what nourishes and about sharing with those around you, in effect, feeding them too. And all that? That’s what it means to raise children, too.

One and the same, I tell you. One and the same. That is a thing to celebrate.

See more progress on: find a balance between creativity and motherhood

I'm Taking It Moment to Moment now

Sure, I took the kids to an outdoor art festival where we wandered around and looked at paintings and handcrafted chairs and jewelry, but it was as much about eating ice cream and sitting by the bay as it was about the art.

BUT

Today, we were watching sesame street and one of the cartoon bits reminded me of a painting that G really liked at the festival, so I took out my sketch book and started drawing some animal people having a wild rumpus. Ivy saw me and wanted to be involved, so I took out the crayons and a notebook and she did some scribbling. So did the boy, but at their ages, I don’t know if it’s quite possible to do really sustained creative projects. I don’t know, G at least has shown a thorough attraction to watercolor paints. Maybe I should go back to those, they take only a little more advanced planning than tossing crayons and a pad of paper at the kids.

Along with the drawing, we sang along to the James Blunt and Telly Monster duet, “Triangle.”

I would just like to say that it is quite possible that the boy will be a punk singer, what with the way he thrashed around and howled, Triangle! Triangle! Triangle! ...Gle! Gle! Triangle!

How long until he begs for a mohawk?

See more progress on: Live the creative life

Today was the day

I took out a folder of my old poems.

I don’t know what is in the folder, or where my mind was when I put the poems into this particular folder. There seems to be some sort of decision about the poems I put in as opposed to the ones I didn’t. I think these are the poems that I wanted to do something with, either rewrite, revision, or send out to magazines. But I don’t remember when I made the folder.

Some poems I don’t even remember, which is actually pretty cool, because I can look at them more objectively. I can see when they are just pretty metaphors without grounding context. I can see when they are complete and whole. I can see when they are confusing, and I can see when there are lines that hit hard.

I still have problems telling if they are too personal so that you have to know my story if you want to understand the poem.

I found a few poems about my mother. I didn’t remember writing them.

Almost all the poems are from my previous incarnation before I had kids. When I was still a mamacita, but the word meant something quite different. I have a lot of poems about relationships and break ups and the single life and teaching and then there’s a whole bunch of poems written about and around 9/11/01.

It is hard to go through the poems because I’m having trouble focusing. It’s a nice idea to read poems in the morning instead of doing the crossword, but perhaps I was doing the crossword because I could dip in and out of it while I was watching the kids play around.

I’ll keep trying.

I did feel the urge there, for a minute, to start writing a new poem based upon my current life and the richness of all the physical details that hold so much emotional weight, but then S had to go take a call and the G started crying for papa and trying to get in the house and Ivy needed to be picked up and put down and picked up again and the poem slipped away.

I believe there was something about the stair rail that my grandfather made, and how I could almost feel his big hands holding the wood in place and hammering it together and knowing that he had made it gave me the feeling that he was still here.

This wasn’t part of the urge, but my uncle told me that he laid the stones and poured the cement on the paths of the garden where he remembered my grandfather had habitually walked. And it is the stones of the path that hold back the jungle like wilderness of the plants. They will take over in a week if he lets them.

I wonder if I can try to write this poem now, or has the germ been lost? Or will the kids require I step out of my self imposed time-out?

See more progress on: celebrate poetry month