The Writing Mamas Daily Blog
Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.
And for that, you are a goddess.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Alone
Sometimes, I feel like The Great Gastby who threw lavish parties and everyone came, but at his funeral very few people attended. Recently ,I threw an “End of the Summer Party,” which was a big success. I had been to enough three-year old birthday parties where every conversation was interrupted by a crying child, a spilled drink, a demand for cake. I decided it would be nice to get together with friends without the children and see people with whom I had been meaning to make plans all summer.
Everyone is so busy in the summer time with vacations and activities, and I’m no exception, especially since I have a new baby at home. This summer madness made me feel empty without connections. When I’d pick up the phone to call a friend, I worried that I might be bothering her and would often concoct reasons why not to call: it was dinner time, bath time, nap time. You name it, people where always too busy.
With Caller ID and the ability to see who is calling at all times, there is even less incentive to answer the phone if it’s not really important. I find that when I’m busy, which is much of the time, unless it’s a call I’m expecting, I often ignore it with the thought that I’ll call back later, when I have the time.
But what I miss then are those conversations that stop the madness and slow down the rolling momentum of day-to-day life. These unfortunately ignored opportunities don’t demand or inform anything, but provide those much needed exchanges that sound like “how are you?” and “just thought I’d call to say I’m thinking of you.”
Ironically, e-mail contributes to these feelings of isolation. While it’s easy to get in touch with just about anyone at any time, e-mail messages are rarely deep or heartfelt. They are quick, often cryptic exchanges. It’s much easier to send an e-mail than to actually visit someone in person or write a letter, both of which take time and effort.
In short, I felt a need to reach out, to create a community. Like Gatsby, I threw a party. People were thrilled to come and seemed to have a great time. I received a number of, get this, actual hand-written letters thanking me. It seems that I wasn’t the only one who needed a good gathering. I had created a community, forced it into being.
The week before my party, I caught a terrible flu bug. Of course my husband was out of town on business leaving me with our newborn and three-year old daughter. I felt so sick I could barely get out of bed. Luckily, I wasn’t on my death bed like Gatsby, but it certainly felt like it. In just a few days, forty people were coming to my house for a party, but I couldn’t think of one person to call to help me when I was so sick.
I desperately wished my mother lived closer and that my large family in general wasn’t so spread out, all living in different states. And herein lays another common source of isolation: families rarely stay together anymore. Whatever happened to families living in close proximity to each other, sharing common values, memories, and rituals? Instead, we are all so independent and autonomous, creating our own separate lives, often marrying into different cultures and religions. Every time I got up to nurse my baby with my 102 degree fever, I was reminded of my separateness.
Fortunately, I was able to find a sitter to watch my children the next day so that I could get some much needed rest. When she agreed to come, I almost cried with relief. And as I wrote her the check at the end of the day, it felt odd: I had to pay for my caring community. In some ways, I feel more gratitude toward my nanny than just about anyone, but I know it simply shouldn’t be that way. In this instance, I’m not alone. Many mothers, if they are able, pay for the help they need, creating a kind of artificial community.
The evening of my party, I told my friend Eliza about this flu incident and how lucky I felt to get a sitter. She responded, “You know you could have called me. That’s what friends do.” But I didn’t think of it at the time. Cleary, my isolation is somewhat self inflicted, as well. I was always so critical of Gatsby’s shallow friends, but perhaps Gatsby did not expect enough of people or humble himself enough to show his vulnerability. Parties are fun and I’ll keep throwing them, but I need to be creative and honest in my quest to create an authentic community.
I’ve heard my husband say to our toddler, “You know, some day you could live in the house right next door. That way we could come visit you any time.” She always agrees that this would be a good idea. He jokes this way. We both laugh. But I know that he, whose family lives on the opposite coast in Miami, is also trying to maintain an authentic community. I think of the expression on my parents’ faces the day my soon-to-be- husband and I loaded up a U-Haul with all my belongings to drive across the country to our new home in San Francisco. At the time, I just wished they could be happy for me.
Now I understand.
By Rebecca Elegant
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Everyone is so busy in the summer time with vacations and activities, and I’m no exception, especially since I have a new baby at home. This summer madness made me feel empty without connections. When I’d pick up the phone to call a friend, I worried that I might be bothering her and would often concoct reasons why not to call: it was dinner time, bath time, nap time. You name it, people where always too busy.
With Caller ID and the ability to see who is calling at all times, there is even less incentive to answer the phone if it’s not really important. I find that when I’m busy, which is much of the time, unless it’s a call I’m expecting, I often ignore it with the thought that I’ll call back later, when I have the time.
But what I miss then are those conversations that stop the madness and slow down the rolling momentum of day-to-day life. These unfortunately ignored opportunities don’t demand or inform anything, but provide those much needed exchanges that sound like “how are you?” and “just thought I’d call to say I’m thinking of you.”
Ironically, e-mail contributes to these feelings of isolation. While it’s easy to get in touch with just about anyone at any time, e-mail messages are rarely deep or heartfelt. They are quick, often cryptic exchanges. It’s much easier to send an e-mail than to actually visit someone in person or write a letter, both of which take time and effort.
In short, I felt a need to reach out, to create a community. Like Gatsby, I threw a party. People were thrilled to come and seemed to have a great time. I received a number of, get this, actual hand-written letters thanking me. It seems that I wasn’t the only one who needed a good gathering. I had created a community, forced it into being.
The week before my party, I caught a terrible flu bug. Of course my husband was out of town on business leaving me with our newborn and three-year old daughter. I felt so sick I could barely get out of bed. Luckily, I wasn’t on my death bed like Gatsby, but it certainly felt like it. In just a few days, forty people were coming to my house for a party, but I couldn’t think of one person to call to help me when I was so sick.
I desperately wished my mother lived closer and that my large family in general wasn’t so spread out, all living in different states. And herein lays another common source of isolation: families rarely stay together anymore. Whatever happened to families living in close proximity to each other, sharing common values, memories, and rituals? Instead, we are all so independent and autonomous, creating our own separate lives, often marrying into different cultures and religions. Every time I got up to nurse my baby with my 102 degree fever, I was reminded of my separateness.
Fortunately, I was able to find a sitter to watch my children the next day so that I could get some much needed rest. When she agreed to come, I almost cried with relief. And as I wrote her the check at the end of the day, it felt odd: I had to pay for my caring community. In some ways, I feel more gratitude toward my nanny than just about anyone, but I know it simply shouldn’t be that way. In this instance, I’m not alone. Many mothers, if they are able, pay for the help they need, creating a kind of artificial community.
The evening of my party, I told my friend Eliza about this flu incident and how lucky I felt to get a sitter. She responded, “You know you could have called me. That’s what friends do.” But I didn’t think of it at the time. Cleary, my isolation is somewhat self inflicted, as well. I was always so critical of Gatsby’s shallow friends, but perhaps Gatsby did not expect enough of people or humble himself enough to show his vulnerability. Parties are fun and I’ll keep throwing them, but I need to be creative and honest in my quest to create an authentic community.
I’ve heard my husband say to our toddler, “You know, some day you could live in the house right next door. That way we could come visit you any time.” She always agrees that this would be a good idea. He jokes this way. We both laugh. But I know that he, whose family lives on the opposite coast in Miami, is also trying to maintain an authentic community. I think of the expression on my parents’ faces the day my soon-to-be- husband and I loaded up a U-Haul with all my belongings to drive across the country to our new home in San Francisco. At the time, I just wished they could be happy for me.
Now I understand.
By Rebecca Elegant
Labels: Rebecca Elegant
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