I find that when I’m at home with the kids, focused on life here, I enjoy it very much.  I like to cook, help in the classroom, hear the April fool’s jokes, hug, help with homework, and watch soccer practice.  (If I could offload the laundry, I’d be happier).  But the truth is, I’m content here in the home, I feel lucky to be here.

When I was in school, one year ago, working part time on a Master’s degree, I  loved the challenge of reading new material, discussing it in class, and even writing the term papers most students dread.  I began to dream about going on for a PhD, doing important research, and headlining conferences!    (Oh, what a small ego I apparently have!)

Today, I read my son a story called Eliza and the Dragonfly.  Eliza is a young girl who cannot wait to grow up, and as she looks a the young dragonfly nymph, still swimming in the pond, she worries that he will not know when it is his time to take flight.  Her aunt responds by saying, “Eliza, a dragonfly nymph doesn’t worry about when it will grow up and become a dragonfly.  It doesn’t wish it could fly or be more beautiful than it already is.  It just mucks about in the pond, being itself.  Then it wakes up one morning with wings.” 

The wisdom of children’s books.  This is not even close to the first time that I felt more inspired and touched by a children’s author than the gospel itself. 

Clearly, this explanation speaks to me today.  It probably speaks to me almost every day.  But today, as I muck about in the pond, and worry about what steps to take moving forward, I envy the dragonfly.  And initially, I think, “Yes, that is the answer.  Contentment where you are… no need to move forward, no worry for the future.”  And there IS wisdom in that concept. 

But it isn’t complete…  because we aren’t the dragonfly nymph, and our wings won’t sprout of their own accord.  So if we dream of taking flight some day, we may have to do some preparation.  The answer I believe, lies in finding contentment in the pond while we are there…  to prepare, and grow, and plan, but to appreciate mucking about in the pond. 

Today, I hosted three “playdates”, drove six children (not all my own) a variety of locations, folded 6 baskets of laundry, swept the floor 3 times, taught the dog to fetch, met with other moms to prepare a presentation at the elementary school tomorrow, made breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and did the dishes – and  had a fabulous time mucking about in the pond. 

But I won’t mind growing some either.  It’s not all bad to do some preparation…  when you’re planning to take flight – and it doesn’t have to take away from the joy of mucking about in the pond.  And my husband can do the laundry.

So I doubt I’ll post here for a few days… but I wanted to leave you with a link that is memorable, and along the lines of my last post – a source of inspiration.

Judith Warner’s column this morning for the NY Times brought tears to my eyes.

If for some reason the hyper link doesn’t take you there (I have a subscription, so it might not be fully available through the link) my guess is that if you search for Judith Warner, Domestic Disturbances, Tears to Remember you can find the text somewhere out there.  It is worth a read.

Have a great weekend. 

I’m committing to coming back to blog with something a little lighter and less political.  Maybe a weekend with three families in one house will provide that inspiration.  I’ll just have to recover enough sleep to write it. 

So, maybe you’re guessing now.  I’m amazingly passionate , Van Gogh-style, the cut your ear off type of gal.  But no, that’s not it either.  I may be passionate in my opinions, but entirely practical in my actions.  Boring even.  I have no desire to part with any pieces of my person.  

I realized that I am Picasso when learning a bit about Picasso’s masterpiece, The Tragedy.  The Tragedy is a famous painting from Picasso’s blue period, depicting a family standing on a beach, emotionally distant, suffering.  In The Tragedy, Picasso masterfully portrays the cold misery of the family using only the color blue.  As I came to realize that the use of a singular color created a masterpiece, it occurred to me, “I am just like Picasso!”

What?????????

Yes, it’s true.  I am just like Picasso… and I bet you are too. 

I was an artiste the other day when I opened my refrigerator, to find it basically empty, and nonetheless managed to put together a healthy meal from the odds and ends available.  I demonstrated my talent when I fixed the hole in my daughter’s beloved nighty… not with a sewing machine, but with a little glue from the junk drawer.  When we created an amazing leprechaun trap for the kindergarten last year out of cardboard, the weeds from our yard, and crayons – we were creating a masterpiece of untold portions. 

All these moments when I have felt disorganized or unprepared, yet managed to pull something together, I have not been the harried failure I have thought.  I have been following in the footsteps of a master – who successfully conveyed a depth of emotions using only one ingredient – blue paint.  No longer will I hear myself make the comment, “Don’t worry honey, it will work just fine” and think that I am convincing my children to accept mediocrity to cover up for my own lack of preparation. 

I now know, after this wonderful epiphany, that I am a master.  I sometimes work with limited resources, time, or expendable brain power… but I too am creating little masterpieces all the time.  The next meal I scrounge around for, I will bring to the table with triumphant music playing in my head.  “Here is my latest masterpiece!” I will say.  What a refreshing way to look at things.  Thank you Picasso, The Tragedy managed to bring a great deal of happiness to me this week.

The first time I was introduced to the “birds and the bees” was early in elementary school.  I’m not even sure if it was one specific event, or information gradually accumulated on the playground.  In any case, my peers were the first to educate me on how babies are made.  Luckily, they were generally accurate and I came away with a relatively clear understanding of the process – though I found it mind boggling that anyone would choose to participate in such a strange activity.

When my older cousin told me a sexually explicit joke, new information and understanding in hand, I then repeated it to my younger brother… with the admonition that if he EVER told our parents I would have to kill him.  Unfortunately for me, my brother was absent my new second grade sense of worldliness, and quickly repeated the joke to my parents.  Thus began my second course in sexual education – this one more awkward than the first, but filled with increasing information.

My parents gave us both the book, Where Did I Come From? by Peter Mayle.  With its anatomically correct cartoonish figures, and careful explanation, it left little to the imagination.  I think to this day, I would turn red if I saw it again.  Nonetheless, as a parent now, I recognize the value of such a book.  We read it together as a family, and any questions that my peers had left unanswered, were now covered – and apparently burned indelibly in my mind as I can still vividly recall the pictures today!  

My mother used a similar tactic as I entered my teen years, bringing me the book Our Bodies, Ourselves.  This time, my mom was a bit ahead of my peers, and many topics covered in the book were relatively new to me.  Upon giving me the book, my mom told me just to keep it in my room, and that it was up to me if I read it or not.  Of course, being the more sophisticated individual that she was, she must have known what would happen.  I carefully read the book cover to cover, absorbing all of its details, and came away with an education on sex and sexuality more detailed than I’m sure many women of 50 have had to this day!  Of course, I shared much of this information with my peers – and sometime after college graduation, my best friend from childhood thanked me for helping her through some of the important parts of growing up – with accurate information.  To this day, I am grateful for my mother’s foresight and sensitive introduction of important information into my life.

I think of these experiences as together being a metaphor for the blog.  My peers, my family, and written works have helped me develop my personal opinions and beliefs.  One is not a substitute for another, yet together they form a strong foundation on which to build.  Unfortunately, in women’s culture today, it seems to me that there is an increasing focus on the material or superficial, and a dwindling spotlight on issues of substance.  While I certainly enjoy the latest fashion magazine, and am always looking for a great recipe, I cannot bear to leave behind intellectual stimulation.  Broken Corset is my attempt to contribute to the intellectual stimulation of women.  Peers are invited to respond and contribute as well.  Tell us what you think… about anything.  Point us in the direction of interesting reading….  Explain a sophisticated theory that you understand well.  Stimulate the community to read, think, discuss, write, and read some more.  While I am sure that Broken Corset can not be quite as compelling as an early teen found Our Bodies, Ourselves – I hope it will interest you enough to return sometimes and see what’s here.    Even my mom plans to contribute!