"My mom doesn't let me paint very much . . . "
Those were pretty much the only words I heard. There were others, of course. She had done one of those "what I want to be when I grow up" projects at school and her profession of choice was Artist.
The words stung. I felt small and mean but I tried to justify myself anyway.
"Honey, Mommy lets you paint!"
"Not really," she said. "You say 'No' a lot."
Gut punch.
She was right. I was working on this, but she was still right.
I do say 'no' a lot. Mostly because I live in that place where chaos starts to send me over the edge. That place where shadows lurk around my heart and mind—I do battle with them by building structure. This involves finding ways to manage the constant mess that dominates my home. I have four kids eight years old and under. Mess is a big thing. It nearly drowns me sometimes. But for my artistic little daughter, none of it is really 'mess,' per-say. It's just creativity-in-action.
I want to foster an environment of creativity and learning in my home where it is safe to explore new ideas and be hands-on. That's the desire. But the reality looks more like me placing a premium value on organization and cleanliness. "Clean-up! Clean-up! Everybody, everywhere . . ." My toddler knows the song by heart. So, what to do?
Summer is upon us and I am scrambling to establish a little structure once my older two are out of school. "I'm bored" are two words that drive me crazy. So maybe a balance will look something like this: Rather than trying to incorporate the freedom of creativity in the form of paints and brushes, markers and crayons, paper, glue, scissors and glitter into every day of the week, I can set aside one day and devote it entirely to artistic endeavors. —Print coloring pages and set up easels. Make finger paints and sidewalk chalk, bubbles, play dough, and mud pies. Perhaps one day (at least to start) will be enough to satiate my daughter's boundless desire to create and delve into the mess. And in the process, perhaps she can teach me a thing or two about letting go and leaving breathing room for my own imagination.
"It's not really a mess, Mom," She tells me. "It's just us living." And maybe she's right. Maybe they are one in the same. Life is messy and beautiful and alive. And maybe that's okay. . .
Grace and Peace,
—b