Confessions of an Artist

April 20th, 2010

paint

I. Screw. Up.
(In case there are still a handful of you out there who hadn’t realized)
Ahh, that feels better. And I don’t mean just sometimes. No, daily, and most probably hourly if I am to be honest.

This motherhood gig is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

The wide-eyed optimism I once had has been blinded by a few chubby little fingers. Somehow my children didn’t seem to get the script I’d carefully written for them where I play the wonderfully patient calm mother and they the adoring children.

Before I had children I read just about everything that had “How to” in the title. “How to settle a crying baby, how to discipline, how to play joyfully, how to potty train, and how to smile while you’re screaming” (actually that last one is a book title I’ve been working on)

Don’t get me wrong; there are a few good books that have really helped me over the years. I’ve learnt the fine art of mixing a cocktail in under 20 seconds, how to change locks, and know at precisely what moment to take three children shoe shopping.

Lets face it. You put a group of people together, some smaller, some bigger; it’s going to get messy. The little people don’t quite act the way the big people want them to, the big people try to change that using various methods, and before you know it your life looks like a Jackson Pollock painting.

Then we all go to bed and hope to do better tomorrow. And mostly, we do.

But here’s where I’m in luck, the smaller people are really really good at forgiving the bigger people for screwing up. And because of that we create this thing together, it’s hard to tell what it is up close, you may need to step back a bit, but be careful, it’s still wet.

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