Category Archives: writing

Shaking things up…

January 19, 2010life, lists, perspective, writingKirsetin

photo credit: Duchamp

I have a love-hate relationship with routine and structure. It goes something like this: I love it. And then I hate it. See how that works?

I have a friend who mops on Wednesdays and does laundry on Fridays. Every week. Same old, same old. I absolutely love that she knows her floor will be clean enough to fold laundry on by Wednesday night. I hate that we can’t have coffee on Friday because she’s folding her darn laundry.

See, it’s the flexibility thing that gets me. (Except on Monday nights, when I play basketball. No flexibility there. Sorry, I’m busy. Every Monday. Every week.)

It’s no different with this blog. I love the idea of having a plan for each week, as lots of you do. Meals on Monday, photos on Wednesday, Fabulous Finds on Friday. But what if we go sledding on Thursday? And I get awesome pictures that you absolutely must see? On Friday? Ack, the dilemmas are endless!

So here’s what I’m thinking. I’ve cooked up a plan, a sort of schedule if you will because, you know, my blog should have a rhythm. (Wait, isn’t that for my Catholic friends? No, no, it’s a joke. Don’t email me!) But I reserve the right, on any day, in any week, to pull the old switch-er-roo. You’ll be expecting some sage parenting tip and instead you’ll get photos from a bygone vacation, because I wish I were there right now.

Seem fair? It’s my blog, after all. I can break the rules if I want to. Right?

Should I tell you my plan? Ohhh, that’s a big commitment, to put it out there like that. Hmmm, not sure. What do you think? Will sharing my plan help me stick to it or result in the spontaneous combustion of my head from the pressure? Do you have a plan, a rhythm, for your blog? Other thoughts? Do tell. Please.

My 2nd Blogoversary

September 14, 2009writingKirsetin

How fun is it that today, on my blogoversary, I have a post on Blog Nosh?!

Let me tell you. It’s fun. It’s very fun.

Two years ago, I’d never heard of Blog Nosh. I’d never even considered blogging. As far as I knew, a blog was an online diary of random daily events, like recording how often you changed your kids’ diapers and what you ate for breakfast. Too busy. Not interested.

But my literary agent insisted I need one. Our conversation went something like this:

Literary Agent: “You really should have a blog.”

Me: “A blog? I don’t want to write about changing diapers and making lunch.”

Literary Agent: “It doesn’t matter. You need an online presence. You should have a blog.”

Me: “Ugghh.”

And so it began. At the time, I had written magazine articles, published one book, and was working on a second book with my friend and co-author, Barbie. Because I was doing the bulk of the book writing, she took on the blog project. She signed us up at Blogger, and together we embarked on a year-long journey of discovering the blogosphere, learning who blogged about what, and trying to understand the concept of an RSS feed. And what a year that was! I had no idea there were so many thoughtful, funny women out here, writing their hearts out. I didn’t know I’d connect with you, come to know, and seek your council. But I did. And after the first year, it just got too hard to do this thing together – it was too hard to merge our voices into one, and so the blog became my solo project.

So now, on my two-year blogoversary, I want to thank all of you. I want to thank you, all of you, who take time from your lives to read whatever it is I have to say on any given day. I want to thank you, all of you, who have taken the time to help me understand this brave new world, to navigate the completely unfamiliar waters of the blogosphere. But most of all, I want to thank you, all of you, who share your hearts, your thoughts, your insights and your quandaries with the rest of us. You’re the ones who helped me find my way and feel connected, and otherwise, what’s the point? I mean, really?

Although I’m still working on the book project, I long-ago put to rest the idea of using this book as an “online presence.” Now it’s simply my blog. It’s a place for ideas. It’s a place to share what I’ve learned. It’s a place to ask you what you’ve learned. It’s a place to connect with other women and their incredible ideas.

Thanks, literary agent, for your misguided advice. It all worked out for the best.

The Altar of Motherhood

March 20, 2009balance, contentment, Parenting, writingKirsetin

A new friend of mine shared an essay with me recently, an excerpt from a book by Walter Wangerin, Jr. She said she thought of me when she read it, because I am a writer, and a mother. And she added that she thought this essay was true for many mothers, not just writers. Having not yet read the article, I just nodded and thanked her and smiled. I picked up my child and waved good-bye.

A day or two passed before I found the time to sit down and read the few pages she had taken the time to photocopy for me. I was busy with PTO and blogging and soccer and life. But the papers on the counter kept calling and eventually, finally, I found time to sit down and read them.

In The Altar of Motherhood, Walter Wangerin, Jr. writes about a time in 1985 when he became the work-at-home parent while his wife went off to the office full-time. During the school year, he managed nicely, thank you very much. And then came summer, when he thought he’d complete his book manuscript. (All work-at-home mothers may pause here, for a good, hearty laugh.) As the days stretched on, he finally concluded, “these children of mine must take precedence—because they are children and they are mine and they come first…”

And all of us who have made that decision understand. We understand that it is right for us. We understand that even though it is right, it is hard. It is exceedingly hard. We understand that he speaks of a sacrifice of the highest order.

Walter Wangerin, Jr. went on to put it this way:

“Ah, Mother, every summer since then I have thought of you and of all your sisters through the ages…I see deep, and I see this: that once there lay in the precinct of many mothers’ souls some private dream. The characteristic by which they defined their selves and their purpose for being. To write? Maybe. To run a marathon? Or to run a company? Yes. Yes.

But then the baby came home, and then you and others like you made a terrible, terribly lovely choice. You reached into your soul and withdrew that precious thing and lifted it up before your breast and began to walk. Deliberate and utterly beautiful, you strode to an altar of love for this child and placed there the talent, the dream, some core part of your particular self—and in order to mother another, you released it.”

And though I write these words 23 years later, his words still ring true. That first year after I brought my first baby home was one of the hardest times of my life. When I decided, towards the end of that year, to place my career on that very altar, to sacrifice, for some undetermined time, the plan I had laid out, it was heartbreaking. But it was the right choice for me. I wasn’t coerced, for goodness-sakes. I chose it. And despite how hard it’s been sometimes, I would choose it again. Sitting in my home office, type, type, typing away and listening to my college-aged sitter play with my baby down the hall just wasn’t for me. It wasn’t worth the trade. Also, I knew that my break would be temporary, I just wasn’t sure how long ‘temporary’ would be. In fact, I continued consulting for quite a while, and that was a great compromise. But still. It was a compromise. And you know, I guess that’s the thing. We bring these tiny little people into the world, and they need us. And so we make adjustments, changes, compromises to do what works best for us. And what works best for them. And somewhere along the way, we come to need them, too.

I felt vindicated, a bit, I suppose, when I read Walter Wangerin, Jr.’s essay, because sometimes I feel alone in this conflict. I have many friends who didn’t share the same agony when they left a job or career to stay home. They delighted in the infant days; they appreciated playgroups and enjoyed shopping at Gymboree. I love these women; they are some of my dearest friends. But it took awhile for me to join their circle, and still there are times, when I stand just outside, on the periphery, peering in, alone with my angst.

But I’m not alone. Sacrifice, in whatever shape it takes, is hard, and lots of parents are making lots of sacrifices. Earlier this week I read Mrs. Chicken’s eloquent narrative of the difficult time in which she and her husband currently find themselves. And then I read Julie Pippert’s post about how hard it is to be true to yourself and to mother your children. Oh, I know this pain. It is hard. It is. I agree with Julie when she says, “The funny thing, the odd thing, is that I think, in a way, the kids would…just as soon be home, running in the yard, largely ignoring us until they happened to need us in some way, while knowing we were there at their disposal.”

Right on the money, Julie. Right on the money. They just want us there. In case.

In the meantime, we go on. We adjust and change and compromise and try our best to show them that it’s important to love yourself and it’s important to love others. Sometimes we just don’t do both well at the same time.