Inside the Weird and Wacky Mind of Mama Wisnia
Here is the girl
Who wants to be good…
Wants to be good…
WANTS TO BE GOOD!
But first she NEEDS to
Knock you down
To lick your face
To nibble on your objecting fingers.
Here is the girl
Who tries really hard…
Tries really hard…
TRIES REALLY HARD!
But alas–despite scratched nose…
Sick tummy…
Reprimand…
She can’t help it.
My childhood was
An unfinished dollhouse
A beautifully-appointed almost dream house
With never finished staircase to the top floor…
A life-sized doll
With permanent golden pigtails
Which were oddly glued and would never quite behave…
A red-headed, blue eye-shadowed Barbie
That never felt quite as good
As her more expensive, prettier counterparts.
Though it’s not something I like to brag about, those who know me well are aware that I spent much of my late teens and early 20s lost in the woods. I don’t mean the literal woods but the figurative ones. There was a time when I made many wrong turns and bad choices. This includes the choosing of a particularly bad, insecure, erratic, dangerous man. You know the type. He’s the guy who’s charming until he’s terrifying, who’s so very sorry (again), who never meant to hurt you, who was only joking, who will never do it again…promise.
While it may seem weird and counterintuitive…escaping, surviving a man like that is what fuels my hope on hard days. The fact that I shouldn’t be here at all makes me beyond grateful for the fact that I’m experiencing anything at all…even the bad stuff. It also keeps me grounded in what I have the capacity to survive, in the truth that a dark chapter doesn’t have to mean a terrible ending. It is possible to experience despondence and fear, to almost be lost forever and still go on to be found, experience joy and fulfillment…to move on.
And so it is with this perspective that I have been navigating the post-election dystopia. While many of my closest friends are understandably completely freaking out and sounding alarms, I’m finding myself eerily calm. It’s not that I’m not upset. Of course I am! I’m a mother, a woman, a human. THIS is NOT the America I want to show to my children or anybody else’s. America is lost in the woods and I’m terrified and sad. I’m resolved to do whatever I can to help her find her way out. This said, instead of shouting for America to come back, I’m conserving my energy…waiting and listening for a sign that America is ready to be found. I’m afraid that if I shout and chase, she’ll just run farther away…slip deeper into the darkness. I sense that at the moment America is still guided by the parts of her that are cockily convinced that she knows right where she’s going.
And so, while the best part of America is screaming, “What are you thinking?!?! Where are you going??? You KNOW this is wrong!” the loud, angry part of America is boldly marching into dangerous territory, confident in her chosen path. To the voices that are trying to convince her otherwise, America is shouting, “Calm down! It’s alright! He didn’t really mean it! He LOVES me! He WILL stop, change, be different, be better. You’ll see, silly conscience!”
Right now, a large part of America is so determinedly lost that she sees no need for a compass. She will continue to ignore the signs that she’s on the wrong path. She is not interested in a map. She will let the trees close in around her, convinced that his “love” and her own ragged breath are enough to guide the way. And so begins a very dark chapter for America.
But I sincerely believe that this does not have to be the end of America’s story. Though she may teeter precariously on the brink of oblivion before she’s ready to listen; hope remains that someday before it’s too late America will be humbled, will reach bottom, will find the clarity and courage to say to herself, “How many times does he have to show me who he is before I believe him???” And in that moment, she will cry for help and the well-organized search party that has been praying for America’s safe return will shout and wave flashlights and bring blankets and holler, “Over here!!! She’s over here!!!” And in that moment, America and all who have been searching for her will collapse with relief that she survived. Collectively, they will see that—while she sustained some damage and alienated many who love her—she will go on to heal, to hope, to write a different ending. This is the future I imagine on the hard days and I still have faith that this is the future I can help to write.
When preparing for a recent work trip which promised much time on airplanes/in airports, I went through the familiar ritual of checking out the “Kindle Daily Deals” in hopes of finding something inexpensive to occupy my mind. With much reluctance, I selected What She Knew by Gillian Macmillan.
As the mom of 7 and 9 year old boys, I had much trepidation about diving into a story that centers around the disappearance of 8-year-old boy. I promised myself that if things got rough, I’d put the book down, back away slowly and resort to crosswords and gossip rags.
To say that I ended up devouring this book would be an understatement. I spent more than one night in my conference hotel reading until my eyes shut on their own, compelled and obsessed to know how it all turned out. It’s not only that the story is an exquisitely-crafted mystery.
This story delves so deeply into the many ways we humans punish one another and ultimately ourselves in times of crisis. When things go awry, we’re so quick to judge one another, judge ourselves…blame one another, blame ourselves. Too often, little room is left for being human, showing compassion…even and especially to ourselves.
In the end, I was left feeling that this wasn’t just a good book for me to read…but an important book for me to read. I found myself weeping and whipping out my notebook to write down passages more than once.
Those who know me well will not be surprised to read that—like lots of folks—I’ve seen some things, survived some stuff. There are dark corners in my mind that are sometimes hard to escape. When I got to the part of the book that reads, “…There are some events and uncertainties that you take to the grave, and they threaten to tumble you every single step of the way…” I wept and wrote and felt understood.
I wept and wrote some more when I read, “I understood in that moment…that being a mother had given [her]…a single silken strand, strong as a spider’s web, which had tethered her to her life. It was the string that had led her, time and time again, out of the enveloping, dangerous depths of the labyrinth that was her depression. It had prevented her from slipping fatally and completely away into the dark seductive folds of melancholia…” I thought of the days when I’ve only had strength to sit sandwiched on the couch between my boys and hold onto them for dear life…the days when I put something light and funny on the TV and just wrap myself around them until I regain the energy to get up, make something to eat, behave like a proper mother.
When I read, “…here’s the thing: none of us deserve a thing. That’s an illusion we all exist under…I should simply have been grateful for what I had. I should have celebrated my life as it was, imperfections, sadness, and all, and not forensically examined its faults…” I loosened the grip on some grief, some guilt.
And finally, when I read, “…I count my blessing every day for my blemished, damaged family, which is full of love, and this is fine, and that is all we need…” I thought, “Amen, Sister!” What I know about What She Knew is that I’m glad I read it and I hope others will do the same. There are books that are read to fill the time and there are books that are read to fill the soul. For me, this book was definitely the latter.
For many, the New Year is an opportunity to reflect on all that has come before and ponder all that is yet to come. For those (like myself) who have birthdays on New Year’s Eve, the New Year is a time for double reflection…not just thinking about the past year but about all of life. Am I anywhere close to where I thought I’d be 20 years ago? If not, does it matter? What do I hope for the coming year, the next 20 years, and beyond?
As I reflect and ponder on the doorstep of my 44th birthday, there is much I have surmised. For starters, I can confidently say that while the glittery, unrealistic dreams of my early 20s have faded, so have the cynical sorrows of my late 30s and early 40s. Like many of my contemporaries, I started adulthood with a few delusions of grandeur (e.g., Maybe I’ll open the world’s first nighttime poetry bakery so that I can sleep in, bake cakes in the late afternoon, and write/perform poetry by night!) When I was shaken still by the realities of parenting and mortgages, traumatic injuries, and the relentless grind of life in my late 30s and early 40s, I spent a fair amount of time being angry and sad…wondering how I could have been so wrong about what my life would become. Though the cocky confidence of youth didn’t seem to fit anymore,
at times, I still kept trying to wear it. Other times, I found myself feeling most comfortable in a dark shroud of doubts. Even while cocooned comfortably under all that fabric, somewhere inside I knew that those doubts didn’t fit right either.
Now, I feel like I’m settling into my style…or at least the style I’ll wear for the next season or two. This new style is eclectic…a bit of the pop and color of youth mixed with classic touches of realism. Doubts and confidence are great accessories but should be used sparingly. When it feels like I’m wearing too much of either, I’ll do my best to shed something in pursuit of the ultimate in comfort and style.
As my boys grow older and develop their own style, it’s difficult to speculate what trends lie ahead or how my own style will be affected or influenced. As I stand grasping the threads of who I thought I was with one hand and the threads of who I’m becoming instead in the other, I hope that I my instincts will guide me to put aside the colors and textures that no longer suit so that I can weave something beautiful and comfortable from what remains.
It’s been a little over a month since I was on a business trip and read this blog post about unlimited screen time while waiting at the airport. As a parent, I’ve read articles like this one which cite the extensive body of evidence that screen time isn’t good for kids. I’ve also read articles like this one which attempt to counter the conventional wisdom with the realities of life and parenting in a modern world. I’ve attended conferences sponsored by groups like EdSurge where I’ve seen firsthand the incredible educational possibilities that are now being unlocked by technology.
Without doubt, technology is a brave and complex new world filled with exciting possibilities and terrifying risks. There’s so much information swirling around that it’s difficult to know if the studies (like everything else) are lagging behind the technology, if (like all new and rapidly emerging phenomena) there are complexities that have yet to be teased out with adequate scientific rigor. Like many parents, I’m just trying to navigate and explore without getting myself or my kids lost, to listen to both my head and my heart and do what feels best. I wrestle daily with what’s appropriate, what’s feasible…what’s beneficial, what’s harmful. I know for sure that I get it wrong on some days and just hope that the right days outnumber the wrong.
Prior to reading the “unlimited screen time” blog post, me and mine had done our level best to be a “no more than 2 hours a day” family. While this seemed right based on the evidence, there were plenty of moments when I felt like I was spending way too much of my day monitoring minutes, explaining/arguing about/discussing our screen time policy. Since the hubs and I have staggered schedules and I’m on deck for the late shift, I would catch the brunt of the screen time angst. By the time I returned home from work in the late afternoon, the boys would often have burned through their screen time and–at the very time of the day when we were all exhausted and cranky and could use some veg out/cuddle on the couch time–screen time would be off the table as an option. I started to wonder what’s worse: (1) allowing my kids a little extra screen time or (2) arguing with my kids about screen time during the time of day when I am my least patient self.
Reading that blog post got me wondering if perhaps it might be possible to re-frame our approach to screen time so that instead of being a right that gets taken away, screen time could become a privilege that is earned for a hard day’s work. With this perspective in mind, the hubs and I sat down to make a list of all the things we want the boys doing instead of screen time. When the list was complete, we sat down to discuss and refine the list as a family. We explained that–as an experiment–we would be willing to try letting the boys have unlimited screen time if they would commit to finishing everything on the list BEFORE they booted anything up or turned anything on. We also stipulated that they would continue to be on the hook for “other duties as assigned” without complaint.
While this new approach to screen time hasn’t completely eliminated arguments or angst in our household, I am happy to report that rather than being filled with the soft glow of a cold screen, mornings are now filled with music and Legos, and comics…running, and bike rides and playing with pets. And in the afternoons..time spent cuddling on the couch far exceeds time spent arguing and monitoring. While Chris and I still struggle daily with so many little parenting decisions, I think it’
s safe to say that this particular parenting experiment seems to be going well. For now, the evidence in our house supports this new approach.
I sleep fitfully in the early morning hours, nervous that the alarm will ring and wake the lot in our tiny house. I stir and drift, stir and drift until the alarm is imminent. With one swift movement, I force myself awake. Armed with tiny smartphone flashlight, I navigate the fog and ink…tugging on workout clothes, tiptoeing through blackness, silently slinking into the car and easing down the driveway without starting the ignition to avoid waking my still-sleeping, easily-roused first born.
At the gym: Do I have the right form? Am I striking the right pose? Working hard enough? Responding coherently? High-fiving fervently?
At home: Does everyone have the weather-appropriate/organic/sustaining/hydrating/environmentally-friendly everything they need for the day ahead? Has homework been done? Chores? Is everyone acting civilized? Have the pets been fed and exercised? 
By the way, how’s my husband? What happened on his shift yesterday that I might need to know today? Was I supposed to bake for the class? For work? Speaking of work…best get on the road before all the good parking spaces are taken! Where’s that non-dairy/non-gluten/non-processed lunch I packed last night and nutritious breakfast I prepared this morning?
Morning drive: News of the world…sad, inspiring, beautiful, strange, terrifying, thought-provoking.
Office: Meetings, trainings, emails, voicemails, writing, planning, editing, facilitating.
Afternoon drive: More news. Call Chris. How was the day? Where shall we meet? What time are you off? What’s next? Baseball? Basketball? Karate? Soccer? Who needs gear? A snack? Am I coaching? Team momming? Snack shacking? PTAing? Book Clubbing?
At night: Dinner for the boys. Straighten the house. Feed and exercise the pets. Shower for the boys. Snuggles and kisses. All tucked in! Time to read to the boys. Dinner for the adults. Prep for tomorrow. Read a bit of that Book Club book. Maybe see Chris, maybe not. Sometimes…self-doubt. Am I doing too much? Not enough? Am I giving everyone—including myself—what they need? Am I making the most of being a human in this place at this time with these people?
Inside this dense forest of shifting attention and substantial remembering, sometimes things get lost for a while. Perspective, time…passwords. And so it came to pass that almost one year ago, I lost the password for this very blog. Since password retrieval was set to send to my now defunct old work email address, it seemed at times that the blog was dead, that access would never again be granted, that I would wander around tormented by the typos I would never be able to fix, the posts I would never be able to write. I searched the recesses of my mind unsuccessfully so many times that I started to give up hope. I almost called off the search. One day—for reasons I’m still trying to understand—a flash of clarity penetrated the forest and revealed the location of the long-hidden magical password.
Now that I have once again been welcomed into the land of the blogging, I can’t say that I’ll have lots of time to write. This said; I am thrilled to be back, to be able to post when I can, to have a handful of you indulge me when I manage to put something up. After a year of serious Momnesia, BEHOLD THE RETURN OF COMIC BOOK MAMA!
There are times when one wants to escape, read something beachy but also compelling. Beautiful Ruins by Jess Walter is the perfect selection for such a moment. With a whole host of engrossing characters, vivid descriptions of places (including coastal Italy), and thought-provoking discussions of the complexities of life, I found myself eagerly anticipating every word, every scene.
The author strikes the delicate balance between tying things up satisfactorily and keeping the story believable. I found myself feeling that everything was turning out OK even when things didn’t turn out as expected or hoped. There were plenty of twists and turns, paths crossing and diverging and crossing again.
The book so eloquently depicts how–in the end–life is such a hodgepodge of where we start, what happens to us, and the turns we take along the way. Even when one dramatically veers from a particular path, there always remains the possibility of circling back to tie up unfinished business. Even if circling back never happens, it is still possible to find great happiness on the new path and retain wonderful memories from the old one. With lines like “And even if they don’t find what they’re looking for, isn’t it enough to be out walking together in the sunlight?,” I never wanted the story to end.
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