40 Days of Birthday: Day Thirty-Eight

I had a very exciting meeting today about a project for next year here in Berlin. This meeting has been on the books for a few weeks and I was hoping to share more about it since it is my official Birth-Day activity for today—but I can’t. There are just too many details that need to be sorted before I can spill the beans, and before I can truly call it officially in the works. I’m looking forward to telling you more about it in the coming months.

Something unexpected happened today, before my exciting secret meeting. Lennon has a small plush fox that he carries with him nearly everywhere. Fox is an inexpensive toy that we bought at IKEA in the late spring. Lennon became attached to fox for a couple of reasons. When we travelled to the U.S. this past summer, we took a collection of toys with us that were small enough to be portable and inexpensive enough to not make us sad should they get damaged or lost in travel. His little fox was included. At the time of our vacation, Lennon wasn’t particularly attached to any one toy so we could make these kinds of decisions, but having spent a month with these toys only, they became mainstays. Additionally, Lennon loves toys with tails or dangly parts that he can hold in his hand and flip around. This is a habit we discovered on vacation, perhaps because fox was there with his perfect, toddler hand-sized tail.

When he started Kita this fall, we thought fox would be a perfect companion as they asked we bring our child’s favorite “Kuscheltier” with him every day. Though Lennon doesn’t get upset when fox is not around and is happy to play with other toys or even swing other plush animals by the tail, fox had been a consistent companion throughout the summer and, again, wouldn’t be such a financial loss should something happen to him.

As we came from Kita today, I handed Lennon fox whom he grabbed tightly by the tail. On the way home, I always glance down to make sure fox is still with him in the stroller. Luckily, he always is. We stopped into a few stores before heading home. As I was lifting Lennon out of the stroller, I noticed fox was missing. I checked everywhere on my person and in our bags but fox had been…dropped. I really couldn’t remember the last time I glanced down to make sure fox was there. Was it before we got on the train? After the store? Fox could be anywhere. Fox was lost. I did the first thing I always do in any crisis: call my husband. We both decided that it probably wasn’t advantageous for us to retrace all of our steps, having no idea where he could be. Luckily, IKEA still sold the exact same fox and Nicholas would make a run tonight to get another one.

We’d always said that if fox got lost, we’d move on and not replace him. Our adaptable Lennon would find another toy to be his companion. Actually faced with the real life scenario, however, we needed a new fox. He’d become such a celebrity amongst our friends and at Kita: Lennon and his fox. As I waited for Nicholas to come home, I became sad about losing that particular fox. Yes, he could be replaced, but I imagined mending fox when he ripped a seam and letting him take on that wonderful child-loved patina. That fox had been washed so many times its fur was a little matted and dingy. The new fox would be all different and that made me melancholy.

Nicholas walked through the door and asked if I’d received his message. He was on his way home and wanted to know what side of the street we’d walked on, just in case he’d happen to spot fox. Disappointed that I’d not gotten his message, I apologized. Just then, out of his pocket he pulled fox---the original, lost-now-found fox! Nicholas had seen fox on one of the outside tables at Rogaki, just down the street. Some kind soul likely found him on the street and placed him there, clearly seeing how beloved he was. Happy day! Lennon saw fox sitting on his Tripp Trapp chair where Nicholas had placed him, smiled, and went to him. Then fox made a straight line for the washing machine. He’d be clean and dry in time for Kita in the morning. 

Statement of Rationale (and a disclaimer)

Every once in a while, I search the inter-webs with the words ‘mother, artist’ to see what they will bring up. I’m looking for blogs written by women who have a life’s work, a calling, and become a mom, in spite of it. I’m hoping to find someone who has written a how-to guide that I can follow. They’ll be able to explain how to fully immerse oneself in one’s art and still be a really good mother. My biggest worry about not having found these women yet is that maybe they don’t exist; that to attempt both is quixotic. Out of this fear began this blog. Here, I reckon I can become what I have been looking for. Maybe through writing about my own journey, I can create a manual for it.

“But, Amy, so far you’ve written about fairly disparate things, leaving open ends, left out parts. Not all ‘mother’ and not all ‘artist’ and sometimes neither.”– Fictional Follower

I’d like to offer some justification for my actions here. Not that you require it. I’d just like to provide it:

First there’s this—I live in Berlin, Germany. By my account, Berlin is an experimental city that continues to find and reinvent itself, over and over. The people who migrate here, in my experience, usually share the same ethos. They come to make bold, incongruous moves, artistic or otherwise, without the fear of dramatic repercussions found in other cities. One can’t do that as easily in places like New York or London where the expectations are as high as the rents. But Berlin is cheap and nonchalant. There is no dream too ridiculous for Berlin and if the dreamer decides to take a detour, Berlin will still be there for them when they return. In fact, Berlin will have even gone so far as to forget there was ever a dream to be had, offering the opportunity to find a new one without anyone the wiser. Folks here truly embrace Berlin’s carefree nature and end up living many lifetimes within its walls, unburdened by consequence. I’ve become accustomed to the ethic here insofar as I know what to expect, but, in truth, it runs contrary to every fiber of my being. That’s not to say what I’ve written is meant to be a criticism of Berlin or its inhabitants. Really good art is created here by really remarkable people. It is just often done in a way in which I have never been able to work: with abandon. You see, I’m serious business, folks. I show up on time and I stay late. My dreams loom heavily and I’m always working towards them. I am earnest and I do not deviate. Failure is not an option (see: The Traumatic Terrible.) As envious as you must be of my austerity, rest assured, it can be a big bore. I want to change. I want to be more like Berlin. I hope it rubs off on me. The format of this blog is a start. I’m just going to write what I am inspired to write, devil may care style, until I have the answers I seek. If I leave ends untied and questions unanswered, please forgive me. I see this as a necessary part of the process.

Then there’s this—One thing I’ve learned from being a mom is that I can’t also be a perfectionist. It’s not compatible with childrearing. Children are messy, literally and figuratively. Their brains and their bodies are not yet organized. The second you have them figured out they change. Also, as I’ve mentioned here, you are often required, by the very heart beating in your chest, to drop everything and just ‘be’ with your child. That means all else stops, including time, until you are done. The worst damage to your meticulousness comes when you realize that none of your schedules or your blog posts or your how-d’ya-dos matter one iota next to those moments, gone too soon. What was once a well calculated plan of attack on your next five years as an artist becomes unpredictable, catch as catch can. Like Berlin. Maybe like this blog. Maybe like what it is I’m looking for.




Photo source found here.

"Keep hoping machine running." -Number 19 on Woody Guthrie's list of New Year's resolutions for the year 1942.

Lennon was born in 2011 and I became bigger person, and I’m not talking about the 57 lbs I gained during my pregnancy. I told some friends back in 2010, when I was hoping to get pregnant, that I imagined my heart expanding so I would be able to house the love for my child, the love for my family, and love for my work all together inside me. I thought of this largeness whenever I was confronted with fear and it usually made me braver. I became bigger than the fear and the volume of love I carried protected me. I grew last year but my expansion is not complete. In 2010 I wondered how a baby would fit into my life as an artist. In 2011 I wondered the opposite. I’ll be searching for answers in 2012 on a quest to become the big girl I really want to be.