*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

Things are weirdly stable, or maybe I’m in stasis.  Frenetic stasis.  Or something of the sort.  Our house still languishes in Queenstown, winterized and sad and empty…save for the rats and mice, although their colonies might be vanquished by now.  (Poison.  It was a last resort.)  We want to go back, we need to go back.  And yet, yes, we are so lucky, and we’re safe.  Technically we could stay in the church forever, or for a while.  The church is our cave, our haven, and I feel “at home” enough in this funny little conservative town to know that I have a tiny handful of friends here, and no illusions (any more) about “fitting in”, and also no real need or desire to.  One of the great gifts of this past year has been the blossoming of a real community of true, deep friends, and this has happened thanks to birth, and the sharing of stories and experiences in birthing, mothering, fertility, and genuinely sacred women’s spaces.  I’m not necessarily in close physical proximity to these friends; some live within a couple of hours of me, so I get to see them periodically, and others live on other ends of the earth, but we’re close in spirit.   The birth group that has started up in Fredericton continues to grow, and I am putting my energies towards nurturing that circle, knowing now more than ever that circles take tending.  One of the overwhelming benefits of our previous year of troubles was figuring out exactly who my friends are, and also learning just how incredible, kind, supportive, understanding and generous the grand majority of people are.  The sad and hateful ones come out of the woodwork once in a while, but we ignore them, and they wither.

*

I have already overextended myself a little bit this year, but perhaps that feels like rootedness.  I’ve taken on projects when asked to, even though my one and only new year’s resolution was to Say No, More [often].  The universe and my children, and, I suppose, my biology, and my tendencies are out to humble me, and that’s ok: I’m going to take it, and not take it, and  keep living out the onward hurtling there-we-go, unceasing endlessness of it all until the end, I guess.

*

Because I’ve done this so many times before, pregnancy seems speedy and unstoppable.  I am halfway to another child in my arms, and I keep pausing once a week or so to remind myself to sometime soon, tune in to this blossoming belly, to take time to wallow for a bit in this gorgeous journey.  The ritual is elusive, at this point in the chaos of my normal life with three little kids and these thrilling urges to make (community, babies, art, words, magic, etc.).  To be honest, the practicalities of it all just feel so easy, truly.  I know I shouldn’t be saying that.  Announcing the ease of motherhood is atrociously politically incorrect, especially if one is talking about the caring-for-an-infant stage.  Every blog post about motherhood is supposed to discuss the hardness and the longness and the universal grim incessant mothering that goes into mothering, while claiming that no one ever talks about the challenges, although it seems to me that this is all that’s out there being talked about…  Forgive me for not being interested in complaining about my kids, or commiserating on the desperation of dealing with a new baby—I love it all.  Yes, yes, there are moments when I can’t stand the sight of my five-year old, and nothing is ever clean.  I hope you know by now I am oh so very far from living a perfect life!  But I guess the darkness is always relative.  I do know how fortunate I am to be able to love this: the sweetness of my little ones, dozing like puppies, and to long for them (truly) when I’m away at births, or meetings, or the thrilling business of all of it.  And I think that once one has had a ton of kids, it’s easier to step back, and not to feel like drowning in the crushing moments, one after another, and just to bask more.  I’m not judging, I was there, where you are, I promise.  Everything changes, mothers.  You will miss this.

*

On Thursday, we packed the van and trekked into Fredericton so we could join the throngs at the New Brunswick School of Craft and Design Gallery, where, among an extremely talented company of artists, my brilliant and gorgeous husband Lee, and his work, was honoured at “Momentum” the NBSCC alumni exhibition.  Do any of you have the experience at arriving with the kids at your upscale destination and wrestling with the kids in the car before going inside, to cut their nails and wipe down their avant-garde hairstyles?  That was us, bedraggled as usual, and despite the long discussions on gallery etiquette for two days’ prior, the first thing Horus did was rush over to the displays of others’ pottery (the fantastic Darren Emenau and Suzanne Babineau were the two other ceramic artists whose work was on display), and fondle it all…Nothing broke, and the only pieces that came close (wobbling on their plinths) were dad’s so that’s ok.

*

In addition to the pottery projects I have on the go, I am especially exited about a performance art-piece that I’m working on, surrounding this upcoming birth.  I am, as ever, interested in self-representation in birth, and autonomous birth as an act of defiant art-making.  I see it as a strong statement opposing my own objectification, and an assertion of my independence, my humanity.  For the sake of this project, as well as for the sake of my kids and family, among many other reasons, I am really hoping we can get it together to put Queenstown back on its foundations (literally) by the time this baby is ready to come into the world.  But I’m learning patience in this lifetime, so we’ll see.  One thing that I do love about birth is that it is so very adaptable: one really only needs a floor, (or a planet with an atmosphere).

*

I was born in January.  It’s a dark time (smile).  I have a gallery in Florida (www.mindysolomongallery.com) and I need to get some new work down there, so we have been trying to figure out if we could maybe swing driving down and camping there for a few nights, just to get some sun–which would be cheaper than shipping clay, believe it or not.  We’ll see.  For now, we’re hibernating, cuddling, taking baths, reading, planning, growing.  It all unfolds.