Awake since early.
Naoise ate rasberry porridge in bed, selected his shells from our collection for show and tell. He was still waking up as I bundled him in and out of the car.
>Research in studio for Birth workshop<
Rang up Job Ad requesting experienced mother required for help. Strange conversation talking about care experience and that experience being unpaid caring work as a mother. Asked if I would object to doing caring work and cleaning. I said that I didn’t mind. Cleaning is not nurturing raising work. Cleaning is domestic work. Care work is not cleaning. Not strange to be asked the question nor that it should be expected but to care is not to clean.
Collected Syd from school, running late as had to print out notes in the library for life class. Stopped to collect Naoise from school on way back then remembered that he was going to his friends house for tea.
The sun is out. I take Syd to buy fish and chips. Very naughty. His chip butty is huge and he only eats half of it, he says he feels sick. The clothes that had gotten wet in the rain are again drying-result. The have now been washed twice once by machine and once by nature.
I am only managing to make this art work because Syd can look after himself, well almost look after himself. He is jamming on the guitar, again he should be doing his homework. What to do. Hassle. Encourage. Beg. Do it for him. No taking a new approach. The failed neglectful mother approach. He has to take responsibility for it himself. I can’t do the job for him. The work and inclination has to come from him, not me.
Make some artwork. Feel bad cutting the blossom. Cutting the blossom with the house hair scissors. Snip Snip. I cut the pink.
Motherhood is not pink. Motherhood is all the colours. Motherhood is shit brown. Motherhood is the soil from the earth. Motherhood is neither clean or refined. Motherhood is all the colours. Motherhood is not pink. Motherhood is not always joyous. Motherhood is salt. Motherhood is sugar. Motherhood is vinegar. Motherhood is diving into red. Motherhood is a place that is misunderstood and complicated. Motherhood is not something that is easy to describe. Motherhood is this for me and that for you. Motherhood is about work. Motherhood is about connections. Motherhood is about loneliness and isolation and togetherness. Motherhood is about creativity and art making. Motherhood is boring. Motherhood is a trap, a prison, a fortress. Motherhood is not always about sisterhood. Motherhood is not always friendly. Mother. What is motherhood. Why is there a hood next to a mother. Why is motherhood a covering, a shroud. Come under the hood with me Mother. Come under the cherry blossom tree. Reclaim the flowers and the petals. Scatter them amid your body and rejoice in our hood or mother. Let the blossom be at our breasts. Let our wombs share what is in our hearts. I love you mum.
See what I have been making mum.
I have just seen a mouse scuttle behind the defunct 1980’s gas fire. Quick as a flash he or she ran. Almost a shadow. I perhaps should be doing more cleaning than creativity. I perhaps should be doing more cleaning than caring. I perhaps should be getting a new cat, or a humane trap. Perhaps first I should just clean.