When Mister Shankar Plays His Sitar; and Other Stories About How Kuna Matata and No Woman Cave.

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You know, I really want this post to be coherent, exact, …and I want it to flow like water. Though, I suppose it is flowing like water because after all… Bruce Lee said you put water in any thing, IT becomes that thing “You put water in the pot, it becomes the pot” BL. I am curious as to the shape of this vessel.

My need to write is apparent in my lack of patience with life. From poetry and lyrics to ‘need to get diapers’ notes & these-seem-like-fun-activities-to-do-with-my-husband notes. This is what I am letting myself become: A note writer. Kuna Matata! (In case you’re wondering, the meaning of Kuna Matata is the exact opposite of Hakuna Matata, and if you don’t know what that means….I suggest you watch The Lion King πŸ™‚ ) (It’s a good movie).

There is a nonsensical box I throw myself in some times. Well, often. It’s the box that I use to stand in and look over the edge and say I can’t do this, and I can’t do that, I am not as good as so & so, and I am not as blablablablablabla.

Do you know this box? Do you ever put yourself in it? Shouldn’t we step outside of it, and burn it completely? Why don’t we? Why don’t I? The box provides me with a very false sense of security. Like a warm blanket with smallpox in it. It’s just not what it seems to be and it’s toxic! Kuna Matata!

When Mister Shankar plays his sitar I often cry. There may be no tears and no sounds coming forth from my voice box, but my soul is dancing a wailing sound …yes, dancing a wailing sound and I cry. Once, after days and days of continual baby-rearing (not continuous because I bathed and the babies did take some naps at the same time), I laid down with earphones on and Mister Shankar on my phone. This once the tears were physically warming up short lines on my face…some bridging over my nose, and I could see a woman….a tired, tired woman wearing a green sari in an Indian village, standing by a row of very modest houses. Now, she could have been a memory from one documentary or another, but Mister Shankar brought her to my eyes that night, and I felt her sorrow. Her sorrow was my sorrow, for although our trials are different, we are women; we are mothers. And we are tired.

I begin to think about this. Why are we tired? Why am I tired?

My children are… they are the most brilliant light in my universe. The three of them together are as a beacon of pure joy, laughter, and love. They exude excitement and desire for life. I honestly would not change having them, for anything!

But the time to pretend like all is okay with all of us, needs to be over. Many of us women tend to put our families first, so much so that when we want to do something for ourselves, we kind of excuse ourselves from our parental duties. As if parents is all that we are. Before I leave the babies with my husband for more than 30 minutes, I feel I must make sure he has everything he will need to care for them. This is an asinine activity on my part because he is obviously fully capable of doing what’s needed, by himself. But no, I have to wash the bottles & prep them. I have to make sure the diapers and wipes are in place, and a change of clothes is easy to find. I have to do this & that and the third thing. When he leaves to do what he needs/wants to do outside the house, he does not busy himself with this extremely futile exercise. So, why is it that I do it? Is it a controlling thing? Is it a caring thing? Is it a nesting thing? I’ll tell you one thing…it adds up on the list of mental notes that pile up to make a chic tired!

There is laundry (which, I do not care to go over in detail! I am sure we know what ‘laundry’ means), meal planning, grocery shopping, being present with the babies, answer every excited “Mamma!” “Mamma?” “Mommy mommy look!”with an excited “Yes, baby” or “yes, honey?” because you know these young humans are learning how to be, and you don’t want to be the one who killed their joy when they were babies! But some times….after the 160th “mamma” call… you kind of…. twitch a little and turn around and say “SHHHHHHHH!” You immediately turn it into a game because your baby’s face looks hurt and confused. How could you not want to hear what they have to tell you? So, you turn that “SHHHHHH!” into a ‘quiet game’, that you just hadn’t told them about…yet.

So in the midst of it all, you don’t do as much you stuff as before you cared for all your loved ones more than yourself. Maybe you don’t go out as much, you don’t hang out with your friends, or spend time alone to just listen to your self breathe. Maybe you stop writing, and singing, and playing the piano. If Maybe was a baby, we’d no longer be supported by planet Earth.

I wonder if there is a baby named Maybe. Probably so.

As you do less ‘you‘, you find yourself in that box…that nonsensical box. Some times the right person says the right thing at the right time and you tell yourself you can OF COURSE do what you used to do before…sing & play & wear a little black dress. But the issue is, the box is something you created over a period of time, and it isn’t supposed to just be broken that easily.

Because life is like that. Obstacles are often hard to break, and they have to be broken before you can burn them to the ground. And I am not saying that this can’t be done. In fact I am saying that it CAN be done, and it IS being done. We break barriers all the time. From the woman in the green sari in that Indian village, whose parents were unhappy she was born a girl, but when she bore a girl she LOVED her and taught her to value herself even in the cultural conflict that her little mind will face; to the fear of reading a poem you wrote out loud amongst strangers…or even family members…because you haven’t done it in so long.

Acknowledging that we DO struggle doesn’t make us weak or whiny. Surely having a pity-party is conducive to very little positive, but saying aloud, what our trials are only make them appear SPLAT in our faces. We can only work on something if we acknowledge that it exists.

It’s 2:20am, and I was sleepy at 6 pm but the babies were awake. Now? Now I am trying to unscramble my mind and the babies are sleeping. See how kuna matata?

Life truly is amazing and we are amazing creations. They do say if life gives you lemons, make lemonade. I think we should make lemonade and other lemon-based products, and…. and… we should ask ourselves what are we giving to life?

All is well. Be free.

Signing off

A possibly deliriously tired mom.

PS: By the way, have you searched ‘A happy but tired mom’ on Google and went to the images results? Hilarious! Try it out.

PPS: I will write about woman’s cave next time. I definitely have something to say about that! In the meantime…..smash that box & burn it down. 😁

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