Let the Play begin.

In the book “Art is the Way of Knowing” by Pat B. Allen.

 

She had a dream about a dead baby bird, then went for a walk and came upon a dead baby bird, and remembered being little and finding a dead little bird in the alley.  She went back to the dead bird and took its picture and put it in a frame and put it in her studio. 

 

The little dead bird ended up representing to her the lost little girl of her childhood.  She had been robbed of being one when she had to be a mother too early since her mother was sickly and died when she was young. 

 

That struck me as being similar to me, although my mother did not die, she needed me to mother instead of being a little girl.  And then my father didn’t treat me as a little girl, but abused me sexually.  I wasn’t anyone’s little girl or even able to be my own little girl.

 

She says to go back and remember what your dreams and wishes when you were 5 or say 7.  I have nothing there?  I can’t remember dreaming, surely I had to, she says to think of childhood toys and favorite activities, places, foods, toys or clothes.  My memory bank seems empty.

 

I had just said to my husband the other day, “I don’t want to be a mother no more, I have been a mother forever.”  And it made me sad. 

 

How interesting this all is!

I felt anxious and crowded and overwhelmed and that my house was so full of mom duties.  Fear arose, then anger.  There was way too much mom roles to be done leaving little time to nurture my little girl. 

 

It gives me great relief it isn’t my kids that I resent.  

 

I do have control over how much time I do the Mom thing and it is up to me to set time aside.

 

To set aside time for all little girls to play, to put down the mother hat or ratty housedress and step into the space of play, in the land of dreams and wishes, of doing what you love, immersed in activities where you forget all the grown-up drudgery, careless of cleanliness and order, playing and experimenting with ideas, childlike.

 

My little girl inside is sighing a happy sigh, quite a worthy opponent for the mother lady. 

 

What a juxtaposition there is inside of me, a weary mother girl and the newly found excited ready to play girl! 

 

What do little girls do? What do they dream and wish, how do they relax and let go, dare to dance like no one is watching, sing loud and out of tune, dress in fashions that suit their fancy regardless of size or shape. How to escape the critical eye of a nonsensical mother?  How to slip away from jobs, duties and daily structure? 

 

Can we send the Mother on vacation, like an extended one?

Isn’t it time for her to runaway, like far far away?

 

What I feared the most has happened, the kids will take over this house!  My little girl may just be leading the charge.

 

As I look backwards from here, I can see my anxiousness for them to grow up so I could retire being a mom and commence with being alone and learning how to play and be me.  Now I can do both.  When I feel myself getting stressed, when I feel myself getting way uptight, we will send the old bat of vacation!

 

I am so overly thankful that I don’t have to be the mom all the time, its darkness was filling up my world, the weight alone was breaking my spirit!

 

The difference in being a mom with the spirit of little girl, compared to just being a Mother, is beyond what words can carry.

 

I am years and years behind in playing and way ahead on the responsibility scale, so it is time to balance things out, it is time to let me learn to play.

 

Learn to be like a child again.  Begin to dream and plant some wishes, try new things and seek new friends, go new places, the world is my playground, dare I play on it?

 

How fun to teach play instead of responsibility!  I think I have drilled that one to the death!

 

Let the Play begin!