A Life Worth Living (and the Allure of Silent Film Bangs)

I'm not who I thought I'd be. When I was young, I entertained visions of semi-greatness. I wasn't coveting earthly fame and glory. Posthumous literary prominence suited me better anyway. I pictured a solitary Louise Brooks writing inspired literature akin to Kate Chopin's The Awakening or Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I imagined rosy-cheeked, angelic babies clad in white vintage dresses crawling beneath my antique writing desk in a home straight out of the pages of Sense and Sensibility. I saw a romantic, sophisticated life full of meaningful conversation, thoughtful prose, and silent film bangs à la Ana May Wong.

And then I had a baby. That morning my thoughts turned to simpler things: When will he poop? Did I already nurse on this side? Have I brushed my teeth today? When was the last time I showered? Life became necessarily simpler. And yet never more hectic. Nearly eight years into my sweetest adventure, I'm thinking beyond nursing and diapers (though I long to experience those moments again). Now I wonder how many times in a row I can serve the same chicken-vegetable soup before someone complains, I think about which letters my four-year old is and isn't pronouncing, and I question why Annie submerged put my eco-lipstick in a sink full of water (in her words, "my didn't think you find out"). Everything has changed. Even my name is different. I'm mommy-may-I-have-a-glass-of-milk, mommy-Annie-needs-to-throw-up, and sometimes hi-sweetheart-what's-for-dinner. Don't get me wrong. I love all of these names. There's a story in each one: a day filled with every emotion imaginable and the hearts of those I hold dearest in this world. And I'm realizing that therein lies the meaning. My life isn't sophisticated, the prose is always rushed and rarely thoughtful, and white-clad children grow dirty in seconds. But mine is certainly a life worth living. To be there when Annie is feverish and scared, to watch (with wonder) as Benjamin learns to read, and to stand at the finish line as Jeff completes yet another 100-mile run. Playing Memory with blue-eyed Benjamin (and reminding him that cheaters never win), making healthy chocolate cake with wild Annie, and training my children in the way they should go...these are the things of life. My extraordinary life. And I can always cut bangs.

The Books I Once Loved:
Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Gilman (short story)
The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood
A Room of One's Own by Virginia Wolf (essay)
O Pioneers! by Willa Cather

Books I Love Now (some of them):
The Keeper of the Bees by Gene Stratton-Porter
The Harvester by Gene Stratton-Porter
The White Flag by Gene Stratton-Porter (okay, EVERYTHING by GSP)
Treasures of the Snow by Patricia St. John
Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
A Charlotte Mason Companion by Karen Andreola
A Child's History of the World by V.M. Hillyer
Little House on the Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder (the whole series)
Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Montgomery