Lenten Librarian: Days Twelve to Twenty-Two

Are we really halfway there?  I can't believe it.  It's been a whopping ten days of self-discovery, but first I must follow up with the idea I had about physical spaces and their impact on our daily lives.

This poster hangs in my living room.
Caro Diario is a film by Italian director Nanni Moretti.

I was recently invited into the home of one of my dear colleagues.  I have never in my life visited a home that embodied so completely the essence of the person who lived within its walls.  Ok, that's not true.  One other time have I been in such a place, and it occurs to me that both women who live in these homes share a number of qualities that define why I love them so dearly.  They are remarkably independent.  They are deeply introspective.  They are buoyant. (Don't you just love that word?)  They are highly, imaginatively intelligent.  They exude love and affection.  They are warm.  They like tea.  They are worldly and travelled and articulate and curious.  In both cases, walking into their homes was like walking onto a movie set designed to perfectly express a single, clear, strong personality.  Each item in each cranny has a story, a history, a meaning beyond it mere aesthetic appeal.  Each item in each nook is loved and looked at, not once, but over and over and over.  Extraordinary.

This hangs in my dining room.
I attended this event with my
husband (then boyfriend).

Does my home accomplish all of this?  What does it say about me?  Yes, there are framed photos, posters, and works of art on my walls that mean something to me.  Yes, some of my furniture was once my grandparents' and therefore has a history.  Yes, I chose my kitchen tiles with love.  But no, my
home is not like the homes of these women.  It is colder, neater, more angled, less soft.  It is too functional to be a mirror of my self.  It is a place where I live, but perhaps it is not yet my home.  What an interesting realization, and a sad one.  I have lived in my home for five years, but I have not poured myself into it.  Or perhaps what has poured out of me has not gone into that space, but into others.  Like my libraries.  I see myself in my libraries more than anywhere else.

Well, that's for another time.  I am again veering off course.  Back to my central research question it is! (A researcher must be disciplined.)

1. What has been added to my life since becoming a mother (besides the obvious)?  Does each addition result in the subtraction of something, or is it possible to add without taking away?

Here are some things that have been added (and whether they are essentially positive or negative in terms of my emotional life):

worry over the health and safety of another person -

the solidarity of other mothers +

the company of children +

restrictions on how my time is spent -

What do those additions replace, if anything?

worry over the health and safety of another person replaces worry over my own health

the solidarity of other mothers  - this is pure addition

the company of children replaces the company of adults without kids

restrictions on how my time is spent replaces freedom of movement and choice regarding time

That doesn't add up to anything great, does it?  One pure addition, and three others that result in losses that are true losses.  So what to do?  What do other people do?  Perhaps that is where I should focus next: researching the existing body of knowledge on this topic.  The topic being how parents of young children remain connected to their childless friends, find free time, and maintain physical and emotional health.

Where can I find this type of information?  parenting books (ugh, I hate them!), parenting blogs (better, but still a bit smug), parenting magazines (nothing but ads).... actual parents?  There's an idea.  I could conduct my own research, right?  Some original data collection.  Of course.  So, next up, what to ask.  Stay tuned.