Momcore is a term I first discovered in a review of the musician Julie Doiron. I was listening to her latest album Woke Myself Up and delving into research on the artist and her past albums, while working on a review of the newest that I was creating a draft for, when I noticed it. The term was used to describe a state of mind, and art, that concentrate on hearth and home; the notion of an artist turning a kind of domesticated life into something full of grace and beauty. The word, and the seeming definition, stuck with me and sat in the back of my mind for weeks after. It was during this spinning round of momcore that I found myself ruminating on my own role as a mother, and what being a mother means to me; as a woman, a person, and an artist.
More often then not when you mention to someone that you are a mother there is this dismissive tone, and a flash of disinterest, that occurs and overtakes the listener. It is as if this realization of this piece of who you are suddenly makes the other bits disappear, and leaves you less worthy of expression, of interesting conversations, or of any kind of creative thought at all. As if the act of bringing a soul to life, and helping to mold them into people who will exist in this world, somehow lacks imagination, a pioneering spirit, or any intellect. When you think on it that way it makes the preconceived opinions and repression seem ridiculous and borne of ignorance, don't you think? I suppose that thinking on this, and some of my experiences as a mother, is part of what made me decide I wanted to try my hand at something like this.
Momcore will not be a place to dictate a list of parenting skills, or act as a platform to be an expert on anything to do with being a mother, at all. I am no expert, and I falter and fail often; but then again is it not in our mistakes that we learn the most? This will not be a space to state how adorable my children are, nor will it detail every new word they come up with to describe an event in the bathroom, or to tell tales of something they stuck up their noses. Instead I am hoping this will be a place I come to for examination of my days, to dig deeper into the struggles I face as a mother, and where I look below the surfaces of who I am as a woman, and what it is really like to face growing up while you are helping others grow up, as well.
We live in a society much different than that of our own mothers, or their mothers before them. The neighborhoods, villages and communities that once thrived and came together to work as collective parenting are rare; most of us live for years in a place without even knowing our neighbors first names, much less what their own families are like. Long gone are the rows of houses filling up streets and cul de sacs, all housing stay at home mothers and two or three children minimum, with the 9-to-5 departure and arrivals of the working father as the norm. The post-modern household that exists now may have two working parents; it may contain stay at home fathers and breadwinning mothers, or single parents, or partners of the same gender or much older new mothers having babies than we have ever known before. All of these changes are not bad, and they do not set us back as people in any particular way; but I know that I am not the only one to find the experience often isolating, and as lonely as the inhabitants within the pages of Douglas Coupland’s novel Microserfs were once touted and detailed on the page.
I wanted to find a home for my thoughts on motherhood, a place to describe what my house looks like on a daily basis in all its shining chaos and catastrophe, and to develop a small side space to ruminate on the trials and travels of a woman who is figuring out what it means to grow beyond the patterns and predictability of being a wife and mother; a place to note how it is to come out the other side of a day and still remain my own definition of me. Hopefully this will help me discover things about myself, and my children, that I may not have recognized before. Perhaps it will be a stepping-stone to hop across and connect with other parents looking for connections and support from other mothers and families out in this world. And, in the end, hopefully it will act as both a writing prompt and artistic motivation for myself, and possibly anyone who takes the time to stop by and read now and then.
Now for a little character introduction and a few words about the persons I will mention most often:
Laura: Today I am thirty-eight years alive. I am the mother of three, a wife, friend, writer, worker, survivor and daily warrior in the minefield of being a family. I tend to be obsessed with music, films, good television shows, pages in books, first days, and new starts. I long for change. The lure of the road and chances to uproot myself and start over tempt me a little too often for my own good. I write often, and talk even more. I tend to be a bit of a control freak, have struggles with long-term relationships, and often exist in chronic overwhelm mode. But, I do wake up every morning and persist in trying to live my life, and for the most part, even though I have much more figuring out to do about myself, I am happy with whom I have become.
Julia: My oldest daughter who is now fifteen years old has lived through miles of my trips and stumbles while I tried to sort out who I was, and what I was doing with my life. She has the biggest heart of anyone I have ever known. She is smart and sarcastic, struggles with low self-esteem, is kind to everyone, and sometimes cares a bit too much about what other’s think of her; and she is completely boy crazy. She is a lover of music and fashion, is a talented artist, and has very definite goals, and a well-mapped out plan, for her future.
Veronica: The girl least likely to be a middle child. She is four years old and itching to start kindergarten, asking every morning if it is September yet. She is dramatic, extroverted, sassy, bossy, and possesses an imagination so ripe and vivid that it could take any opiate-induced animated dream sequence and put it to shame. She is wise beyond her years, silly, artistic, and a lover of classical music and flower gardens, and told me recently she wants to be the president when she grows up because they get to stand on a stage and talk all the time.
Max: The youngest member of our circus troupe. At two years old he is the quiet one, a bit emotional, and very gentle and careful with everyone and everything he comes in contact with. He memorizes dialogues and lyrics, and can mimic tones of voices and vocal inflections perfectly. Some of his behaviors and personality traits correlate with early signs of autism, and I am in the midst of finding out if that is a diagnosis we will be living alongside of. He is unique in so many ways, and is my first experience with raising a boy. I find myself often in awe of the way he is, and how he reacts to the world around him, which is so different from the way the girls and I seem to.
David: My partner in crime and parenthood. Today is both of our birthdays and the marking of our seventh year of marriage. We have had a rocky go of it at times, and recently spent a year living apart from one another; but we are both dedicated and working hard at making our marriage and family not only work, but be something that brings happiness into each other’s lives. David is the birth-father of my two youngest children, and the stepfather and friend of my oldest (they have had their share of struggles as well, but are both working on a new goal of being friends). We have not always been the perfect couple, and often have been questioned at why we are together, but in the end we have a connection that is deep and stronger than our mistakes, and we truly love each other, and the children, very much.
To rest my weary head
from all the work I’d done
in those dreams I had
L.
you know me, i'm impulsive
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