I just wanted to say Thank you to all of you who read, follow, comment on or just pop in to this blog. I feel honoured and quite overwhelmed with your kindness and support. Have a great weekend! Alicja x
Thank you Space Monkey Twins and Making Life an Art for nominating this blog for awards. You’ve been very generous. Thank you. x
I always cared about books. A book was the very first thing that I bought for my son even before I got his first baby grow. Books are integral to our family life. Our spaces seem incomplete without them and our days somewhat deprived if a book is not read or heard being read.
I never had many preconceptions about motherhood or about having a family. But there was always one thing that I didn’t want for my child. I never wanted to create a home where stories are not read, not told, not re-enacted or not invented. I never wanted books to be just lonely physical objects perched on shelves. In fact, I often felt sorry for those children who are given wonderful gifts of tales and fables and nothing is done with them… where those presents are really never unwrapped for them which means that the stories for these children never come to life. This is such a waste. Isn’t it true that to a large extent stories shape childhood? The stories we read, the stories we tell, the stories we repeat…. they make an impact on our child’s character and on the ways in which they perceive the world around them and their own role in it… Stories warn, stories educate, stories entertain and comfort… Stories remain when we are gone.
That first book that I purchased two years ago… There was a wonderland in that book. And I wanted my son to be transported there. There was vibrancy and strength in that book. And I wanted him to be energized by it. There was a meaning within the story. I wanted him to remember its message. And mainly there was joy… a pure joy that I sensed would emerge from engaging with it. A break. For my son and for me. Joyful, peaceful and energizing break.
Mothering with books is a form of simplified parenting. You allow the books to do the hard work of showing, telling, instructing and in many cases they are probably more effective than we are. It’s just much easier to follow a story than a parent. This year I am not buying any books but I am writing stories and poems because I see them as crucial for my son’s development. I see them as essential for his imagination, health and playtime. Without them I wouldn’t be myself and my son would not have the childhood that he deserves to have.
I know I am just a mum of a toddler… of a boy who cannot engage with an elaborate story yet and who frankly has just only recently moved on from the stage of book eating to actually being able to listen to the story. You may think that reading is not really that significant at this stage… that stories do not make as much impact…Well.. you see… I look at this small child and I look at the way he handles his books and I see a very strong need in him… the need to engage with the world that’s presented on those pages… the need to know, the thirst to understand… those small things such as why the little chicken is pulling a bucket full of water from the well or why the small kitten is in bed with a high temperature. How can you not tell the whole story when those small eyes are pleading to know?
I used to write love stories when I was small where I would set myself as one of the protagonists, of course ;) and then hid the notebook in a secret place that would quickly be discovered by a very avid reader of my prose… my younger sister.
I knew she was doing it… rummaging through my drawers and devouring the stories in seconds. I knew that sometimes she was mocking me a little… I knew that there were times when she found my writing all too cheesy and emotional but still… she was reading it… and I felt privileged by her interest in them.
I think I understand now why I felt like that. You see… the moment she giggled or rolled her eyes while reading: “I waited a second and he kissed me gently”, she ratified my work.
The moment her mind travelled out of our country when the story said: “We went together to meet them in Ireland”, she endorsed it.
The moment she found consolation in reading that: “There is always a new beginning… and a better end.”, she validated my work.
The laugh, the mind wandering and the sigh of relief – here’s how the work of writers comes to life. The reader doesn’t need to like it to respond to it.
I attempted to do the impossible over Christmas – I set out to part with one-third of my belongings. When I announced it to my husband and our toddler my husband worryingly replied: ‘But that means that one of us needs to go.’ :)
Well.. not quite.
All that went was the evidence of overcommitment: unread books, unused items, not-yet-or-not-often-worn clothes, forgotten home decorations, disliked music, excessive stationery and other neglected bits and pieces. I was very happy to remove them from my sight and give us back the space where we could hear our thoughts without having our attention pulled in many disparate directions. We needed a home that will stop us from being preoccupied with what we haven’t done and instead allow us to do what we want to do. Do you have a space like that? Space where you can stay relaxed but focused? Space that calms you down but at the same time allows you to move forward?
I see some beautiful images online of vast and glorious terrains and I imagine how easy it is to breathe and think in those spaces. Uncluttered by our engineering and unwanted items. Those spaces are physical representations of the mind that we want to have. Is this why we so eagerly appreciate photographs of single items that just sit there caressed by light, privileged by the space? Or photographs of open spaces… territories where we are free to wander and explore? They awaken a craving in us… don’t they? They draw us in.
That is why I decided I want to defend the spaciousness of our house, protect it from the jumble, disorder and confusion… decolonize our province and reinstate its original beauty and order. It needs to be liberated from the clutter. And we need that too.
Every January while budgeting for the year I remind myself of what my mother taught me: Don’t save on giving. The giving pot should stay full. The truth is one: there would be no justice in the world if we didn’t give.
We are lucky in the west… we are wealthy… although with all the temptations available it’s so easy to see ourselves as struggling, to wish for more, and to fear of not having, of being worse-off, of living in smaller houses, the fears of x, y, z. The list is long. This fear has been injected in us with a thick syringe and has been fed and fueled… so that we look up and dream of what others have and what others do.
They don’t make you feel rich, these dreams. They don’t make you feel lucky but I am telling you here: You are rolling in it.
If a few days, weeks, months of saving mean that you can afford a luxury (a new phone, branded items, a computer, travel etc.), you are rich. If you feed your family, pay your bills, and maintain your car or travel round with minimal budgeting effort, you are rich. If that’s your situation, there is no need to cut on the giving budget, there is no need to cut on sharing the wealth.
The reality is that despite the inflation, in spite of rises in regular expenses, regardless of our dreams to live bigger and better, we can still give and if this year is a bit harder than the last one we can save to give!
This is not a new concept. It has been happening in the past. It has been exercised. There are families in the world who save the best of their foods over months for their visitors. There are children in the world who are saving every coin they get so that they can give their mothers’ presents for their birthdays. There are single parents and pensioners who limit their purchases so that they can support a cause that they believe in. There are people who just watch their daily expenses so that they can donate, so that they can contribute, so that they can do their part. Some of these people have to be strict about how much electricity they use, how much milk they buy, how many showers they take, how many pairs of shoes they buy. They go to great lengths so that they can take part in this great giving scheme while for so many of us saving to give is just a purchasing delay. If giving means as much as waiting for longer, it’s not a sacrifice. It’s justice.
Let’s stay generous in 2014. It’s a good rule to live by.
Postcards Without Stamps 