The Impossible Notion of Balancing Compost

I compost. Well, I try.  I gather all my scraps from the kitchen and put them in this big, stinky, buggy barrel and give it a couple of twirls.  There’s supposed to be some thing where I balance the brown stuff with the green stuff to get the proper PH, etc.  I don’t really care about that.  I’m just glad to not have stinky kitchen trash and I’m happy because I get to feel like I’m doing the right thing.  And that’s the thing.  I’m trying really hard to feel like I’m doing the right thing. 

Because you really can’t always do the right thing.  You can try.  Feed your family organic foods.  But not just organic foods, vegan foods.  Not just vegan, but local vegan.  Be active in your kids’ schools.  Not just active, but be the room parent.  Don’t just be the room parent, be the Pinterest parent (or the guest teacher parent.)  No, no, no.  Don’t just volunteer at the school and give tons of money, home school your kid.  Be a stay at home mom.  But not a lazy stay at home mom!  Be the SAHM who makes every day a loving, learning experience.  But wait!  Maybe not a SAHM.  Be a working mom, who succeeds at every level: promotions, great work clothes, AND come home patient and alert to the needs of your child.  Meet all the needs for your husband.  Be a full partner in the marriage.  Or… maybe not a real full partner, because he needs to feel masterful and stuff.  And, of course, lots of vigorous sex.  Totally present, wild, but also tenderly intimate sex.  Because you’re not tired at all. 

I mean, really.

It truly is impossible.  And that’s just the stuff you do for everyone else.

Motherhood, being a woman, is an everchanging series of turning points.  You have choices, from the time you’re reasonably self-aware, about what kind of person you want to be.  Motherhood requires that you also – to a certain extent – decide what kind of person you want to raise.  You are responsible for raising a healthy, well-rounded, kind, principled, contributing member of humanity.  It can be consuming.  Sometimes I question how consumed some moms (parents!) can be. 

I see a whole population of people who did very well in excellent schools, had successful jobs, are competitive and driven, and who just happen to be female and had babies.  Some of them quit those jobs and have put all their drive into raising their little ones.  This is good and bad.  It’s good because my compatriots are killing it.  They are mommying their hearts out.  They are doing it all right.   The kids have every resource.  Their lunches are packed.  They have piano, soccer, AND thai chi.  They get tutored.  They have awesome birthday parties.  To me, it feels like too much.  The kids don’t seem damaged.  Maybe a bit more anxious than I remember being, but not spoiled or incapable.  A little ungrateful.  A little naïve.  But hey, they’re kids. 

So what’s bad?  It’s the moms.  Their ambition finds new avenues: triathlons, home sales businesses, arts and crafts.  (I don’t judge.  I’m describing myself here. ) They may have a kind of desperate look around the eyes and restless hands.  They drink a lot of wine.  They’ll tell you they’re happy and that they’re lucky.  I don’t think they’re wrong.  Necessarily.

There’s a conflict.  Women are presidential candidates (president?) and Supreme Court judges and CEOs of IT companies.  We are also nurturers and home builders.  Both identities are really hard to maintain.  I would argue that they are doubly hard to maintain at the same time.  However – and this is my thing today – I think there is painful cost when a mother denies one or the other.  That balance, though, it is very nearly impossible to reach.  Forget that; it IS impossible.  There’s guilt, or unfulfilled potential, or some unnamed feeling that you just aren’t doing it all right, no matter which choices you make. 

So I’m taking the little victories and trying to be ok with them.  I’m making a little bit of money after years of being more or less totally dependent.  The kids have really crazy hair and mismatched socks, but they go to school (fairly) clean and happy.  They aren’t perfect and I’m pretty sure they don’t expect life – or their mother – to be.  I am learning new things. I am confident.  I meet new people and make new friends. I fail. I keep trying. 

And when I finish typing this, I’ll take the batch of kitchen scraps that prompted this post to the compost bin.  I’ll congratulate myself on trying to do the right thing.  I’ll have some regret that I’m not balancing it the way I should.   I’ll spin the wheel.