Scott and I spent some time watching Julie and Julia a few nights ago, and I'm pleased to report neither of us fell asleep, which has to be a first for in at least six months' time. I'm sure many of you know the gist of the plot: Modern-day girl (Julie) decides to make all 530-ish recipes from Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking in a single year. Her story is interwoven with Julia Child's, zealously carving her niche as an American In Love With French Food. While her husband is stationed in Paris, Julia cooks passionately and tirelessly, enrolling herself in cooking classes intended for professional European chefs. Her tireless devotion lends way to great success, eventually co-writing her book (intended for other American housewives and cooks like herself,) making endless revisions to it, only to receive numerous rejections before its eventual publication.
Well, the obvious energy of the movie was spent developing these two charming characters and their admirable (shared) obsession. But as the movie ended, I was still muddling through the question of how much one should really admire Julie. The movie makes her restlessness and questions of self-worth/importance of how she spends her time absolutely clear. Frankly, those are questions to which many SAHMs and others can thoroughly relate. And there is no doubt in my mind that she needed something substantial, something unique and defining to do. A mission, a project. (Again, I can sooooo relate. I am queen of projects. Not necessarily finished ones, though.) However, her project became utterly consuming. Rather than adding to her identity, it pushed everything else out. There was no room for anything but her project and its accompanying blog. Her husband spent a large part of the year most unhappy, leaving her due to the obsession but eventually returning.
The thing is, I can all too easily understand this part of the film, too. Some of my projects build such momentum, such steam, that it's tough to keep them in check. Drawing that line between the appropriateness of having interests outside the home (NOT optional, in my book) and letting them consume me is something I think I constantly mismanage. I have reigned in my photography interests these past few months for several reasons, but it seems prudent to mention how frustrating it can be to build up that energy, only to have to slow it to a seeming halt because this week Scott's days off need to be devoted to thesis work and job interviews and household chores; next week we need to be at my parents' place, and maybe I could squeeze in one photo shoot the first part of next month, if I play my cards right.
Seriously?!? It frustrates the life out of me. Some days, I'd rather just pack it all in. Be done. It's easier to not experience the thrill of the hobby. It's not worth the frustration. It was one thing when life was just the two of us. But now, someone has to watch Betsy. I can't always ask that of Scott. And even if I can, lots of times I'm wishing he could simultaneously assist on a shoot and keep Betsy at home. That's not really feasible, is it?
Well, these are rather scattered thoughts. And I'm too frustrated by it all (and the messy kitchen taunting me) to make all these thoughts sound pretty. I know everything has its time and season; I am very content with that. These days are good ones -- how much I love each minute with Betsy! Still, I live in search of obtaining outside interests that don't consume me. But frankly, the problem is my own: I've never been that kind of person. For me, it will always be a struggle. Don't mistake me, though, Scott will always be encouraging, but my first duty will always be mothering -- I'm not going to ever mistake that. After four years of teaching, I've seen what that does to a kid. So, as a result, I will never have the kind of time I crave. That's okay; it's my choice. My choice. But that doesn't mean it's not a sacrifice.
