“Welcome to Artifact Motherhood.”
A collaboration of artists from around the world who have come together to share our stories of the joys and struggles in our journeys. Through our writings and photographs, we want to create memories that are more than photographs with dates written on the back. These are the artifacts we are leaving behind for our children and for generations to come.
At the end of this article, you will find a link to another mama’s blog and her take on motherhood this month. You will be able to follow the blog loop until you get back to me.
To learn more about Artifact Motherhood, please follow this link.
As we entered summer, I knew this would mark 1 year of living in France again and there would be some major highs with friends visiting and maybe a pinch to the heart too. You’ll understand if you have read chapter 1 and chapter 2. People say to treat yourself like a great friend would and this chapter is the voice of that great friend who tells me to let go a little more, who helps me to open my eyes with my heart as much as with the camera, who says “you are doing OK.”
Chapter 3 sounds like cicadas on hot summer days. It also smells like rosemary and thyme and the sky is a blue you never seen before. You saw it before, this is the place you come from. You go back, again – nope it’s not the first time – with your girls, your husband. This is the same but it is different. It’s like a long plane journey and you wake feeling jet-lagged, groggy but excited at the adventures ahead.
You recognise the curves of Le Luberon, the smells around you, you remember the roads and the cicadas sing as loud as you remember them, as a child. This year is different. It’s different because you are aware of stuff that you were not before, you have been low, you have survived, you are anew. This year, it’s time to make new memories as a mother who has learnt, grown. New pictures, in a place you never stayed before. New sounds, new games, new time. This year, your motherhood journey is shaping in a new form, embrace it.
You drive through your childhood’s village without a stop. You drive past your late auntie’s house. You go back to places you have visited before, you know the way. You ate in that place, you walked that path. But you are making an effort for it to feel new, because it is time for new memories. You keep doing this shift, between motherhood and childhood, and you can’t escape it at the moment. It’s a question of geography. 3 hours to be exact.
But for your new memories, Mama, it is important, remember this:
The view of the Luberon from the bathroom, before Sayan was going to have her shower, and you were going to wash her swimming pool plait. You were singing with her, she talked a lot and asked a lot of questions and shampoo got in her eyes.
When the golden light was hitting the wall, the beautiful coiffeuse and us three reflecting into it. We looked back at us, it felt warm and cosy and we could smell the bbq and you were going to set up a cheese platter.
When the sky turned pink and Leila appeared from her shower asking what there was for dinner, her eyes tired from too much swimming in the pool. You’ll find her cuddled up with her little sister in the same bed later on.
When the last light hits the land and life around you, that life that happened just a few minutes ago with these toys laying there, laughter and shouts still echoing in the pink clouds.
When the morning is cool, the pains au chocolat are warm and the pool so inviting.
When the days are so hot we look for shade and cold rivers.
Next up in the loop is Abigail Fahey Her article will move you to the bone.