A homemade dress

Last Sunday I spent all day making a dress for Cherry. I haven't sewn in years, other than a Christmas stocking three years ago the last thing I made was probably an outfit for the Best Dressed Doll category at the local village flower show.

(My mother and I decided to enter the category after seeing a cute pattern for a floral pinafore and we sewed the whole thing ourselves. I was involved in the entire process including using my mother's old Singer sewing machine, so it was very amateurish, and we still remember to this day the judges' comments were 'A little girl's dream - but very badly sewn.')

After I bought Violet her birthday dress from Wild Things Dresses I totally fell in love with Kirsty's style and when I saw she had a book out I bought it on impulse. Then I started looking for fabrics online and before I knew it I had two metres of stunning apple-print fabric, a metre of yellow cotton poplin and some contrasting blue thread sat at home next to my mother's sewing machine.

They sat for a fair few weeks, staring at me and I started to think 'I'm never going to make that dress'. I am full of great ideas that never materialise, plans and projects that never come to fruition, blogposts that never get written. It bothers me massively and I wanted to do something to prove to myself that I could see something through.

So out came the sewing machine, which I had forgotten entirely how to even thread, and I found a manual online, threaded the machine and made the dress in a day.

I loved every second of it. It was absorbing in a way that is hard to come by in a modern age of constant switching - from screen to laptop to phone to Kindle - and in an era of motherhood that is utterly defined by being constantly, endlessly interrupted, usually to wipe up a sticky substance of some kind. It was also tiring and once I was finished I felt slightly like I didn't know what to do with myself. It's been a very, very long time since I was able to get so involved and wrapped up in a project.

Cherry has barely taken it off since I presented it to her. As soon as she saw it her face lit up and she asked to wear it immediately and put apples in the pocket. She tells everybody who admires the dress that I made it for her. It's just adorable and I feel really glad that I have this time, this age when she is so grateful for my efforts. I'm fairly certain by the time she's in her teens should I dare present her with a (admittedly fairly badly) home-made effort she will be outraged.

But for now - she is thrilled. She doesn't care a jot that the stitching could be a bit (much) better and the hem isn't even and the straps don't quite match and  the billion and one other things that are far, far from perfect. She just loves her apple dress that her Mummy made for her, with the caveat of course, 'and one for Violet?'

When procrastination strikes….

I'm on something of a roll with the topic, and very concept, of creativity at the moment. 

I've made peace with the odd bout of children's TV (definitely a post for another time) and found some burgeoning confidence thanks to a great deal of personal growth, self-discovery and a fairly major breakthrough (yep, another one for another time).

I have committed to practicing creativity inside and outside of my scope as a mother. I'm here, I'm ready to go.

So today after lunch Cherry and Violet took some down-time with the Octonauts and I came into my study and turned on my computer, checked a few social feeds, responded to some blog comments and…

sat.

What now? I've given myself full permission to create. I have a billion and one things on my list including, but not limited to: a new book pitch; redesigning my blog; sewing new dresses for Cherry and Violet; creating a mood board for my study; reading the range of books and magazines I have lined up for a quiet moment; a feature for the Telegraph; a travelling notebook to read and contribute towards; and a daily journalling practice.

All systems go!

All systems stop. Enter procrastination.

A pointless loop of Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, blogs, Twitter again, oh look what's this link abou- NO STOP. Just STOP.

I took myself downstairs and opened my journal. Ignoring the wreckage of my kitchen post-lunch I wrote down every single thought that was in my head. It was very illuminating. Here's some of what I was wrestling with.

I can't think of a blogpost idea!
I haven't heard back from my editor at the Telegraph regarding my latest pitch.
My book idea feels too big to even attempt to start.
I haven't got much time! I need to use it productively!
The house is a tip.
There are actual flies buzzing around the kitchen.
The garden needs watering. The trough needs replanting.
If that fabric had arrived I could start sewing. But it hasn't. Even though I have plenty of fabric to practice with and am very rusty with the machine, I'm still holding off for that new fabric.
There's so much laundry that needs doing.
The kitchen needs tidying.
The toys need sorting out completely.
I can't connect the printer to the computer because I don't have an ink cartridge. We probably shouldn't buy anything unnecessary until after Noel has been paid.
I don't want to waste my time reading books and magazines! I can do that later.
I don't want to waste time creating a mood or inspiration board! I can do that later. 
I don't have time to 'get into' Pinterest.
I don't have time to redesign my blog.
Should I be paying the children attention instead of letting them watch TV?
Octonauts is nearly over, I need to get back to it! 
What am I going to make for tea? 
Why don't I meal plan?!
Do I need two notebooks - one for journalling and one for creative brainstorming and ideas?
Don't forget the travelling notebook! And don't do that thing you always do and leave it until the last minute because you're looking forward to it and want to give it special time and attention that never materialises so you end up rushing and doing a really half-assed job!

I looked at what I had written and thought, no wonder I can't get going with all that swirling around up there. Especially as I am clearly creeping into frustration and beating myself up, which never leads anywhere good. I'm totally over making myself feel bad to make myself 'better'.

Since I learned to observe and detach a little from my thoughts, rather than blindly accepting them as whole truths and following them to the letter, I have begun to really appreciate how flawed and often jumbled my thought processes are. What does come through very strongly though is a complete fixation on productivity and outcome.

My main fears around creativity and general time spent outside of mothering involve 'wasting' time. I feel like I need a result, an outcome, some proof for every hour - every minute - spent not meeting the needs and demands of my children.

It's quite understandable, because having such short snatched pockets of time in which to do so many things does create pressure. Although truthfully I think I have always thought this way, been overly preoccupied with outcomes. Our social and education system is pretty outcome-obsessed.

Processes rarely get a look in, both inside my head and outside in the wider world. Which is such a shame because 95% of the joy in any project, and in fact life in general, is in my humble opinion in the process, the journey.

But that's not to say that everything in my head was nonsense. It certainly was an epic attack of procrastination but some of it was still relevant. Despite the popular rhetoric that 'the housework can wait' I find that often, actually, it can't. Not just because of the flies in the kitchen (I feel compelled to point out that everybody on our street gets invaded by flies in the summer, it's not just me!) but also because if my house is covered in crap and all the dishes are dirty and we have no clean clothes, I can't really mother to the best of my ability.

I'm too busy falling over Lego and boxes full of bags full of boxes whilst looking for a cup for one thirsty child and a pair of shorts for the other or more likely the same child who has tipped previously-proffered cup of water all over herself mentioning no names here Violet.

I'm no neat freak but I do find the more cluttered my house, the more cluttered my mind, so I try and stay on top of the day-to-day carnage.

Once I'd finished writing I thought, what needs to be done here?

I got up, lit some citronella and washed up. As I did so, I watched my thoughts drift past, like the bastard flies still determinedly buzzing around the remains of our lunches.

One or two seemed worth noting so I jotted them down in my notebook before carrying on.

By the time I'd finished, I had a clean kitchen and three blogposts already written in my head, all ready and waiting for me after I'd spent the rest of the afternoon with Cherry and Violet and put them to bed.

And you're reading one of them right now.

Creativity and motherhood

Since having children I can honestly say I have never felt more creative, and more frustrated.

I found the process of pregnancy and birth stirred up my desire to write fiction in particular, but also my general interest in making, doing and creating.

Creativity as I experience it, as a process of flow from mind to hands to page, is a deeply alone experience. I shut out the entire world and that includes voices. I can get so absorbed in what I am doing that I don't even hear my own husband (or boss, as it used to be, or teacher, before that) calling for my attention.

And of course now I am a mother, I am never alone. I don't just mean physically, although yes I do spend large portions of the day (and night!) with a child on or about my person. I mean emotionally and mentally. The best analogy I ever read on this subject was that leaving your child physically 'isn't like parking a car'. Even when I'm not with them, they're always on my mind.

I think there's a deep biological fear around stepping back into that creative space, whereby my mind is fully focused on something outside of and unrelated to my children. Evolutionarily speaking mothers needed to have their children first and foremost in their minds and hearts, all the time - the survival of the species depended upon it.

But even more than that, it's the everyday reality of life with children that is often the most frustrating of all.

I have so many ideas - SO MANY - and like the fluffy airborne seed heads of dandelions or the witches on broomsticks about whom I read to my children, they float tantalisingly past me. I make a mental note to myself that is almost immediately forgotten in the everyday demands of life with young children. Somebody's bum always needs wiping or hands washing or stomach filling or shoes taking off or other urgent, pressing task.

By the time the need has been fulfilled, it's too late. The witch taps the broomstick and whoosh! They are gone.

I do find the frustration is eased by creating with my children, and our life together involves a great deal of time in nature, making, doing, planting, growing, painting, drawing, sticking, stirring and general making of enormous messes. Both Cherry and Violet love to create - I think all children do. They certainly love to make a mess too and I have always been happy to let them, even if as a result my home does terrify the more houseproud out there.

Of course all of these activities also stimulate the creative flow. I have noticed some really pleasing side-effects of life as a stay-at-home mother that I wouldn't have anticipated. My photography has improved no end, while I'm still very much point-and-shoot I can see a massive difference in composition and use of light and colour (although not in the photos of my children making a mess!). My home has the odd (very odd) little creative touch here and there, as does the garden. I can turn literally any combination of vegetables into a soup - that my children will eat.

And the biggest evolution of all is I no longer view creativity as self-indulgent, unnecessary, a waste of time or pointless. I can see that the process is valuable in itself, the outcome is not so relevant, and that doing what you love does lay the foundations for more and more of the same.

Motherhood has taught me the vital importance of remaining true to myself and what I love to do. It has showed me that I cannot enmesh my identity with that of my children and live vicariously through them, stand at the sidelines and coach, criticise and push. I cannot put the burden of my own frustrated creativity on them. I can't allow them to live my dreams for me. That responsibility is mine alone.

I can see ahead to a time when I have the self-belief to finish a novel and present it to my agent. I can see, no doubt many years down the line, a garden shed turned into a writing studio. But I don't just see my creativity limited to writing. All these things I make and do with the children - or just for myself - count. It's all creating. It's all connected.

It is frustrating still, on a daily basis. I have been reading The Rainbow Way by Lucy Pearce, a truly epic book on this very subject, and it has come as some kind of epiphany to realise that the way I feel about creating and motherhood is entirely normal.

There is ambivalence there. I have chosen motherhood first and foremost, decided that 'serious' creativity and career can wait - I do not regret that choice and I wouldn't change it. (I have considered childcare and at times attempted small amounts with Cherry that were successful to a degree, but by and large it's not for me or us as a family and that is a choice I am happy with).

But I think I can feel a little softer now on the sides of me that are frustrated, champing at the bit, counting down the months and weeks and days until Cherry starts school, Violet starts pre-school and I can take a huge, deep breath and be alone. I can see that this doesn't make me a bad mother. It just makes me human.

I can also see that if I adjust my expectations and perceptions of what I 'need' in order to create, and instead just look at what very small pockets of time are still available to me, I don't have to hang up my creative boots completely. I can still do. Just smaller things, smaller amounts, and expect it to take a lot longer. I can see that it's important I carve out some space at weekends, even just an hour or two, for that complete aloneness I crave.

And in the mean time, we continue to co-create. Because our house just isn't messy enough already.