Each Day Is So Much Alike

I try to recall the events of the day, but each day is so much alike that I hardly know when they pass.  Each is filled up with little duties that must be done about the house-keeping + our dear little ones are continually on hand but I would not have it otherwise.  - Frances, June 1892

This is the kind of day I am having - minus the 'dear little ones.'  Do you ever feel like you are in a cycle of tasks?  Today I felt like I could not get ahead - emails from orchestra members, phone calls about the HOA, parents wanting to reschedule lessons.  I spent hours fielding questions and yet, never quite caught up.  

Now, I will be the first to admit that I take on too many projects.  I bring a lot of this crazy on myself, for sure.  For Frances, this was her life.  Even with a cook and a nurse, she still felt that the days were always the same - filled with tasks of everyday life.  Each day was a blur, indistinguishable from the previous.  That piques my curiosity.  I have found that diaries are full of details and yet here, Frances can't remember the day's activities.  When she mentions the children as one of the 'little duties,' her guilt reflex instinctively kicks in.  Wouldn't have it any other way, but MAN, I need a BREAK!  

How do we make time for ourselves without feeling guilty?  Or without feeling like we left things unfinished?  Maybe it starts with just a few moments of breathing.  Turning off the background noise for just a slice of quiet time.  Maybe we start by taking time to 'recall the events of the day' - a simple reflection before it starts all over again.  It may be a hectic life, but it is can also be a beautiful one.  I would not have it otherwise.

And Every Woman Should

Our dear little baby girl is three weeks old to-day and we love her just as much as if she had been here three years.  It is strange how a mother's heart will "go out" towards the dear little creatures.  We are so proud of our son and daughter.  Mrs. Cleveland is no prouder of little Ruth that we are of our little Gesna.  Our boy too is a perfect little man just learning to prattle.  I ought to feel so thankful for Gods mercies - and every woman should.  - Frances, October 1891

Strange.  Creatures.  Should.  Are these loaded words?  Or phrases common at the time?  There is love there, but also a hint of obligation.  Even in her personal writing, there is comparison to other families.  Maybe she is surprised by the motherly feelings she experiences.  Thankful to God, yes, but also wrestling with what she 'ought to feel.'  So many emotions.  How often do we compare ourselves?  How often are we conflicted by what we feel and what society expects?