For the Archives: Chronicles of the Everyday: Volume 1: Love and Motherhood

By Jessica Dofflemyer

Living on an island as a single mother, raising her six-year old son, Jessica Dofflemyer longed to find moments of the profound within her mundane routine. Committing herself to a post a day, for 40 days, in a blog she titled, "For the Archives", what evolved was a project that has published more than 700 posts in the past three years. "Volume 1: Love and Motherhood" is a montage of autobiographical pieces from her first year of writing. More than just the story of her solo mothering journey, this collection weaves the common thread of human experience through poignant stories that span a spectrum of the ordinary. Whether depicting scenes of playing Foursquare with her son, trying to fix a faulty washing machine, or being stuck in stalled out traffic, the prose, poetry and photographs of this collection bring a glimmer to the seemingly dull details of everyday living.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483508610

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Author

Prologue

I was a single mother, raising my six-year old son on a small Hawaiian island, struggling to pay rent and buy groceries. Thirty-seven years old and freshly heartbroken, my hopes for love with a potential partner had just been dashed by the ‘Rocket Scientist’ who had honestly admitted that raising a child was just, too exhausting.

Looking out at the ocean’s horizon line, no land mass was in sight, metaphorically or otherwise. Before me, all I could see were the continual undertakings of a basic everyday life. Far away were the days of my free-spirited twenties, when I traipsed to all four corners of North America, treking remote jungle trails, and traveling solo to India. The era of my thirties grounded me firmly in daily duties on a tight budget. I was raising a boy on my own, in a scenario I had not planned or imagined.

Searching for something profound in our ordinary routine, I was left to work with what I had. If it was mac and cheese and Legos, then I’d try to find the magic there, or at least chronicle my experiences seeking it.

I committed to 40 days of writing. Posting to a Wordpress blog I titled, For the Archives, I came to the keyboard everyday to record something. Anything. After 40 days of posts (with no readers but for my mom and uncle), I found that I enjoyed the practice. Dedicating myself to a daily post helped me look for something special every day. The more I sought, the more I found a richness in some of the most mundane.

As of this writing, over 700 posts and three years have passed since those initial 40 days. The Archives continues to be a touchstone to my life. Volume 1: Love and Motherhood is a compilation of some of the highlights from that first year of writing in the Archives. There is poetry and prose. Love hoped for and lost. Random photographs. All attempts at solidifying fleeting moments, especially with my son, knowing he would inevitably grow and change.

Though these are my stories, my hope is that you will find a thread within the details that weaves true for you.

And because this is my story, I have changed the names of every real-life character. Jeb is my son. Rex is his father. Mary, she’s a great friend and gardener.

Here’s to chronicling the everyday.

11/11/10

I hold a special place for the number 11, so today’s 11-11 date seemed to be ripe with possibilities. Those of the metaphysical ilk claim today’s numerology can open portals. Global meditations are planned.

It’s also Veteran’s Day, so I send a prayer of peace to the planet.

And it’s the beginning of a new cycle for the Archives. 11-10-10 marked the completion of my 40-day commitment to posting here once a day. 11-11 begins the cycle anew. We’ll see where this fresh thread will lead.

With all of these occasions converging into one day, I was ready for magic.

Instead the day began with a goat on the loose, charging at me like a bucking bronco. This sweet little goat (that I’ve spent plenty of time petting) turned sassy and uppity, chasing me back into my house with threatening head butts to the air. Once I was inside, she sauntered over to clatter her hooves up my porch stairs, nibbling my succulents and eyeing me in nanny goat defiance.

Come to find out it’s the mating season. This sweet little goat needs a boyfriend.

Like a damsel in distress, I call a man to help me corral her back in. When he comes, she follows him like a puppy, making me look ridiculous.

Then no hot water. The hot water heater isn’t getting enough juice. Not igniting fully. Metaphors flow through a cold-water tap.

Jeb has a friend over. He wrestles in the grass with his buddy and then wanders around sweaty and flustered saying, I need a shower. I’m so itchy! rubbing his back on the floor, sticking two weeks of dust bunnies to his skin like a lint roller.

I sidestep an ant-invested, dead gecko at my front stairs, and reach for a sticky doorknob fresh with papaya handprints.

The boys are taking full advantage of my distracted mind. Riding barefoot on the motorcycle. Warring with fake swords, but making contact. Climbing up the papaya tree and then cutting open their harvest without my supervision.

There is no order here. My 11-11 portal is chaos. Nothing is neat and tidy.

At day’s end, I get a short reprieve and a quiet house. I may not be in tune with the global meditations, but I