Stranded on the Island

In one of my graduate classes, we played a game. A group of us sat in a circle, and the professor said:

I've got some good news and some bad news. The bad news is that you're standed on a desserted island and you'll never get off. The good news is that all your basic needs--food, shelter--and provided for. Now, how will you find meaning in your life?

The eight of us were then left to debate this topic. Some talked about tuning into themselves, belly dancing, wittling, cooking. Others rebelled, saying they'd never accept our predicament.

After awhile, I realized I live on that island. "You know what guys?" I said. "I'm an at-home mom. My husband makes enough money to provide for my basic needs. And my struggle is to figure out how to find meaning in my life. I can't leave. I'm trapped, in essense. And I'll tell you, it's a real struggle."

Now you might gasp. Surely my children provide my sense of meaning.

Well, yes. And no. I do adore my children (when they're not driving me crazy).
My kids delight me. Exacerbate me. Disappoint me. Amaze me. And they need need need. Take take take. How many sandwiches can I make? How many games can I play? How many times can I praise the off-key singing, gawk at the artwork, applaud the silly dances? I mean really!

I think it is an odd time in history, this. When else have educated, accomplished women been expected not only to be with their children full-time, but to engage in childish activities? It used to be kids trailed along with adults and either had to shut up or help. But now we're expected to play with them. Stimulate them. Be like them. I don't want to play!

My children lecture me that I'm on the computer too much. They hover, swarming around me like flies. I'm annoyed. Can you tell? The local fauna is driving me mad.

So...is there meaning on this island? I don't know. Many days it's doesn't feel like it.