In my own life, I have found no image that more accurately depicts the way motherhood feels than this photo of my daughter’s Pikachu stuffy on a toy potty next to her training potty. It’s the perfect juxtaposition of the often grueling monotony of motherhood to the moments of sheer joy and hilarity that serve to illuminate a path of clarity on the more tenebrous days.
This is the first piece of original art I ever purchased. Embarrassingly, I no longer remember the actual name of the work but it’s been affectionately referred to as Angry Toast since 2008.
My three year old recently questioned me about the meaning. I stumbled a bit trying to determine how best to explain the concept of raging against The Machine to a person who is not really all that familiar with systematic oppression:
It’s a piece of bread that doesn’t want to be turned into toast. Or, it’s a piece of toast that is angry because it has been forced into the toaster.
But I think she gets it.
I don’t want to be toast either!