Polymer clay squishes and cracks as I meditatively mix and blend colors, rolling and pressing the clay with my hands. I use a small clay blade and a sewing pin to shape and place each color onto glass where I build my images. As I work, I scroll through my mental to-do list, recall flickering memories, and worry about my child’s future. As I watch her try to balance during gymnastics class, I can’t help but think of my own attempts at balancing this too-full life. How do we “do it all?” My thighs squish and my living room overflows like the clay pushing outside its borders. No matter how carefully I position tiny bits of clay or plan my child’s lunches, things overflow and spill out. The clay and my child rebel. Allowing that rebellion feels uneasy against the pressure to hold it all together. I’m constantly teetering, trying to find balance.