Nothing major has happened - yet. So far, it's been mostly the same routine. The kids, and work. Weekends are spent in the laundry room, cleaning, fixing, shopping. I am approaching a certain age (40) and my oldest child is nearing 18 and I am wondering when it will be my turn.
My turn to enjoy the little things that I want to do. For instance, I really, really enjoy reading. I will stick a book into my work bag so that on the off chance I have a few minutes between work and picking up one of the kids, I will be able to sneak in a few pages. Typically, those few minutes are spent stopping at the store to pick up an ingredient for dinner or toilet paper. I've been known to stick a book into the beach bag when the kids and I plan to go for an afternoon swim. Rather than reading, I'm usually on guard to make sure the third doesn't entice the fourth to go out to far, or it's just too windy, too many seagulls.... And I always have at least one good book by my bed. Those few precious minutes after getting the last child in bed and getting the coffee maker ready for the morning brew cycle and throwing a sandwich together for tomorrow's lunch and checking the planner to see if there are any doctors appointments or orthodontist appointments or a track meet or a football practice and showering, shaving, brushing and flossing, are actually spent reading. That is, until the kink in my neck starts acting up because my head has fallen against my chest.
So, there are a lot of other things that I would like to accomplish soon. Soon, as in: before my youngest moves out of the house, which, if she stays until college will be the year 2026, at least.
I've been trying to write. I've always enjoyed being creative and writing. It's difficult, though, because most of the time, there is just way too much noise around me. I thought that this would be the year that I could take a portion of my income tax refund and buy myself a notebook that I can throw into a bag and take to the library to write - in silence. Or I could take it even just in the car and go sit in the side of the road, just as long as it's quiet. I've started a short story series for kids. I've started a novel inspired by my daughter, who, besides my sister, is the only person giving me support on this venture. I have nearly completed a short story that I will be submitting for a contest that my sister cued me in on. And then, I have an idea in my head about a story that I think is coming from somewhere inside. Oh listen to me. Like I really don't know where it's coming from. I know exactly where it's coming from and I want to write it so badly! I feel as though I shouldn't start on it though until I have more time that I can spend. You know, other than 15 minutes a night.
So, you see? No crises as of yet. I am coping with my mid-life. Sometimes well. Sometimes not very well. I can't wait to really dig into this. I am ordering you to type in a quick response. I know I'm not the only one out there who is experiencing these pressures and, dare I say, insecurities. Wow, saying it like that makes me think that maybe I'm reliving puberty! Argh!!!
