I woke up this morning at 5:30, prepared to write something awesome. I am almost finished reading Stephen King’s book on writing and feeling like I owe it to him to step up my game. I also realize, I have a lot to learn.
Oliver woke up at 5:45, he is on the fast track to my hit list. I am now listening to Mickey Mouse chase a grasshopper and watching Oliver walk around bull legged due to the giant turd he just worked out in the front room. My dog is butt scooting across the floor, which is even more distracting. Note to self: Call vet today.
Oh life, I am a mom. Diaper changed, let’s see if we can move on. Oliver has a semi obsession with whacking my keyboard while I type. Let’s give it a whirl.
I was a troubled teen, usually in trouble, and I dropped out of school at fifteen. At sixteen, I started an apprenticeship in hairdressing and that was my career for the next twenty years. It was good career and it fed my creativity.
These days, I spend about a hundred percent more time writing then I did before. Since I was little girl and read my first novel, I have dreamed of sitting at a desk with a window over looking a pond. Typewriter in front of me with a bottomless cup of coffee at my right hand. Of course today, instead of a typewriter (I am far too dependant on spell check) you would see the soft electric glow of an apple and more likely a bottomless cup of tea, too much coffee makes me sketchy.
When Oliver was born, my husband and I agreed to close my business. Ryan’s company was doing well, and we were in a place I could stay home and take care of the kids. It was surreal. A part of me that was validated by working was left in limbo and a part of me was so darn happy about never having to punch the clock again. Devoting my days to my boys that I cherish beyond words.
Now, embracing my role of full-time mom, I take care of my boys and have my house up to my standards. Note: In order to get there, I had to lower my standards. I am also writing. In an industry that is filled with geniuses, backed by masters degrees and years of training. I feel like I’m trying to write a thesis on my first day of kindergarten, but sometimes little dreams that burn the midnight oil in your heart, just won’t shut up. I feel like God has creaked open a door in my life
I have always said that if my lack of education ever held me back in life, that I would go back to school. Sometimes I wish I would just stop talking. Now faced with that very situation, I am filled with a sense of impending dread. It has been years since I sat behind a desk. I am almost 40 (but not quite) and will spend the better part of the next two decades devoted to raising my children. The thing is though, at fifty, I can look back at my life with a sense of regret, or a sense of knowing I fulfilled my dreams. Even if I never write a piece credible enough to be published, wouldn’t it be better to know that I followed my heart?
It’s time to wrap this up, I just found Oliver carrying around a bottle of bleach (parent of the year). I have not quite worked out balancing writing and parenting, advice welcomed.