Thoughts on Writing

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

The dishes are soaking, the drier is humming and I am folding a load of laundry while I compose my thoughts to write. The air is thick with the smell of poopy diaper and I am giving it another two minutes before I go searching out the kiddo that lovingly gift-wrapped that present for me… *sigh* why wait? So that I am sure they are done and I don’t end up changing the same poop three changes in a row. He he, twelve people just clicked away thinking this was way more info than they wanted. Ah well, this is part of what my life is about these days. To be honest, I am glad it stinks. Can you imagine how raw the poor kid would be if I had no clue and he/she stayed in it?

The Den and living room (transformed into the playroom for the daycare) are joined, yet gated, so that I can watch the kids while I type. In this case, I am also folding laundry. This way, the little ones can’t come and play in my piles like they were leaves. The den also acts as the infant sleeping room with a changing table, and two pack and plays set out here. My computer is off to the side, as is the piano, accessible to my own kids and in the living space so they are monitored, yet separate from the daycare play section so they aren’t playing near the wires. This arrangement seems to be working for me for now, but I don’t know how many kids I can bring in without it getting too crowded. The layout of my house kind of limits it getting too big.

I don’t know why I wrote all that above. No one is going to be interested in reading it, there is nothing transforming or informative in it, simply me going through the layers of my mind, getting down to the place where I can access the stuff that does matter.

Lately I have been able to get more writing done.

Writing, that matters to me. Lot’s more than maybe it should. I have thought a lot about it, what it is attached to inside me that makes it so important for me to write. It isn’t glory or fame, if that were the case, I think I would be better at getting more of my stuff out there and under the noses of editors. Right now, it’s about getting better at it. It’s about the act of creating and having a place to channel it.

My husband is a wonderful man, one who completely commits himself to whatever it is that he is doing. Translation: when he is at work he gives 110 % and when he is home, he gives 110 % and he seldom has time that he can call his own that’s all about or just for him. I push him out the door to spend time alone or time with friends or even time with a book as often as I can. But he can’t help but feel jealous of the time I take for myself to write or read. Sometimes, when I am obsessive about a story or a project, and the laundry slides or the house is a wreck, he will make a comment about how I still had time to write. He doesn’t take the time for himself and so I sometimes feel quite guilty for taking the time that I do for my own nourishment.

The thing is, I know that he needs me to drag him into having fun. I know he needs me to develop those relationships with other people and bring them into our circle so that he can reap the rewards of an intimate social group, even though he doesn’t have the time to maintain them on his own. So I also know that this is part of me that he loves. I try hard not to take it personal, cause I know it’s the differences of who we are that make us such a strong couple and better together than apart. It’s also the place where he and I are the most raw with one another too.

I need to develop myself on a level that rests outside of children. Something outside of what I have always done. I have a crazy fear of becoming a boring old woman who can only talk about the weather and her housework. (Politely ignore the first 2/3rds of this entry while I was working my way down to this section, okay?)

How do you balance what your dreams for your future are, with the needs of your family? One day and one decision at a time I suppose, but the tension, the tightrope of walking that line can get difficult. I don’t have the same issues that some families do. Some women were in vital careers before having kids, and then had to make the decisions about how much time they devote to the family or their careers. I have many friends who have college degrees that they aren’t using while they raise their kids. One of them made it all the way through med school and then stopped to have and raise her family. Even though I never made it to college, never had a career bigger than caring for children, I still feel the desire to learn new things. I want to grow and stretch my mind, I need it. I need it like the air I breathe.

And….

And it makes me crazy, because at this stage in the life of my writing ability, it looks so much like a leisurely hobby.

Am I whining? Yeah.

Thanks for listening to me whine. I don’t know if it’s better or worse than a rant, but it feels good to articulate it and maybe somehow make a connection with someone else.

Thank you for walking beside me for yet another day.