I’m at the beach. Really. I know I said I get here a few times while I was off, but somehow the time just got away from me. I don’t know how that happens. One day you're packing up for 6 weeks off. The next thing you know, you’re going back to work in two days. Scary. Especially since I’m not ready.
There is so much going on in my life right now that I just can’t see going back. I have to. But I don’t want to. I have a garden to move, plants to plant, rooms to redo, a desk to organize, a life to live – all those things I want to do with my boys that are still left undone – crafts, learning books, day trips.
How did this happen? I had 6 weeks off. 42 days of summer stretched before me and now. Gone. We didn’t go to the beach, the bird sanctuary, the playplace, Ikea, the park (ok we did once). We didn’t play like I wanted.
And worse. My son is going to kindergarten. In 3 weeks. I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready for this change in our lives. It’s going to get really complicated and I’m just plain not ready for it. Thank God my husband is going to be off for six weeks when school starts. At least we can ease our child into this big new world of school and a new daycare. But still. Preschool days are over. Endless possibities? Done. We have a schedule and a timeline now. It’s all new to me and, at this moment, I hate it.
I wanted to be able to take time off to raise my boys. But we live in part of the country that makes it very difficult. You can’t afford a home on one salary. So we decided we’d do it this way. Sometimes I wish it were different. It’s not that I don’t love my job, either. I have a fabulous job. I work as a mediator and run the informal conflict management program for a region. It’s awesome – a chance to make a difference in people’s lives. To help them make positive changes. It’s a job that makes one feel good. It’s not the job. It’s just the timing.
I want to be a mother more. To be there for them. To stop missing out on these firsts, these milestones. I wish… I wish… I wish things could be... Different. I’m not sure how. Realistically – I’m a lousy homemaker. But I try – hard. I can’t help but think if I just had more time to get into it, I’d get it right. Maybe not like Martha, but at least I’d have some level of organization here.
So now, while I still have a couple of years left for the younger one, I’m searching for a way to make it happen. Somewhere out there is the answer. Maybe I’ll write a best seller – then work from home on my next one. Or I’ll become some awesome freelancer – and everyone will want me to write for them. Heck, - maybe both!
Hmm and here I am. At the beach. My fingers getting cold, the sun gone, the last vestiges of crimson slashing across the sky. Wishing. Hoping that first star comes out to make it all right. I can see the moon, so it can’t be far away. And I’m doing what I always do. Working out the ending of the story. Making it ok. Giving myself hope. Telling myself I need to go back to work – I have unfinished business there. I need to help someone. I need to reach out. Telling myself that I’ll figure it all out. I’ll find a way to do it all. To get all the pieces of my life together and in harmony. (right down to exercising!)
I won’t use the word balance. That’s a dirty word. It’s impossible. But I’ll definitely get those balls all up in the air and juggle. If I practice, I’ll drop less and less of them as time goes on. And that’s ok by me.