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| YEEEEEEHAWWW! (I've had 2 americanos today.) |
It's been a while, hasn't it? My last post was over four months ago. I can't believe it's been that long. I got swallowed up in a sea of birthdays and Christmas, then spit out on the shores of unemployment and family crises. If there was ever a time in my life to put my blog aside while I regroup, this was the time.
I did manage to start a food blog. I think I have a grand total of three posts, but I'm planning on jumping back into both blogs this week. Yay for you! (I mean, if you have kids or like food, I guess.)
I'm no longer working part-time outside the home. It's a long story and not a terribly interesting one, so I won't get into the deets. Suffice it to say that it suddenly became clear to me who I am and what I should be doing at this point in my life, and office administration isn't it. I'm a writer, and I should be writing. I have a spouse who makes enough that, if we're careful, we can live on one salary while I slowly stir my wordsmith brew into something magical and rewarding. I have a home I love and young gremlins I love even more who require lots of care and feeding. (I seem to have lost the instruction manual a while back, mind you. They do come with instructions, right?)
Last week, just as I was getting into the flow of working-from-couch and developing a nice ass groove in the right hand corner, we had another major anxiety flare up with Gutsy. It's been a rough few days with many outbursts and tears (both his and mine), lots of talking and stategizing, and an emergency therapy assessment. As stressful as it's been - and believe me, it's been hella stressful in ways I won't even get into right now because it'll just stress me out all over again- it solidified in me the belief that one of us needs to be here, manning the lighthouse, to guide him through the storms.
I can - and will - build a great career as a writer, but my first priority is being Gutsy's - and Interpid's, and Spawnling's - mom. Raising kids is hard; raising special needs kids is exponentially harder; believe me, I do both. I need to focus my attention where it matters most, and that's here, at home. I spent a couple of "woe is me/this isn't what I signed up for" days digging into a jumbo bag of chips. That's therapeutic for a time, but unhealthy long term.
Of course I signed up for this; I just didn't take the time to read the fine print, that's all. When we choose to become parents, we sign up for just about anything life can throw at us. Each little individual that exits my womb and is placed in my arms has unique DNA: a unique set of personality traits, needs, and emotions. That's how it works, and it's my job to figure out how best to love that little person, how to best help him grow into the amazing adult I know he will be.
So yes, I can feel sorry for myself for a bit because it's damn challenging some days, but I also need to accept life on life's terms. Whining time for The Maven is over for now. These boys I have? They're incredible. And I have to muster up the incredible in me again so I can parent them most excellently. Sitting under a raincloud isn't going to help me find my super suit.
I stopped blogging for longer than I've ever stopped blogging before. You probably thought I was kidnapped by a drug cartel (Obviously the first thing that would come to mind.) The funny thing is, I couldn't find the words to write for a long time before this perfect storm of job-shifting, re-prioritizing and special-needs-parenting thundered in. This was happening long before life blew up two weeks ago. I had already fallen off the writing pier and was swept away in the current of the every day. (Holy damn, I'm using a lot of water analogies today. What's up with that?)
I've been drowning in stress and tiredness and busy and crazy and messy for a long time. I've been feeling like I'm not honouring who I am and what I am and where I want to go in life, either. But the gift of the last little while is the big light bulb moment I had: What's the point of life if we don't truly live? It's time to come home to myself, to who I am and what I'm meant to do. I don't want to look back on my life and feel like I let those precious years with the boys fly by without truly appreciating how magical this time is, or that I never followed my dreams because I was too scared or unsure of myself.
Not me, not anymore. It's time to shine.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go scrub the toilet and make some dinner.
(Nobody said it was a glamorous life, but it is my life. My wonky, unpredictable, sometimes disgusting life. Ah, fuck. Anybody see that bag of chips?)