someday my prince will gooooo away
Oh - something else that's been spinning in my head and needs to find form.
I'm thinking a lot about life after kindergarten (in case that wasn't obvious).
To be clear, I don't hate being home with my son. On the contrary, I wanted it, desperately. I'm glad that I did it, and grateful that I could. My husband is a King, just for this. My life is charmed, I think.
But this is not something that comes naturally to me. I am still, in my mind, a working mother, and it has been hard.
I observe women who seem to excel at staying-home, and thrive. I think maybe they do it so well because mothering is their craft. It's what they DO. (And yes, it is a craft. Just because you CAN doesn't mean you should. And yes, they should be paid for doing it. With full benefits. Paid vacation. The works).
But that's not me. I mother my son because I need to, I want to, it completes me, but by craft? I am other things. Keeper of Books, sometimes. Writer, mostly.
And oh, am I looking forward to the days when Writing is what I do.
But that's not even what I wanted to write about... writing per se. No, I keep thinking about what life will be like when the Kinglet is at school, and I am here.
I am imagining a whole different pace to life. Something calmer, structured. There will be a time for yoga, every morning, without someone chattering at me or climbing on my back. There will be a time for walking in the garden, doing a little bit every day rather than a whole lot crammed into one afternoon. There will be a time to do laundry, a time to clean bathrooms, a time for doctor's appointments.
I am imagining that evenings will be different - if I can put all of my things, writing or otherwise, in little niches of time when I am alone, then maybe I can put them away at the end of the day, with a satisfied sigh, and focus on my family... rather than watching anxiously for an unanticipated break, when I can steal a moment to fire off that email or jot down that sentence or go water my plants, or whatever.
I am imagining a different pace to life, and I crave it. My body needs it, and my spirit.
Maybe I'm fooling myself. As everyone knows, there's never enough money and there's never enough time. Maybe I'll be just as harried and flustered as I am now, but in different ways.
But a girl can hope.
I'm thinking a lot about life after kindergarten (in case that wasn't obvious).
To be clear, I don't hate being home with my son. On the contrary, I wanted it, desperately. I'm glad that I did it, and grateful that I could. My husband is a King, just for this. My life is charmed, I think.
But this is not something that comes naturally to me. I am still, in my mind, a working mother, and it has been hard.
I observe women who seem to excel at staying-home, and thrive. I think maybe they do it so well because mothering is their craft. It's what they DO. (And yes, it is a craft. Just because you CAN doesn't mean you should. And yes, they should be paid for doing it. With full benefits. Paid vacation. The works).
But that's not me. I mother my son because I need to, I want to, it completes me, but by craft? I am other things. Keeper of Books, sometimes. Writer, mostly.
And oh, am I looking forward to the days when Writing is what I do.
But that's not even what I wanted to write about... writing per se. No, I keep thinking about what life will be like when the Kinglet is at school, and I am here.
I am imagining a whole different pace to life. Something calmer, structured. There will be a time for yoga, every morning, without someone chattering at me or climbing on my back. There will be a time for walking in the garden, doing a little bit every day rather than a whole lot crammed into one afternoon. There will be a time to do laundry, a time to clean bathrooms, a time for doctor's appointments.
I am imagining that evenings will be different - if I can put all of my things, writing or otherwise, in little niches of time when I am alone, then maybe I can put them away at the end of the day, with a satisfied sigh, and focus on my family... rather than watching anxiously for an unanticipated break, when I can steal a moment to fire off that email or jot down that sentence or go water my plants, or whatever.
I am imagining a different pace to life, and I crave it. My body needs it, and my spirit.
Maybe I'm fooling myself. As everyone knows, there's never enough money and there's never enough time. Maybe I'll be just as harried and flustered as I am now, but in different ways.
But a girl can hope.