It’s been awhile since I wrote anything. In fact, for five months, I have been quite content to abandon writing. Suddenly, though, I find myself missing it.
I miss the routine, the sense of accomplishment, and the frustration. I miss the challenge of piecing together the precise words that adequately express the amazement and wonder I experience every day with my two children.
And, that, I suppose is the root of my writing rut. Both of my chidlren are in school this year, one in first grade and the other in half-day kindergarten, and life is completely different now. They aren’t with me all of the time, our days are more structured, and we are all a little more rushed. This change felt so sudden after a summer of adventuring and spending so much time together as a family that I didn’t quite know what to do about it. So, I stopped writing.
My children, meanwhile, have become even more independent and are learning crazy things like how to read and what the term “mathematical equation” means. No doubt, they LOVE school. They love their teachers, they love their classmates, they love learning. And, truthfully, they love their independence.
Oh, this growing up is hard. I feel more than ever that time is moving so very quickly, and I can’t slow it down.
In the past few months I have justified my absence of writing by believing: my house will be cleaner, I will have more time to exercise, and I will be more present with my children with the shorter amount of time I have with them.
None of these are true. I still can’t keep my house clean. I gained back some weight over the winter, and although I may spend more time with my kids, I often find myself simply thinking about what is next for us …. What time is soccer practice? Did I pack my son’s lunch already? When are parent-teacher conferences?
When I am writing, I tend to think in a different way. Each small moment from an outing holds new meaning …
As we walk through our yard, my daughter gasps in excitement when she spies the first crocus of the year. I feel words start to unfurl inside of me. She tells me, “It’s a clue, Mom! First, it is sunny. Now, we see a flower. SPRING IS ALMOST HERE!” Her excitement is contagious, and instead of focusing on all of the yardwork that we must do before spring arrives, I instead focus on this exact moment. Tendrils of an idea stretch toward the surface, pushing their way through the mundane list of chores and errands that occupy my mind. These tendrils are anxious to surface and bloom on a page.
This moment cannot be forgotten, so I will write it down.