I made word count today. The only lunch I had to fix was my own. The offspring is off attending a writer’s conference. Workshops in the AM, fun stuff in the afternoon and tons of scheduled writing time. She came home eager to sign up the day she heard about it.
So, backhandedly, I get my own conference. I still have to fix my own lunch and housework, like the poor, will always be with us but I don’t have to break up my momentum at mid-afternoon to pick her up.
About four years ago I had an epiphanous moment.
I wasn’t supposed to. I was supposed to go to the planning meeting for the Eighth Grade banquet and volunteer to help with the clean-up. I wasn’t supposed to put my foot in it and suggest that we could do much better with our budget with just a bit of imagination and effort. Lord knows, I wasn’t supposed to end up practically camping at the school working on it for months.
But I did.
And I should have known better than to get so involved just before our first ever long Amtrak vacation, with so much logistical challenge waiting for me when I got home at night.
So just about this time, four years ago, I was running around making lists of things to be done and calculating the time left in which to do them and stressing as only an over- scheduled Twenty-first Century American mom can.
And it hit me.
Everything I’m complaining about is something someone else would be glad to have.
I know, I know, you can read this bit of wisdom all over the place now but back then, I had to figure it out for myself.
I made more than word count today, with the house all to myself and no interruptions. And it feels great.
But just between us, I kinda miss my little interruption.