This should be a relatively short post. I’m tired, which I expected, although today was better. I fit in a trip to the grocery and a walk with my daughter in after work. But I was contemplating something this morning, while I was at work bouncing around like a ferret on a pixie stick. I’m a morning person anyway, and being on my feet all day and then home after ten hours (building commute time in there) means I usually don’t have a lot left when I get home.
I was blessed as a younger woman to have been able to stay at home, run a business, and raise the kids. I was there for them even though I was on the phone or computer a lot working. I did work the traditional 9-5 job with them in school and daycare for a brief time a few years back, and frankly it was a disaster, looking back. At the time I really thought I didn’t have other options, even in hindsight that’s true. But now, with them all much older and self-sufficient, I can go back to building a career, which would have been impossible if I still had a toddler.
Work gets the best of me, however. I was talking with my First Reader about this, and he agreed that by the time he’s home at the end of the day, he’s all used up. He can muster time for family dinner, and time to sit with the Little Man and talk about responsibilities like he did this evening, but mostly he wants to sit and play his game on the computer. Time will tell for me, but so far I’ve mostly wanted to sleep.
We’re making an effort to spend time with the kids, because it’s important, and they are having to make yet another adjustment, this time from Mom being at home, to Mom being there in the evening, but not all there. While they are capable of taking care of much of their own needs, they still need me. Even if it’s for the little things like putting someone’s hair up in ponytails when she wants to dye her bangs. Or playing hide-and-seek with the Little Man and his buddy who’d come over after school.
Work may get the best of my energy, but the rest of me belongs to my family. And some to my other work, like the editing of the novel which has slowed to near-glacial pace, but it is progressing.