Write here...
That is what it says on the screen when I start a blog post.
Write here...
Good idea. Except that the problem is never really where to write, but what to write.
It is the start of the spring musical season in our house.
Give me strength.
Auditions and call backs this week.
Oh, the drama!
And then on to rehearsals.
Oh, the commitment! I am having little heart palpitations every time I think of the strategizing and organizing and troop placement that this will require.
Olivia has been practicing her monologue and requisite sixteen bars for weeks.
This was to be expected. Her entire life revolves around the spring musical. Scratch that. Her entire life is a spring musical.
But then, out of nowhere, Caleb decided to try out for the lead in his school's spring musical.
Because he has nothing else to do. I'll admit I've tried to gently discourage him. Because I'm a dream killer. That's right. A dream killer, who doesn't want her children to succeed or be happy or have any fun.
This morning I was driving David to work after we dropped the car in the shop,
This is the second car we've taken to the shop this week. Have mercy. It's only eight days in, but I might hate 2015.
and I happened to be venting a bit about all the activities that every one wants to be involved in and how my whole goal going into the new year was to simplify and reduce our commitments and spend more time around our table, and how there was an easier way to live and I was trying to find just that--the easier way--and how I was being sabotaged at every turn.
Can I get an 'Amen'?
And David asked why any of these things should affect me and my life, that the kids could get themselves to and from all their activities and it shouldn't really make my life any harder.
Give me a minute.
There are so many things wrong with this comment that I sat there blustering about for a minute, trying to explain and get some traction, but finding that I could not adequately explain what it is exactly that I do and what it is that our children's commitments require of me, the mother. And how every new thing that the kids want to be involved in requires not only chauffeuring but volunteering and scheduling and planning and time and money and trips to the store for stage makeup and jazz shoes and snacks for the cast, not to mention the watching and waiting and rearranging and encouraging and reminding and bolstering and celebrating and worrying and bracing and busting with pride. Somehow, it all requires my involvement.
I told him to get out of the car
It's the safest place.
and go to work. He has his work. I have mine. Perhaps it is enough just to understand that we do that work for each other. Even if the other has no idea what that means exactly. We do it for each other. And for them. Always and all of it, for them.
This spring Olivia's school is performing "The Addams Family." Caleb's school is doing "Little Shop of Horrors."
That's right. Halloween all around. It's going to be a spooky spring. Believe me, I'm already scared.