Time to Write, or Not?

So I sat down to write.  I was full of enthusiasm. I wanted to get those wonderful bubbling ideas on paper.  I wanted to let words spill onto the page in the way Earnest Hemingway or Fitzgerald did when writing.  So I sat at my laptop and as I started to type I felt a presence creep up toward me.  It was youthful, loving and it was accompanied by a very annoying munching, crunching noise.  It was my seven year old son eating a cucumber.  When the munching had finished my three year old son began his solo of an Ode to Underwear and Poop.  At which point the seven year old began his “I am bored” poetry recitation.  Then began the martial arts tournament, seven vs three year old.  As I type now this very moment we have, dress up mommy in groceries while she types and pretends to ignore us. 

So I am asking you why can’t I finish my novel?  I have ideas. I just can’t seem to remember them long enough to get them on the virtual page.  I, MariaAnna, feel like I am loosing my mind.  I used to have a somewhat photographic memory.  That is how I finished high school and college.  Now,  nothing I am lucky if I remember to turn of the oven most of the time.  So I will leave you with this because they are now playing lions and tigers over my head and I can’t see the screen.  Four children and never a dull moment.

Going South I-30 +

Remember when you were a kid and someone was in their thirties? They were OLD.  I mean they were getting to that age where they would be needing a cane.  Thirty was such a big number, I mean not only was it a double digit which on its own was worthy of respect, but it was the age many our parents were at.  Enough said.  So now I am turning thirty-one, yeah I know.  I don’t feel old rather I feel young. If only my body looked like I feel.  I have seen many thirty year olds, in fact all my best friends are thirty year olds.  Many are a lot tighter than me, I blame my kids.  I have four of them.  It’s not really their fault, I mean I could exercise but it’s easier to just blame them.  My ass and boobs have started to drift south.  So has my face, I blame gravity.  I am told I am the only one who sees this.  I guess it is the kind of thing a girl and her mirror sees. 

The irony of getting older is you get more confident in yourself as you have less to be confident of.  I mean, I find not giving a rats ass that my women’s bits are starting to drift south or that my belly isn’t flat anymore.  Maybe I am alone on this.  It’s not that I don’t want to look good, I do, that’s just it, I feel like I look nice in spite of these things.  I am a thirty something mom of four gosh damn it and I don’t have time to spend countless hours at a gym.  I don’t want that dermatologist to prick my face with nerve toxin.  I don’t dye my hair every three months; in fact I don’t give a crap that my white hair shows.  When I do dye it it’s only because I get sick of people pointing it out to me like I have no mirror in my house.  I must be doing something right most people think I am still 25, God bless them.

 I think it’s that you start to realize how fleeting things are.  How fast time goes by.  Each year comes and goes faster than the one that had preceded it.  It kind of scares you to think that the next thirty years will come faster than the last thirty passed.  It’s not that I know who I am, at least not completely but I know who I want to be and who I don't’ want to be.  I know what I want my life to have been when the time comes for me to croak.  I don't’ care if i leave a good looking corpse, I do care that people remember me as someone who led a  life that wasn’t wasted.  I don’t want fame, fortune or the fountain of youth.  I will be satisfied with wisdom if I live long enough to attain it.

Twelve Years and Counting

Twelve years I have been with my husband and ten and a half of it has been married to him.  Overall they have been happy years.  Now ten years and four kids later I think back; what cracks me up is how different my life is from what I imagined it would be.  I guess I had a story book in mind, you know, they were madly in love and every minute was like their first.  They had half a dozen kids that were perfectly behaved and spoke only when they were spoken to.  Sweet children that would rather die than talk back to their hard working, loving parents.  Children that would run to the kitchen table when dinner was ready so that everyone could sit and share their day. 

Ha ha ha ha that was a very deluded fantasy.  I actually get my kicks when I see newly married couples that have the same fantasy.  They truly think their lives won’t change when they have kids.  Not only to they think it they defend it, they tell you that your life did not have to change you just didn’t want it bad enough.  I never answer these poor people because they will very quickly come to a messy crash with reality.  Your life changes, no way around it.  If you want to be a good parent then your kids needs come first and those will almost alway come in collision with your needs and wants.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind having made what some would call ‘sacrifices’.  I say some call them that because I don’t.  A sacrifice is doing something you don’t want to do for a greater good.  I don’t feel that I am doing something that doesn’t make me happy. I have gotten used to it, sleepless nights, cleaning up after throw up and poop.  Now I get joy from other things and I have come to appreciate things I always took for granted: a hot shower, time alone, time to sit and finish a cup of coffee while it is still hot, or God willing a whole nights sleep. 

I figure I will have more than enough time to do things I want when my kids are out of the house and I am suffering empty nest syndrome.  There will be much rest when I am sixty and am on bed rest because of the hip I broke while skiing.

New Year. Last Year?

So this year is supposed to be the end of the world, according to the Mayan Calendar.  Many people share this belief so it doesn’t matter if I don’t.  What implications does this have?  Well, the one obvious one, is that everything ceases to exist.  That would put a real damper on things wouldn’t it?  With the economic crisis being what it is; the global environmental crisis and the oil crisis one can see that even if it is not the end of the world it may very well be the end of things as we have come to know them until now. Depressing? I don’t think so but then again I am an incurable optimist.  No one knows when they are going to die. I might choke on my biscotti while I am drinking my coffee, right now while I am typing.  Maybe I have contracted a deadly virus and am dying and don’t realize that these sniffles are death knocking.  My point is that if I die life is over as I know it.  It doesn’t mean I stop trying in fact maybe this Mayan prophecy is a good thing; even if it turns out to be malarkey people may have made the time they think they have left count.   Like taking those music lessons you always wanted to, going to Tibet, talking to your mother or even telling your spouse how even though you love him/her that thing they do with their teeth gets on your last nerve.  So stop and smell the gardenia ( always preferred them to roses).  This doesn’t mean go quit your job/career but maybe it means get one that you love, if you can.  I don’t think it’s the end of the world but since you never know when the end of your world will be it’d be a good idea not to waste your time doing things you can’t stand.  On that note it may just be time to dump that guy that you’ve been with but can’t stand.

It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.  - REM