Simple Arithmetic

It has been a very long time since my last post. Life has been bulging at the seams, and my husband and I have been trying to cut out the fat — all the extraneous activities and commitments that bog us down in busyness. So far we’ve been getting up earlier, sending the older boys to public school instead of homeschooling them, setting aside time for ourselves as a couple, and pulling (gracefully) out of various groups that devour our time and energy and give little back.
Good.
So why haven’t I been writing more? Correction: Why haven’t I been writing at all?
It’s all a question of simple arithmetic; marriage plus five children ranging from about eight years old down to four months plus housework plus a few church-related activities equals still every minute of every day spoken for. No time for me to be me and do the things I enjoy doing. Want to see that in an equation?
Marriage + 5 kids + housework + church activities = no leftover time.
It’s a common tale, isn’t it? We are all fighting the clock and losing. Years zip by in which all we do is take care of our families and count it a successful day if everyone is alive and reasonable healthy and happy at the end of it. Right. The problem is we are not meant to live like that. Correction: That is not living at all; that is existing. To treat our days and ourselves in such a fashion is to retreat into the barest semblance of humanity. At best, it is a faint shadow of the vibrant life we could have.
Well, I refuse to give up doing all the things I love merely so my house can be squeaky-freaky clean and my children attended to the second they discover a need. I refuse to become a robot. But that’s where I’ve been the last few months.
Do you know what I love to do? Write!
(Of course you knew that. I know you knew that. Bear with me a minute….)
Do you know what I’m like when I haven’t written anything in a while? Grouchy, subdued, apathetic, discouraged, bland.
Do you know what I’m like after I’ve had a chunk of time to scribble? Impish, witty, spontaneous, optimistic, almost energetic! It’s a morale thing. I can better handle what my five munchkins can dish out, a sleepless night, a frustrated and discouraged husband, anything with this lovely shot of adrenaline for my heart.
Why, why, why would I sacrifice that? I am a much better, more joyful, vibrant person, and isn’t that good for everyone around me?
So I must write. It is a requirement for me to live. Now how do I change that awful equation? I’ve decided to ignore everything that clamors for my attention for a few hours every week and just write. I claim this time as my own. May it bring life to myself and others.
You might have had all this figured out long ago, and now you are nodding your head in amused agreement. Well, thank you for sticking with me through this. I am glad there are people light years ahead of me in living a vibrant life — you are lighting the way for the rest of us.

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