Keep the ball rolling

I haven't had time to work on my WIP for several days. With the hours of editing I'm doing for my sister-in-law, I haven't even had time to think about my own novel, and I'm concerned that if I don't find time for it soon, I'll start to lose momentum. This all goes back to my previous lament that, no matter how early I get up or how late I go to bed, I just can't do everything that needs to be done in a day. It's such a hard beam to balance, this line between what has to be done and what I want to do. I feel like I'm spending my life trying to juggle everything, and most days I drop the pins.

"Oink," the piggy said.

I just ate spaghetti for breakfast.

I didn't just eat it, though. I made it--as in it wasn't a leftover.

I feel like such a pig now. The diet starts tomorrow.

Really.

Cinderella, Cinderella

Just as I thought, I wasn't able to get through my entire to-do list yesterday. It's all I can do to get the essentials done--the dishes, the laundry, feeding the kids, making dinner... It didn't help my mood when my husband "informed" me that I need to do more to take care of the boxes I have in storage in our basement. I wanted to cry when he said that--and I also wanted to yell, but I didn't want to get the cold shoulder from him all weekend. I didn't say anything, but I hope he read my feelings in my silence.

If he wants me to be able to do things other than the essentials, he needs to help me by giving me the time. He needs to take care of the kids. He needs to make dinner and scrub the kitchen floor. It's getting so I feel guilty if I'm not doing something for the family or house twenty-four hours a day. I can feel his metaphorical eyes on me right now as I type this, sure that he's hearing the click of the keys and silently berating me for not being down in the basement, rummaging through dusty boxes. I feel like there's never time for me to relax, yet he can sit at the kitchen table as he is now, leisurely reading the newspaper as he eats bowl after bowl of cereal. It's okay for him to take time for himself, though.  After all, he worked all week.

Men!

Guilt and Panic

I had a minor panic attack about my to-do list this morning. There's just so much to do, and the things I want to do keep getting pushed farther and farther down the list. My writing ends up coming last most days, mainly because I don't think my husband really supports me, and so when he's around, if I try to write, I feel guilty--like I'm not doing enough to "earn my keep." He's really not that bad, I guess, but our house is by no means spotless, and sometimes when he comes home from work I feel like he's looking around, checking to see what I've cleaned or straightened or put away. Those "inspections" are embarrassing--they make me feel more like an employee than a wife--and I'm sure that I'm falling short in his eyes. All of this just adds to the pressure I feel.

Today's to-do list, the source of all my panic, is long, and I know I won't complete it. I don't complete it most days, and I'm not sure what to do about that. I already try to prioritize, to do the most crucial things first. I can't sleep any less; I only get four or five hours a night now. I just don't know what to do to make it all work. I'm at a loss.

I guess that today I'm just going to try to take things one at a time and get through as much as I can. That means my writing will once again be last, though--and that makes me sad (and even a little angry).

Back in the Dark Ages

Before I had children, I was a college English and journalism instructor. I left that job when my then-husband and I moved to another state. A couple of years later, after my divorce, I moved to yet another state and started working from home as a freelance editor. I enjoy editing, but unfortunately, after my second child was born, I no longer had the time to take on as much work. I miss it.

Recently, however, my sister-in-law asked me to take a look at a novel she's written, and I feel like I'm finally back in my element, the world of language and words, punctuation and grammar. I'm looking forward to hanging out my shingle again years from now when the kids are in school.

Series regular? Not a chance.

On another site, I wrote recently about the fact that as a mom, I feel like I'm no longer the star of my own life. Since I had children, I've worked mainly behind the scenes, most often putting my kids and husband first and myself and my interests second. All moms (and probably most dads as well) know how this is: before kids, when we wanted to do something spontaneous, like see a movie or drive off to another city and spend the night in some hotel, we could. It was easier making time for our own interests and pursuits, as we had no one to answer to but ourselves (and maybe our spouses). Now, however, it's impossible to be spontaneous or to even plan alone time without checking our children's schedules and scrambling to find a reliable babysitter. Things change once the baby comes home--there's no doubt about that.

So I've stopped being the star. This isn't The Dana Show, and I'm no longer a series regular. Does this bother me? I'd be dishonest if I said that it didn't, at least sometimes. Being a mom means being unselfish with our time--but of course that doesn't mean that we shouldn't strive to find a little time for ourselves too.

Wherefore art thou, Words?

Why is it that when I have the time to write, the words just won't come? Most days, as the kids are screaming and fighting and calling for Mommy, it's all I can do to shut off my writer's brain and switch it over to Mommy mode. But this morning, while my husband is at work and the kids are still tucked into their beds, a time when I should be able to create, the words are staying stubbornly lodged in my brain. I despise this feeling of knowing what I want to write but being unable to write it. But it's still early, and I'm hoping the day will get better.