Stepping back again
I'm pretty exhausted right now, due to a gassy-baby Sunday. The child barely slept all day. But he's doing better at night--actually, really great at night, so I'll catch up, I think.
This is a tiring time of life for me. And very, very blessed. Do things always come in extremes? I wonder this at night, when I think of all the people who tell me to treasure these moments, but then I forget to treasure them because I'm busy hunting for my keys because my brain left with my free time.
Jaya has been gone all weekend, which is good because I need to get back into the swing of things. We move in a week, and she won't be coming with us. I don't regret a single moment of having Jaya work for us. We've learned so much and I've already become SO much more confident about living here, but I'm excited about having a kitchen that is my own. My chapattis have been getting better and better, too.
I'm torn about moving. It will be wonderful, I know, but I don't like change. I believe this is due to my lack of imagination. I can't fathom how things will turn out. We'll just have to see.
Once again, after having a baby, I'm filling up with creative juices. All these ideas, all these thoughts. They come to me in dreams, I mull over issues and see wonderful things that I would like to write about, or photograph, or paint. My book always calls to me-- it almost hurts. I really want to do more visual art again. I feel far from it. All the creativity... but NO TIME. No time.
I make lists. These are my goals for the month. They are modest goals, but I don't get them done. Sigh. Big sigh. I will not wish this dear, maddening, sweet time in my life away. Not one minute in delicious baby time, not one long complicated story from a six-year-old boy. I won't will it to pass. I will take the advice of those older and wiser than myself, and not rush it.
You can't spend all of your life frustrated, you know? Better to sink into it. I love them, I love them. They are slowly making me into the person who I really want to be.
The book will get written some day. Maybe this will be the month that I make my modest goals. And maybe the pigs we feed with our scraps, down the hill from us, maybe they'll sprout wings also.
It could happen.
This is a tiring time of life for me. And very, very blessed. Do things always come in extremes? I wonder this at night, when I think of all the people who tell me to treasure these moments, but then I forget to treasure them because I'm busy hunting for my keys because my brain left with my free time.
Jaya has been gone all weekend, which is good because I need to get back into the swing of things. We move in a week, and she won't be coming with us. I don't regret a single moment of having Jaya work for us. We've learned so much and I've already become SO much more confident about living here, but I'm excited about having a kitchen that is my own. My chapattis have been getting better and better, too.
I'm torn about moving. It will be wonderful, I know, but I don't like change. I believe this is due to my lack of imagination. I can't fathom how things will turn out. We'll just have to see.
Once again, after having a baby, I'm filling up with creative juices. All these ideas, all these thoughts. They come to me in dreams, I mull over issues and see wonderful things that I would like to write about, or photograph, or paint. My book always calls to me-- it almost hurts. I really want to do more visual art again. I feel far from it. All the creativity... but NO TIME. No time.
I make lists. These are my goals for the month. They are modest goals, but I don't get them done. Sigh. Big sigh. I will not wish this dear, maddening, sweet time in my life away. Not one minute in delicious baby time, not one long complicated story from a six-year-old boy. I won't will it to pass. I will take the advice of those older and wiser than myself, and not rush it.
You can't spend all of your life frustrated, you know? Better to sink into it. I love them, I love them. They are slowly making me into the person who I really want to be.
The book will get written some day. Maybe this will be the month that I make my modest goals. And maybe the pigs we feed with our scraps, down the hill from us, maybe they'll sprout wings also.
It could happen.