Someone once said that a woman has a certain number of words they have to get out every day. My husband teases me that I save all mine up until he gets home and crashes in bed at night. This is far from the truth. I spend all day on the phone and emailing friends, I just think there are a certain number that have to go into your husband's ear (in person) for them to count. But in an attempt to cut down on those words that keep him up late when he's desperately in need of sleep before the next baby wakes up or the next work day begins, I've given up, and given in, and I'm starting a blog.
Today I find myself completely surrounded and outnumbered. I woke up to chaos. Mostly caused by my own little boy. But added to by the two kids I'm babysitting until Monday. That makes a grand total of five kids under the age of 4. Yah.. you guessed it. I'm about to rip all my hair out. Well, not all of it. I'm actually holding up pretty well. I think I would be doing really well if the baby hadn't been awake from two till four a.m. last night. Yah.. it was a long night. Good news is that the kids that are visiting are complete sweethearts. Obedient and loving and very very good to my kids. Trouble is that my oldest is four and has autism. The interruption in routine is starting to wear on him. He's held up really well so far though, and I think we can power through till Monday. Actually, we have to power through till Monday. No other choices. That's what got us to this point in the first place. We have no family near by and neither do our friends. My girlfriend really wanted to go to her family reunion but couldn't afford to take all of her four children, so I told her to leave a couple with me and that I'd have her watch a couple of mine next year when the baby was old enough and when my husband and I had really earned a vacation alone. Everyone says I'm crazy, but I think it's more desperation than insanity. Probably equal parts of both.
So enough of the kids. This is where I'm checking in about myself. I am reading a most excellent book right now. I'm not actually done with it, but I have high hopes for the ending. It's one of those old timey reminiscent books about child hood. I, myself, am aching to write a book like this. Every time I find one at the grocery store or happen on one through a friend I get this crazy idea that I can do it. I certainly have enough good story material having grown up the daughter of an artist and a cowboy... both of them gypsies at heart and from questionable backgrounds. Makes for juicey family reunions.. lots of hush hush stories exchanged over apple pie and ham.
I'm not sure where to start though. I've written a few chapters from my own childhood, but I know that while i have a great nack for remembering and telling stories, I just don't have that same pinache when it comes to the written word. I think I need a ghost writer. I was telling my husband this last night while he was dozing off. He laughed and said I was just like another friend of ours who has all these big ideas and no idea how to get them done. I did not appreciate this comparison at all. Maybe he's right though. As I lay there falling asleep I realized that as I am getting older I'm not as good at as many things as I used to think I was. I used to consider myself quite the writer and artist and dancer and philosopher.. etc. But then again I guess we all think we're unbreakable when we are young. Maybe the key is not to let go of all of those dreams and maybe at some point they will become a reality. At this point the only thing I know I am for sure is a very good dreamer. Big ideas.. very little output. Wahoo eh?
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