I keep thinking about writing, keep contemplating coming back to it.
I am a lapsed writer.
There was a time when I wrote and read and read and wrote. I was in school and I wasn’t working full-time and my children and my craft were my priority.
My children are still my priority. But the way I take care of them has changed. It isn’t in a constant attention way now. It has morphed into bigger picture than the immediacy of making lunches or changing a shirt or a diaper. Now I have to think longer term. I need to work full-time so I can buy a house so they can have their own rooms and have the space they crave to grow into teenagers, then adults. I need to show them how to be responsible and take care of themselves. I have taken care of them all these years but we’re reaching the time when I take care of them, yes, but while showing them how they’re going to do it on their own one day.
On the first day of summer break, Brandon learned to tie his shoes and yes, he should’ve learned that awhile ago maybe but it was a step toward independence nonetheless. Last night Dan (that’s my boyfriend, I’m realizing maybe I haven’t blogged since we’ve been together?) and I bought a washer and dryer that will be perfect for teaching our four boys how to wash their own laundry.
We are learning how to parent older children. Our children are learning how to be adults.
And I think of how chasing our passions is a part of that. I wonder why I’m not showing them myself doing that. Why am I not writing a book? I have three nearly done that I have agonized over for years. Why haven’t I finished even one?
In a few weeks I’m moving into a house with my boys and Dan and his boys. And there will be a library with giant windows that I can look out from my writing desk. There is a large swing where Holden can spend hours and I can watch him. We can both do what we love, separately, together in a way.
This could be how we grow up. Doing what we love by each other’s sides. Supporting. Showing care. This is how I envision my son-mother relationships will look when we’re older.
I think I’ll come back to writing now. It feels like time.
Watching children grow is a joy tinged with heartache and a touch of sorrow but so with it.