Finding my Words

It’s been so long since I’ve written that I found I had to reset my WordPress password this morning. The thoughts come, strange little bubbles I find floating in front of me, but just as quickly they seem to pop before I can capture them. Life is busy. I hate that word because it seems to fall into the same category as the word fine. As in, I don’t really want to give you a real response so I will use this word instead. Perhaps I should go with full. Life is full. It is full of all the things I ever dreamed of- sports games, neighborhood walks, jobs, meal planning, story reading, and nights that lead into days to do it all again. Things are far from perfect-in between all of those events we also have arguments, a messy house, tantrums, and plenty of nights where Paul and I feel too tired to even have a real conversation. This is our life these days.

When this is life the words don’t come as easily. They appear and just as quickly seem to evaporate into the din of family life. Yet, I know they are there. Capturing them before they disappear remains my challenge. It’s easier to check Instagram, Facebook, or any other social media sight than to take the time necessary to dig deep and find my words.

I think I’ve accepted that my words are just not here for the time being. My words have been replaced my the constant demands placed on me and maybe those words can wait until my house is empty and my time is my own.

But can they?

Is that how it is meant to be?

As mothers are we meant to put ourselves, our words, on hold until the time is right? To freeze our needs until the time appears? Does the time ever appear?

I feel like there is so much written about taking time for yourself as a mom.

“Go get your hair done!”

“Pour a glass of wine and take a bath!”

Maybe for some those are the things that bring them back to themselves. For me, I feel like that falls more into the “basic needs” category. It’s time for my words that I demand to feel whole.

I have a house full of people counting on me to show them the art of living. That time will not be gifted to me, but, more likely, rather scraped from the edges of my sleep, but it is well worth it for my little (and not so little) people watching.

It’s time to find my words.

 

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