mootmom (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} mootmom) wrote,@ 2003-11-15 21:36:00 |
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Slowly, slowly.
Day: 14/30
Word count: 25,828/50,000
Everything is going more slowly than I'd like. I've never been very patient, especially not with myself, and never very comfortable with my impatience either. One of those life challenges I am continually working on. And especially with my writing this month (or lack of it lately).
I have written very little in the last two days. I had such grand plans for today, but it was not to be. Instead, I got up at 4:30am and helped pack up ingredients for Greg's eventual lunchtime sandwiches (with a few surprises thrown into the bag) and dropped him off at 5:30am at a friend's house so they could be driven to the Jim Russell Driving School in Sonoma. They took a "highway survival" course and I wanted him to have the nutritional fuel to really enjoy it and do well. I did get to yoga again finally, then took Philip to an elementary school in East San Jose for training so he can teach groups of little kids to do public service announcements related to health issues. And I crossed about half the "must do" things off our weekend list (Charlie is just back from 2 weeks away on business).
But I didn't write.
I realized something weird this morning. I was thinking about all those wonderful, witty, warm, and wacky two-dozen South Bay people who showed up to write and commune together on Thurs. night at Coffee Society, and a sobering thought occurred to me: I was the only one there who had any kids. THE ONLY ONE. Not the only one who had any kids with me (and Philip *was* there, but he hardly counts, since he considers himself part of the group anyway, at least as adjunct faculty), but the only one who had any kids. (Well, unless someone has non-custodial offspring about whom they never speak.) Someone mentioned to me that she couldn't imagine what it must be like to have kids, and today I figured that perhaps that's one of the things that keeps me feeling as if I don't fully belong with this bunch. Is it a problem somehow that I *do* have offspring? That I can't bring myself to never speak of them? I don't think it's simply that I'm old enough to be mother to half of them. I wonder if there are any good places to get personality transplants these days; for sure, I'm not giving up the kids, they're just too wonderful for words (except during times when I want to rip their stupid-ass heads off their shoulders).
Or maybe I'm just imagining that a barrier exists where none really does. It wouldn't be the first time.
Day: 14/30
Word count: 25,828/50,000
Everything is going more slowly than I'd like. I've never been very patient, especially not with myself, and never very comfortable with my impatience either. One of those life challenges I am continually working on. And especially with my writing this month (or lack of it lately).
I have written very little in the last two days. I had such grand plans for today, but it was not to be. Instead, I got up at 4:30am and helped pack up ingredients for Greg's eventual lunchtime sandwiches (with a few surprises thrown into the bag) and dropped him off at 5:30am at a friend's house so they could be driven to the Jim Russell Driving School in Sonoma. They took a "highway survival" course and I wanted him to have the nutritional fuel to really enjoy it and do well. I did get to yoga again finally, then took Philip to an elementary school in East San Jose for training so he can teach groups of little kids to do public service announcements related to health issues. And I crossed about half the "must do" things off our weekend list (Charlie is just back from 2 weeks away on business).
But I didn't write.
I realized something weird this morning. I was thinking about all those wonderful, witty, warm, and wacky two-dozen South Bay people who showed up to write and commune together on Thurs. night at Coffee Society, and a sobering thought occurred to me: I was the only one there who had any kids. THE ONLY ONE. Not the only one who had any kids with me (and Philip *was* there, but he hardly counts, since he considers himself part of the group anyway, at least as adjunct faculty), but the only one who had any kids. (Well, unless someone has non-custodial offspring about whom they never speak.) Someone mentioned to me that she couldn't imagine what it must be like to have kids, and today I figured that perhaps that's one of the things that keeps me feeling as if I don't fully belong with this bunch. Is it a problem somehow that I *do* have offspring? That I can't bring myself to never speak of them? I don't think it's simply that I'm old enough to be mother to half of them. I wonder if there are any good places to get personality transplants these days; for sure, I'm not giving up the kids, they're just too wonderful for words (except during times when I want to rip their stupid-ass heads off their shoulders).
Or maybe I'm just imagining that a barrier exists where none really does. It wouldn't be the first time.
