Today has been one of those glorious and yet rare days of thought. Those odd days when I find myself willing to think about life as it is now, and life as it will be when the girls start school. As you are well aware, most of the time I live in perpetual fear of the dreaded day of "Letting Go" (a.k.a The First Day Of Kindergarten). But every once in awhile I'll allow myself to think about that day without an arrow stabbing my heart. Hence the "Glorious & Rare" descriptors above. Sometimes, when I let myself, I can almost see an acceptable idea of Life After Stay-At-Home Mommyhood. Most of the times that thought seems bleak, but on the occasions when it glimmers slightly, I find myself thinking of it with some guarded hope.
The day started with a visit to a bookstore to meet the character Olivia with the girls and Kathleen. The girls were awe stuck by the star power of that giant, jumper clad pig. I could practically count the stars in their eyes as they gazed with unconcealed adoration up at her while hearing an Olivia story read to them. I could I see their hands worrying themselves at the prospect of getting to actually touch that pink goddess, especially her ears, (which, incidentally, were very large and just begged the passerby to give them a small tug). There were hugs. And more loving gazes beamed up at their New Friend. (Now that they've met her, Olivia is considered a close acquaintance in our house). Once home, the girls quickly found all our Olivia books and have spent the rest of the day perusing the various story lines and reliving the mischief their new com padre has wallowed in to.
Where is the connection, you ask? How does a giant pig and two starry-eyed kids play into any great scheme? Simply put, the connection is in books. In writing. In freeing the ideas stored up in my brain. I'm a writer. Or I try to be. Or, maybe more appropriately, I like words. I like the way I feel when I put words on paper and see them. Feel them. When they become real and tangible things that others can experience too. There's no small amount of wonder in that for me. Right now my brain is scrambled with unrealized "characters", all milling about up there. Some days I feel downright psychopathic with the shadows of voices I hear. People I long to meet. Get to know. Sketch out into a real person with a real life. In a world of my own invention. I have a feeling they are just waiting for me to get around to working with them. I feel like there's something there. But maybe that's jumping the gun a bit. Biting off more than I can chew. I don't know.
The truth of it is that a part of me looks ahead to the First Day Of School and thinks: Writing Time. A few hours a day to get out of the house, find some inspirational place (a busy place for me, I think. My mind works best around noise and chaos), and just write. Write for me. A chance to clear my head. Work it all out. Figure out the answers to questions I've always had but been afraid to ask. To wonder. To worry. On paper. The idea of that simply luxury seems very peaceful and agreeable to me, and I find myself in a state of mind that welcomes that change rather than dreading it.
There are other opportunities at the forefront too. My teaching certificate has started calling to me from behind it's glass frame. "Teach! Teach! Teach!" it says persistently. There are paths for me to explore there too. To go back now or to wait till the girls are older: that is the question. To teach public school or private school: that is a consideration. Should I go back part time or full time? Local or slightly further away? All these things are chasing about in my upper storey.
It's interesting for me to be at this place of wondering and slight indecision. It feels absolutely decedent to be in a soft place of not knowing what is next. To be certain that there IS a next thing, but not clear on just what that is. After spending the past 5 plus years rigidly adhering to a schedule, there is nothing on the docket. And I'll choose this moment to relish it and enjoy the time I've been granted to figure things out. Because in the end, I know it will all be figured out. I'm certain of that. How much of a part I'll play in the figuring remains to be seen, but I know my game piece will be exactly where it needs to be in this game of life. Yep. As the song declares, Change Is Gonna Come. Perhaps linking a Civil Rights song to my own life is a bit of an overstatement on my own importance, but I'm doing it anyway. My blog, my prerogative, right? And I firmly believe that the way to handle change is with a welcoming finesse, rather than with a wary bit of dread. I'm not sure what road I'll be taking, but I know it will be MY road, and thus it will be good. I'm ready.
