As I’m trying to write this, Marc has come into my room three times to ask for twenty dollars to go see the new Spiderman movie. I guess that’s better than the usual fight over whose turn it is on xbox live, while I’m trying to write, or (my favorite), the latest annoying rap song on repeat.
In my mind I’m in a cabin in the woods, my house is perfectly clean, I can write whenever I want, in silence, while sipping a cup of tea. When I finish writing, I’ll plant some flowers, take a long shower, then John and I will go out for a leisurely, romantic dinner at a fabulous, expensive restaurant.
In reality, my front door slams relentlessly while my boys and their friends run up and down the stairs yelling and laughing, as both of the dogs bark.
My refrigerator door gets just as much action, as my sink piles with dishes.
The requests never cease, nor does my responsibility to provide for these children.
Can Michael sleep over?
Can I get a ride to the gym? The train station? Over to Shawn’s house? To hockey? To work?
I have to work today, myself. And I have to stop for gas because the gas gauge on my car is broken and way too expensive for me to fix.
“Mom, can I have money for the mall? Taco Bell? New Sneakers? To get a snack at the corner store?”
I’m still making payments to the electric company to try catch up from when I was out of work for three months because of a knee injury.
We’re going to need to fill the oil tank soon, and just for the record, I haven’t had a manicure in months.
I have my own aspirations of things I want to accomplish in life, things I want to experience and places I’d like to visit.
For now I grin and bear it.
Dreaming of a day when there’ll be less working, more writing and more peace and quiet… more time for me.
I tell myself this is just a busy point in my life, raising these three boys. I know time flies and in the blink of an eye…
The house will be quiet.
There’ll be no dishes piled in the sink.
The laundry will be caught up.
And my house will be clean.
Someday, there will no longer be the sound of slamming doors or footsteps on my stairs.
There won’t be any requests from my boys or needs to be met.
There will no longer be loud voices in my home, or the sound of their laughter.
I know one day, I will have done my job and my boys will move on to their own lives.
I won’t get to see their handsome faces everyday, or their smiles, or feel their hug.
I know this busy, hectic, loud, crazy time in my life shall pass…
And, I know I don’t really want it to.