Nah, it just can’t be May 31st already! If I remember correctly, my Facebook status update at the beginning of May was full of bravado, claiming I “own” this month. Maybe I should have said “I owe.” I had birthdays to contend with (including my own anxiety-ridden yearly anniversary) and Mother’s Day. I was still recovering slowly from medical treatment I received in late April for a recurring internal problem. I was in pain for a few weeks, but hopefully I won’t have to worry about that anymore. And of course soccer season has begun and it’s time to cart kids to games and practices. If that’s not enough to throw me for a loop, I have been invited to join a literacy committee at my school board, and I’ve been asked to present at this year’s Family Literacy Conference in the fall — which is a real thrill, but a lot of extra work. I am also struggling to get all my library chores done before I close my school library up for the summer — a challenge in itself when you are constantly in need to help with other tasks. Sigh.
June isn’t looking much brighter.
I have to admit I had a complete meltdown this morning. I was up at 5:30 a.m. — a complete anomaly for me, especially on a Sunday morning! Anyway, I was getting rather pleased with myself for accomplishing a lot of the mundane, household tasks: feed dog, clean dog dishes, fill soap dispenser, wash bedding, make split pea soup — all before going to church! Then I went into my daughter’s room. She was away at a sleepover and had brought down her laundry the afternoon before, but it didn’t look like much considering I hadn’t done the laundry last week because I had family visiting on the weekend and my weeknights were filled with soccer and other commitments. So I went into her room and opened her underwear drawer… I wish I hadn’t. It was crammed with both dirty and clean clothes, as well as bits of paper and plastic garbage. I opened her closet and found another pile of clothes, dirty and clean. Then I looked in her hamper, which was full — of clothes of varying degrees of filth and cleanliness. Honestly, I was afraid to look under her bed. My oldest had to do it for me after I left the room.
Did I raise this kid? I think Oscar the Grouch did. She has a wastebasked AND a clothes hamper, for heaven’s sake!!! And it’s not like I enable her. She has been caught doing this before and had to wash, dry and fold ALL her clothes as well as everyone else’s for punishment. She has had to do it more than once!!! The message doesn’t seem to sink in.
Unfortunately, maybe she should have been here for my meltdown. My older daughter was witness to it and believe me, I have a feeling she finally appreciates what I go through each day, putting them first above everything — including my writing. I cried. I separated laundry and bawled like a baby, delcaring that I might as well give up on my goal of ever finishing my manuscript. I wept as I told my oldest how much of a struggle it is for me to find the time to squeeze in a few minutes. How exhausted I am at the end of the day, mentally and physically. How I now face a Mount Everest of laundry when I had hoped to maybe get caught up on my blogging, my critiques for others (because often even they come first before my book) and perhaps even find a spare hour to write a couple more pages. I told her through my tears that I want to give it all up, that maybe I’d find time when they were at university, or married. But I also told her that I couldn’t let my in-laws down, that their story needs to be told, if not by me, than by someone. I want them to be around to read my FINISHED manuscript and, God willing, their story published in a book. I was in complete despair — and I still am.
This is a very personal revelation: I don’t discuss my writing with my parents much. They were never big on support, emotional or otherwise. Recently, I made the mistake of talking to my dad about my work and he said, “Why bother, you’re never going to finish it.” Over the years, he’s had a lot of those little chestnuts for me. I’ve always rebelled against such comments. I’ve always set out to prove him wrong. Today, for the first time ever, I started wondering if he was right this whole time.
I feel like everything is set against my finishing any writing project I start, including myself. I put so many things ahead of my writing that I don’t have the time. And when I do find the time, it gets shattered by some new emergency. And I continue to marvel at how other people squeeze it all in! I really think I just don’t have it in me anymore.
I know I promised I wouldn’t do this wallowing business. But truly, I felt ready to chuck it all away. I was ready to send an e-mail to Marsha to tell her I’m leaving KidCrit, and I’m going to just let this dream die. But I can’t.
I can’t do it because at the bottom of my little Pandora’s box, there is still a tiny glimmer of hope. My husband and my delinquent child are tackling the mountain of laundry (Lord, I hope they don’t shrink another of my favourite tops!) and I am trying to gather up whatever energy I have left to blog here, do a crit and hit my MS. I need not worry about supper, because my husband says he has it all under control. My youngest senses my keen disappointment, but I don’t hold out much hope there, either. It wasn’t the first time, and I’m fairly certain it won’t be the last.
I’m still worried. Worried that my big plans to finish writing the manuscript over the summer will fall through. After all there’s still soccer, plus swimming lessons, housework, a workshop to prepare, a week at the cottage, and my in-laws’ visit in August. Wouldn’t it be incredible to plop my manuscript – completed – in their hands when they arrive?
I don’t think it’s possible, but I guess I need to hang on tighter to that little bit of hope. And pray my daughter finally figures out how to use her laundry hamper.
