It’s the time of year, the busy, crazy time of year. The time of year that has my calendar filled with three events at the exact same time on one day. The time of year that has me running to the store after all the kids get off the bus to get the last minute supplies for the all important “Drop an egg off the roof of middle school” activity. The time of year that is filled with endings and new beginnings. The end of middle school and the beginning of high school. My oldest, my first born who taught me what it meant to love to truly, want to walk on fire for another human being, that baby with the blond curls is going to go to high school. And sometimes he’s a big, smelly teenager who talks back and rolls his eyes at me and other times he’s my biggest cheerleader pushing me to follow my dreams and asking me to help him find his passion. It’s the time of year where I count the number of lunches that need to be packed before I get a break from the drudgery of trying to be more original than carrot sticks, pb&j and goldfish. The time of year that brings constant short order cooking and will leave me counting the days till I get to send four of the same thing in a reusable Tupperware container in September. It’s the time of year when I complain about the schedule of events over the course of the next two weeks and live in fear of filling up the days so my children don’t bicker themselves into their rooms first thing every single morning of this whole, big summer.
The everyday calendar things are filling my head and making it swirly. But so are the little things that somehow feel tremendous. The discussions at the breakfast table about how we know if itis a chick or an egg that you can eat after I begrudgingly peeled hard boiled eggs for all three little guys this morning. And the fact that I let it go and didn’t add any science to the discussion and just let it rest at “if it doesn’t crack open by itself mom cooks it and we eat it.” I left it at that because this mama doesn’t like to discuss fertilization before 9 a.m. Especially with a 9 year old who giggled a little too much when she read the words opposite sex in her book about spies the other night.
And then there’s my writing and the fact that somebody laughingly told me I did it all just for fun and not to sweat it. And I can’t get it out of my head because of course my passion is fun but it’s also my heart and my soul and I take my book and my writing just as seriously as any other job in my life or anyone elses. I do it because I don’t know how not to do it. I need it and I crave it. At the same time, I’m overwhelmed by the support and the traction my book has gained in this gigantic world we live in. And I’m honored and humbled that my words are out there and I know it has meaning, more meaning than just for fun. The writing that sinks into every cell and has me questioning and remembering the importance of firsts. First kisses that are tattooed in minds leave me wondering why they are something idolized when really, isn’t it the last kiss you received, the one from your partner in life that is the one that should sit on the altar and be worshipped. I know I am the luckiest person in the world because I get to sit and explore these ideas, these thoughts that jumble up my brain.
My mind is rushing from extraordinary to ordinary moments and thoughts and somehow I can’t distinguish between any of them but it’s leaving me feeling, it’s leaving me knowing, that each minute I have is extraordinary and I need to thank my swirly head for noticing it at all.