The dog refused to come inside. It’s 35 degrees, so instead of snow, we are getting rain. I stood out in the precipitation for 10 minutes waiting for Luna to potty. She meandered around in snow paths left from her own tracks. A piddle here. A poop there.
She looked at me with disdain, something else had caught her attention, holding more importance than her master.
“Luna! I said COME.”
Luna trotted around to the side yard, just out of sight. I decided to try DW’s approach, go inside, slam the door loudly and wait for her to whimper on the front porch to be let in the house. It was only 30 seconds before I was hit with anxiety.
What if she runs in the street after a walker? What if she takes off into the woods chasing a squirrel or something?
I ran back outside, calling her name again. No answer. My flannel pajamas suddenly felt thin as the wind whipped around me. My down coat still hung on the back of my desk chair in the house. I found Luna still nosing around the side yard. My shivering arms scooped her up angrily.
“Luna! I said come and you didn’t listen. That makes mommy very mad.”
I know I’m talking to a dog who will never respond or even understand and yet I continue to try to communicate. It’s part of my ever diminishing mommy mental stability. It’s as rational as me talking to my kids everyday about helping out more, hoping that one of these days they will respond beyond eye rolling and heavy sighs.
As I stomped through the snow in my slippers, my foot hit a patch of ice. I could feel myself go down. Clutching Luna in my left hand, tucking her safely under my arm, I tried to regain my balance. Unsuccessfully. Suddenly I found myself on my knees in the cold, wet snow. Luna snug against my body, my right hand buried in the snow. My knees stung. The palm of my hand ached immediately.
Luna is currently in “time-out”. She coward into her kennel, sensing my frustration. I’m sure my fall made her nervous enough, but perhaps she understands that she is part of my disappointment. Faint whines fall on deaf ears at the moment. But I know it will be mere seconds before I let her pitiful brown eyes beg for forgiveness, followed by a face full of kisses. It’s hard to stay mad at her, although my throbbing palm is a good reminder.
Yesterday was a day like today too.
Actually, the whole weekend was a day like today. I don’t know how working moms manage. I really don’t. The only thing I wanted for myself over this 3-day weekend was to get caught up on some writing. However, not a word I wrote, other than a grocery list. My time was spent cleaning bathrooms and a kitchen, driving kids to practices and friends’ houses, working on a book report project, helping with math studies, everybody’s laundry, family time and a band concert. That is a typical daily schedule. If I was working, I’d have to add that to the mix. I am exhausted before the day even starts.
I want to write full-time. I want to utilize my degree and artistic abilities in a professional capacity, but how? It is said over and over that to be a writer you just have to write. I get that, but what I really need to know is when? After the kids go to bed? Between carpool and volunteer hours? In the early morning before everyone gets up for the day? I try and take snippets of my day and fill them with words, but some days are easier than others. Today I have a morning meeting, grocery shopping, two orthodontic appointments, gymnastics practice, and soccer practice.
How do other successful writers and bloggers manage their time?
I am well aware at how privileged I am to be able to stay home with my children, especially now that they are in school full-time. But days like today still make me sad, frustrated, resentful and asking myself,
“Really? This is what I wanted to be when I grew up?”