This month has been hard. Do you remember as a kid spending summer doing all sorts of vacation type things? Going to the beach, reading books for hours, crafts, water fights, sleepovers.
Maybe my expectations are high. Maybe I should try and remember I'm a mom now. Relaxation will come once they're all out of the house.
It never even occurred to me, as a Mom, in charge of making summer fun, it's not so fun for you.
I'm saying it. Summer sucks.
Okay maybe not all summers, but this one does. At least for me.
I haven't written a thing in two months.
My mind is going crazy with plot ideas waiting to spill over into sentences and exclamations and story structure.
But I can't sit down and type. I've got Summer camps, and swim meets, and dance practice, and doctors visits, and not to mention all the needs of my friends and family.
Did I mention the four weddings I'm in?
I was reading through Heidi's post from last month. My flippant advice to survive and write when you can. Then this last month hit like a hurricane.
Write when I can? What if you can't?
What do you do?
And so I sit and type this blog post, and realize there are things of more import than my writing.
It's painful to write the truth sometimes.
It's learning to accept the choice to have clean laundry and happy children.
At least for this month.