Why Do I Bother?

You guessed it. Yes, I am still in a bad mood. However, my disposition is not all emotionally induced. My family is mostly to blame on this one. If my mom were reading this, she would, at this juncture, point out my indiscretion of talking bad about my family. And, as I have told her on several occasions, "I love my family, but if you had to live with them, you may find yourself saying the same thing. After all, I'm just venting."

Typically, our laptop computer's place is at the dining room table sitting in the head position because it is nearest the outlet. This has been fine for a couple of years, even though we have all agreed that it's an eye-sore.  So recently, consequent to my pioneer attempt at being a writer, I created a space of my own where I can work in comfort, peace and solitude (aka: alone). Shutting out the world to concentrate on the creation of a masterpiece such as the world has never seen before. My select turf is actually a corner of my bedroom and supplied with an old wooden desk that came from my grandma's house, a special Victorian lamp that droops over like an open flower, a sparkly pencil cup and a small collection of the current books I am reading. All mine. Just for me. Now I can write and blog in my self-made placid little habitat.

However, I have found that no matter where I go, the kids are sure to follow. Princess, our 4 year old, follows me to have someone to chatter to? "Mom, can I have a canny-can?" as she gets into my closet to find the Christmas candy canes. Did I mention she is also wearing a pair of my high heels? "Mom, I'm going to wash my face in your bathroom." Now there is water all around the sink and the hand towel has been left on the toilet. "Mom, I'm going to build a  fort!" she says as she jumps on my bed and pulls off the comforter.

Cassy, our 10 year old, follows me in with her science project and proceeds to set up all of the components for it on my bedroom floor. She then progresses to next level that I knew was coming, and that is asking questions. "Mom, how do I measure this?" and "Mom,  how am I supposed to make this stick?"

Mr. O., our 14 year old, doesn't follow me in. However, he is downstairs in the basement playing his video game loudly enough that I can hear exactly what level he is on and what his avatar is saying.

Mocha, our oldest at 17, only comes in if she has to. She tells me that the tea kettle whistled so that the water is ready so I can make my tea. Isn't she sweet? Why on earth she couldn't just find enough goodness in her heart to make the cup of tea for me? I suppose that's just how the teenage mind works.

So, needless to say, my special place isn't so exclusive anymore.

Sigh... What to do? I'm fairly certain that Jane Austen didn't have this problem. I'm quite sure that she was able to write in the sunshine out in a meadow a little ways from her home, or in candlelight solitude in the evenings. I can't picture her having a houseful of children needing her at their beck and call, climbing up her leg, stirring the coals in the fireplace and causing a whirlwind of sparks, tying up the dog and dipping him in the well..... Maybe, but I suspect not.

I am aware that this is my life and that I will need to live and deal with this until the kids are grown and on their own. Or at least until they've all come to or passed through the teenage years when they won't want anything to do with me. Then, and only then, will I be able to achieve the quietude I covet so fervently.

Until that time, on the distant horizon, where the sunset waits for me, I will bear up and carry on. Writing my thoughts and feelings, with the intermittent grammatical error. Just remember as you read my words, the impetus behind them all. Every word is chosen with a purpose. Return often. Allow your thoughts to drift away for the few minutes it may take you to let your eyes flow over my humble messages. It is my hope that you are pleasingly distracted, if only for a few moments of your tumultuous day.

Hmm. I just realized why I bother.