My kids are gone this week, which means for the first time in recent memory, my free time is actually free. It's almost more than I can fathom. They're teenagers, but one's too young to drive and the other has no interest in it, so almost every weeknight and weekend I'm schlepping them somewhere, and often in two different directions.
In the ramp-up to their respective departures, as I tracked down very specific items that each would need for their divergent adventures, I thought about what I would do with this week of childlessness, or teenlessness. But now, a few days into it, I just feel like sitting around some more. I mean, I work a day job. When they're home, I fit all this nonsense into the evenings and weekends. How the hell do I do it? Also, I'm trying to manage my own writing career, doing some freelance editing on the side, and being a pretty decent wife if I do say so myself.
Yet I can't help thinking of the things that need to get done. If the kids were here, I'd make a to-do list and fly into action. I'd do each thing and feel inspired by my progress. Each item would get crossed off as it was finished, even the last item, even though I would just throw away the list as soon as I crossed it off. This week, however, I'm in no mood. So here's the damn list, no promises.
Stuff I May Or May Not Do
* Blog through my fear that no blog of mine will ever get as many hits as the one I wrote after Amy Winehouse died. (Go ahead, check it out if you haven't. It's certainly better than this.)
* Query agents (at least one) about representing my book, because nothing would be more pitiful than a self-published memoir and there's no way to do it except by being rejected. (Fun!)
* Begin my summer exercise routine (yes, I'm aware of the date) wherein I ride my bike, walk, or do yoga a minimum of 30 minutes every day, or maybe almost every day. Three times a week would be something.
* Make copies of the vintage family photos for next week's reunion, which I promised to do at last year's reunion. (Somehow this didn't make the cut for the previous 50 weeks of to-do's. Go figure.)
* Look through the papers that Sam says can be thrown away to make sure he isn't tossing out his birth certificate or anything.
* Pay bills, including medical and legal bills that should never have been incurred in the first place, if life were fair.
* Do nothing. If this is not possible for extended periods of time, I'll aim for at least ten minutes at regular intervals.
I noticed that even Churchy the three-legged turtle is kicking back this week, exhausted from harvesting sungold mini tomatoes. He's so stuffed that he couldn't fit inside his shell to save his life. But guess what? "Retreat into shell" is not on his to-do list, even if he's the kind of creature that doesn't write lists, much less cross stuff off.
In the ramp-up to their respective departures, as I tracked down very specific items that each would need for their divergent adventures, I thought about what I would do with this week of childlessness, or teenlessness. But now, a few days into it, I just feel like sitting around some more. I mean, I work a day job. When they're home, I fit all this nonsense into the evenings and weekends. How the hell do I do it? Also, I'm trying to manage my own writing career, doing some freelance editing on the side, and being a pretty decent wife if I do say so myself.
Yet I can't help thinking of the things that need to get done. If the kids were here, I'd make a to-do list and fly into action. I'd do each thing and feel inspired by my progress. Each item would get crossed off as it was finished, even the last item, even though I would just throw away the list as soon as I crossed it off. This week, however, I'm in no mood. So here's the damn list, no promises.
Stuff I May Or May Not Do
* Blog through my fear that no blog of mine will ever get as many hits as the one I wrote after Amy Winehouse died. (Go ahead, check it out if you haven't. It's certainly better than this.)
* Query agents (at least one) about representing my book, because nothing would be more pitiful than a self-published memoir and there's no way to do it except by being rejected. (Fun!)
* Begin my summer exercise routine (yes, I'm aware of the date) wherein I ride my bike, walk, or do yoga a minimum of 30 minutes every day, or maybe almost every day. Three times a week would be something.
* Make copies of the vintage family photos for next week's reunion, which I promised to do at last year's reunion. (Somehow this didn't make the cut for the previous 50 weeks of to-do's. Go figure.)
* Look through the papers that Sam says can be thrown away to make sure he isn't tossing out his birth certificate or anything.
* Pay bills, including medical and legal bills that should never have been incurred in the first place, if life were fair.
* Do nothing. If this is not possible for extended periods of time, I'll aim for at least ten minutes at regular intervals.
I noticed that even Churchy the three-legged turtle is kicking back this week, exhausted from harvesting sungold mini tomatoes. He's so stuffed that he couldn't fit inside his shell to save his life. But guess what? "Retreat into shell" is not on his to-do list, even if he's the kind of creature that doesn't write lists, much less cross stuff off.