I liked when my kids were little. Sometimes, the only thing to do was color in coloring books with them. (I do like crayons. Really.) Sometimes the only thing to do was work on a block stacking project.
Those times do change. Soon you get to the crazy years of school events, sports, birthday parties--a schedule that can drive the most energetic of us utterly wacko.
And now, in that way life has of giving you another appetizer when you thought it was time for dessert, I’m back to coloring books. Well, not exactly. But I am back to having a helper at the grocery store, gearing my plans toward being there to help someone else with the basics, and just sitting around--not quite coloring, but we might as well be--because we’re back to a season of someone else’s agenda being hitched to my own, regardless of who’s the pony and who’s the cart.
There is an upside: This type of phase shoehorns me into putting serious effort into my writing projects, and that is good. At least there’s sure no point in arguing with it.
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