I had high hopes for the summer. Too high. Admittedly, I knew it would be challenging juggling the needs of two teens, a six year-old, two dogs and a wife (oh, right, and mine!), but I think this is where the juggler drops a couple of balls before falling flat on her face and knocking herself out cold.
I will not be writing a draft of my novel this summer. Cue up the frowning face. I will not be posting regular blogs--so sorry those of you who have become Followers, I'm honored. I will not be painting any portraits --though I'd already decided that before June. I'm going to have to accept that maintaining sanity and health comes before literary productivity until September, and try to accept it with grace.
There will be posts. There will be Facebook lines. But any regularity? I doubt it. I had thought, what with our youngest gaining the mature age of six, it might be easier this summer. His equilibrium might not get thrown by the change in routine that summer creates, as well as the constant waves of chaos that wash through our daily existence as teenagers come and go, plans evolve, and puppies bark and nip. Not so.
My job this summer is micromanagement. If I can get all three kids to September with their psyches intact and skin unburned, I will have done my job. Better still if I've managed to slim my waist, boost my biceps and teach the puppy not to jump up and bark, but we'll see about that. I expect I'll be bursting with words by September 8th, and post-it notes will litter every surface as I've thought of things that must be used later.
So I will be back. I've always got lots to say, but much of it will be on the back-burner until fall. Here's to finding peace in the good old summertime.