Descended from northern stock

Though my children were born to midwestern parents, they are southerners. There's no use in fighting it. Case in point: this morning when Grace kissed Craig goodbye she said, "Dadday, Ah love yew." The day she uses "might could" instead of "maybe" I am packing my bags.

Or rather I should say packin' ma bags.

.....

I should feel sorry for Julia. At times I do. It's hard to be fifteen months old, at least I suppose it is. She can't effectively communicate what it is that she wants, and being a typical Williams female she isn't entirely sure what she wants in the first place. She wants to be held, but she wants to walk. She wants to eat, but she wants to be held. She wants to play, but she wants to be held. I think I'm beginning to see a pattern here. She is exceptionally clingy these days. I feel like I have a newborn. I resorted to stuffing her into the ergo carrier this morning because I was tired of putting her down only to pick her back up moments later when she screamed in protest.

This is very new country for me. Grace has never--and I mean NEVER--had any separation anxiety whatsoever. At fifteen months we took her to Open Door Preschool, and from the moment she stepped into the classroom she was done with Craig and me. The expression on her face, which is emblazoned in my memory, read "why haven't you brought me here before?" I think I will be pushing Julia out the door for kindergarten.

.....

Grace is back to school and on a schedule. Craig is three weeks into his semester and on a schedule. I am three weeks home from our vacation, and I have no schedule. I have a million things that I want to do and/or need to get done, and the only thing that happens with any regularity is my morning cup of coffee. This lack of direction leads me down a path with futile thoughts. I hate feeling useless. I hate being disorganized. I hate feeling numb in my mind from the daily care of a toddler and preschooler.

Don't get me wrong. Mostly I am happy with my choice to stay home with my kids. At irregular intervals I also get grants and manuscripts to edit. This occupies my mind and fills my checkbook with a little extra dough. Neither staying home nor freelance work make me particularly disciplined however, and I miss the discipline of a job. Sigh.

Back to unscheduled mess I call life work.