I’ve tried to start this blog post about 20 times I think. That little voice inside my head has told me over and over to just sit down and write. I even looked at the time and thought that I’ll make the most of the next 15 minutes to sit and write.
Then the phone would ring.
Or the washing machine would make that annoying noise to tell me it’s finished its load.
Or the kids would yell out for a snack/their school clothes/their breakfast/their dress-up-day costume.
Or it would suddenly be the kids’ bed time.
And then I’d get distracted and nothing would happen.
Where does the time go, these days? How come I seem to have less and less of it?
Only a few years ago, I would sit down every Sunday night and write my blog. Some of my posts were corkers, and some were a bit ‘meh’. But I still did them.
I used to knit! I was teaching myself and really enjoying it.
I used to scrapbook! When I was pregnant with my first baby, I got right in to scrapbooking and bought everything I could possibly need. And stored it on a lovely container. I even did a few pages and marked up some craft ideas in my scrapbooking magazine to tackle later.
I used to cross stitch! I made a cross stitch of a giraffe and framed it for my first born’s nursery.
I used to write in my diary! Every night, I would sit up in bed and write and write and write.
What got in the way? I can’t blame the kids, because they are much older now and don’t need me as much.
Why have I stopped doing all the things that gave me joy?
Where is the time? It’s still there, right?
There are still the same hours in the day so I must be us
ing them for other things that I honestly couldn’t list for you.
I wonder if it’s a symptom of working mother guilt? Am I putting more energy and time in to making the house run smoothly and making up for not being at home enough?
I can sense a collective nodding of heads!
Right. If anyone needs me, I’ll be knitting a jumper, while doing a bit of decoupage and blogging about it!