I woke up and drank coffee and worked on my book. Things are clicking. The momentum I feel is golden, difficult to describe. The girls slept late and when they were up, we kissed them good morning and fed them breakfast and got them dressed for school. Outside, we waited for Big Girl's school bus to pull up. My babes were silly and did a little dance at the top of the steps. I captured the moment.
It was a good moment.
The bus came. And my girl got on. And the bus drove away. And then the littles and I began our march toward their school. Middle scooted ahead while Little and I followed with the stroller.
It was a good walk there.
After stopping for donuts, we dropped Middle Girl off in her classroom and she smiled and skipped toward her friends and teachers and the baby and I walked home. She told me things. Stories. She asked me questions about words she saw on windows. She pointed out puppies. She wanted to know why certain babies were crying on the sidewalk. I bent down, over and over, to answer as best I could. She is a little person now. With opinions and ideas and long, flowing hair. When did that happen?
It was a good walk home.
At home, I made another cup of coffee and grabbed a Honey Crisp apple from the fridge and took my computer and some books up to my writing room. I sat down at my desk, in pure silence, and wrote. And wrote. Sun came through the windows and warmed me as my characters came alive, did things that surprised me.
It was a good session.
And then I met a friend for lunch. We ate spicy Thai in the October sunshine and talked about happy things and harder things. It was a small table and under it, we played accidental footsie. Because we were actually there with each other, close.
It was a good lunch.
And then we walked a few blocks. Hugged goodbye on the street corner and I continued my walk to school to pick up Middle Girl. She was happy and greeted me with a hug and a butterfly sticker and we found her scooter and helmet and went back out into the afternoon. She flew down Columbus Avenue and I half-jogged behind. We talked about her day. About ice cream, too.
It was a good walk home.
At home, I went upstairs again to my writing room. I did a few things and then talked to my friend on the telephone. You sound good, I said. Because I actually heard her, the cadence in her sentences, the laughter between her words.
It was a good talk.
And then I sat there at my sun-blanched desk writing these words because I had to. Because I feel myself changing, my life lifting off, and this is how I process the most important stuff.
Bedtime was long. There were tussles over watermelon toothpaste. There was a puppet show that made me tear up because it was so sweet. There were three little ducks lined up on a bed, listening to stories. I did a little silly Mommy dance at the end of it all, twirling around in the darkness. My girls were in stitches.
It was a good bedtime.
Husband and I ate takeout salads and talked. About days and dreams, little and big. We watched The Daily Show. Went to bed. I set my alarm for 6am. Not 4:30am. I slept beautifully, woke rested. Another day ahead of me now to live good moments, to think hard about the life I want, the boundaries I need to work on setting.
Truth is, I am feeling a terrific pull to worlds other than this one. To the real, physical world, the world of children and school and friends, real people and their eyes and their smiles and their stories. Also, profoundly, to my fictional world, a world of birds and words and trees and lovers and friends.
There are so many good things in these worlds and I don't want to miss them by spending too much time here.
Bear with me, okay? And feel free to tell me that I am far from alone in feeling what I am feeling, in wanting to retreat, to re-think.
Are any of you feeling a pull toward worlds other than this online one? Are you good at following your instinct? Have you ever had the urge to unplug from the online world, from social media as such? How to create a "presence" without an obsession/addiction? (I don't pretend to know.)