Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Doesn't Share Well With Others

There was a time, not too long ago, when I was on the road to organization. I turned a spare bedroom into my haven. Complete with desk, television, bookshelves, and a futon, I had everything in its place.

I knew exactly where everything was stored. I knew exactly where my reference books sat in the bookcase. There was a drawer for office supplies, another for notecards, envelopes, and mailing supplies, and another drawer filled with containers of pens, pencils, and markers.

My Writer's Digest, The Writer, and Poets and Writers magazines were separated into magazine holders. My Children's Writers newsletters were filed in a binder by date, and my Market Books were within an arm's reach away. I thought after 48 years, I was finally making headway into an organized and scheduled life.

Then...after 4 years of rearranging and refeathering our empty nest, my daughter came home from the Marine Corps. We have 3 bedrooms. Since my haven is in the 2nd largest bedroom, guess where her new bedroom is now located? I seriously contemplated giving her the Master bedroom. Hey, we only spend 8 hours in there! I spend more time in my haven than in my kitchen. My haven is where I paid the bills, watched sappy love stories rented through Netflix, and where my daydreams took shape and became stories.

But I figured I would make the sacrifice for my little girl. I would be able to share the room with her. Right? Ummm...No.

Right now, I can't find anything. My supplies are scattered around the dining room and living room. I can't keep to my writing schedule and I haven't watched a sappy Netflix DVD in months. My daughter and I do a whole lot of gabbing, chit-chatting and whatnot. Hubby has dibs on the living room big screen television and my daughter is rarely interested in the movies I rent.

Don't get me wrong. I love my daughter with all my heart and would do anything for her. But, I must say--she is leaving in August to attend Embry Riddle Aeronautical University in Daytona Beach, Florida. More than 1000 miles away and I'm kind of looking forward to August.

Am I proud of her? You bet your bippy, I am. I can't find the words to express my pride.

Will I miss her? Terribly. I'll probably cry for a week and feel like my right arm has been chopped off.

Do I want my room back? Umm...Absolutely!

Does that make me a bad mother? Well, I never let her play with my crayons, either...