Moms don’t get quitting time.

I wrote a week’s worth of blog posts a few days ago, and then went on living, without writing more on my blog but still doing the mom things and parent things and life-sustaining things I normally do. I spent most of the day I’m writing this, driving around town. I bought stamps, sent a letter, took cash out of the ATM, bought hamloaf to cook later, went to the Scout office to sort out a troop position change, and talked with the lady in charge for quite a while about that. Then I drove to the glasses shop to pick up my new glasses, to the discount bread store to get a loaf of bread and some ramen noodles, to a local farm to get eggs and apples, and to a friend’s house to return her jingle bells. I called my son to tell him I’d be home later than expected and that he had a ride coming to take him to a church activity this evening. I got home after he left.

I didn’t want to do any more chores, including writing on my blog, because it felt like I had been doing, doing, doing, all day. I got a lot of useful things done, which needed done; I feel good for getting them done. But I wanted to set and do something frivolous.

This is where my routine stepped in. It’s part of the routine to bring everything in from the van, not leave it out there. Then I let my daughter know I was home. I took off my coat and hung it in the closet, put away the stuff I’d brought in, got some food, and sat down at my computer.

When I started my blog I set a routine for my days, which I have tweaked but which I’m trying to make a habit. Therefore as soon as I sat down, the routine kicked in again. I checked my email. I processed the incoming information (wrote in my calendar, deleted some emails, answered some). I went on Facebook; yes, Facebook is part of my daily routine: don’t at me. I’m a writer who writes to friends on Facebook. My page is a venue for brightening other people’s days and building community by making comments, supporting people emotionally, and giving advice to homeschool parents (99 percent moms, like me). Facebook is also a source of things to write about, in that it and Youtube both expose me to new and interesting ideas. Plus laughter. Always there needs to be something to marvel at, something to laugh about, and something encouraging.

About the time I finished on Facebook, I realized I don’t get to just stop at some set time and veg for the evening. There’s no factory bell to make me drop my hands and relax. I’ve raised seven children; they don’t stop. For years I have been always-on; listening for water running, for screaming, for unusual quiet, for playful chatter, for snores. My eyes have taken in other people’s clutter for so long that I have to consciously stare in order to register what it is that covers the table: books, papers, dishes, water bottles, a hat, a hanky, a pencil, my old glasses, an empty purse, a tube of sunscreen. I’m home alone in the evening and still my mind finds things for me to do.

This thought leads into writing about it, the very chore and exhilarating description I Have to and Get to do.

I love to write, and I love to hear what people are thinking. Ideas fascinate me; words are the best medium I’ve found for expressing my insights. Music and art both speak to me, too, but I’m less adept at expressing myself in those mediums. “Media” is probably the proper plural form, but “mediums” as forms of media feels right. The medium is the stuff between you and an idea. It takes what lives inside you, that cannot be shared by itself, and pins it down, unfolds it; both dissects it and causes it to burst forth in an experience others can share. The medium of writing defines experiences in words, in lines, in poetry and speech. Music speaks to the ears and the body through vibrations, a shortcut to emotions through motion. Art charms and offends the eyes, patterns soothing and clashing, statements of time and space. All of these become experiences and ideas themselves; even when, as often happens, the original idea is lost, the experience of art, sounds, and words leads to new ideas in the listeners and observers.

I can’t not write.