Every time I've attempted to a new blog, I've failed. Even my mainstay, Stories by Kari and Aaron, I leave weeks, more like months unattended. It remains dry and dusty, begging for a small trickle of information and only unwanted comments are seem to flourish. I turn my back to it and act like it is not there. I have a blog? At one time I would answer this with insistence that you must join my cozy readership of three and make it four. I mean, my life is so filled that you just need to come take your daily scoop of Kari. So why make a final attempt to till new blogging ground? Well, it is just this: I am thirty-three and coincidentally my age dons my favorite number. Oh, thirty three, the parallelism of an odd number not a prime number. A palindrome of the numeral set. So If I was much more numerically sound, I would have more to say, but all in all I like it. When assigned a student number in fifth grade that was mine and it stuck. So I always wondered where I would be at this point. I have to say my dreams were not far off. I have my dream man and dream family. I think when choosing out families I went right down aisle and had no problem choosing my three progeny. They probably were right next to the Chocolate Chex. I might have only three children not five, and I might now and again put too much salt in the meatloaf, have no lipstick on when Aaron comes home or yell at my ten year old. I'm working on that, the yelling part that is. So really my life should be splendid in all its splendors. What more could I be longing for? I have it all. All that anyone really needs. In fact my body is fizzing over with blessings. It is blissful.
Then one day I woke up. My milk had dried up and Harris's head can rest under my nose. Anna is starting to have a willowy sense about her. My hip hurt and that canceled my morning run for now almost three weeks. Bursitis isn't to be messed with. Everything seemed to topple down. My main escape, my 'me' thing had been halted. O.K.,you all can hear those whining violins, but this is how I felt. I wanted to crawl in between my parents as a scared and hurt three year old and tell them that I needed to return my life. Yet, they are in Africa and that makes all of that a little inconceivable. So I did the next best thing and begged, whined and pleaded my sweet husband to fix it. There has got to be something all that schooling taught you to cure my ails, especially this hip. Yet it all comes down to time. Time moves slowly in some cases and light speed in others.
This morning as I mulled over our conversation last night, I realized that although I love what I do there is a bit more to me. I haven't gotten all the way to the center of me yet. It is a bit harder, a few more layers exist now after having Jack. No, I am not embarking on a new career, or a world tour to find me. No, I am not going to cook my way through Julia Child's book. My first priority is always four people. I would be going nowhere with out them. They are my fuel. They are the reason I write, breathe, and live. I chose to be home, it is where I need to be. Yet I want to find more parts of me to share. A new scent to go along with all my favorite old perfumes. It really isn't my season for complete evolution but, I think I might need a little zest. A little more effort needs to be put into my person. So come along with me as I dabble and wade.
So on I go to find what lies beneath.
First up: Why I momentarily dread the road and love the water. or, Was I fish in a different life?