Confession

A friend of mine who also has two small children recently commented that she didn't know how I found the time to work on my writing.

I told her that I have given up cleaning the toilets.

That isn't true entirely. I always clean the hall bathroom. It is the one the kids use and the one guests will see. But the master bath sometimes gets a little scummy. The fact is, it bugs me a little.

I keep a pretty orderly house. At the end of each day, I like putting things away, wiping down the surfaces, and starting over fresh each morning. I don't leave dirty dishes hanging around in the sink. I don't leave the art supplies scattered in the office. I pick up the random discarded shoes and straighten the couch pillows. I make the bed every damn day, even if it winds up being towards the evening. It's my thing.

But recently I came to the conclusion that I can't possibly keep up with everything and still find time for myself. Not the most earth shattering conclusion, I know. I am almost thirty seven years old and apparently a pretty slow learner.

So I am learning to let go a little and prioritize. Right now, glittery words are more important than sparkling toilets.