Procrastination.

It's funny how, when you decide to return to life, things happen.

My almost four year old (3 days from now!) has started school. Everyday, Monday through Friday, half days. She rides the bus. My baby, who is not exactly a baby anymore, is riding the bus. I feel as though I haven't even really begun to understand the magnitude of that statement. My child is going to school. For the next 12 years, my baby girl will be a slave to the public school system. She'll start becoming who she'll be.

Whoa.

So here I am, the mom of a preschooler, ready to write.

And I haven't done anything yet.

Not because I don't want to. But because I've been busy (excuse).

My mom's having surgery on her back, possibly within the next week, and I'm hoping I can fly out to help her for a few days. Which means leaving my girls. That stinks, and if Bob can't get off work a friend has offered very awesomely to help us out...I just hope she's fine after that haha. Everything associated with that terrifies me. My mom. Surgery. Ugh. She's so stubborn she wants to do it herself. BUT IT'S BACK SURGERY MOM.

I decided yesterday to start p90x plus and c25k...because, well. I need to.

I made a chore chart. I made an appointment for family pictures.

I had apples. Dozens and dozens of apples, that needing to be apple sauced and apple buttered and apple pied.

I also had to make cookies. Because...that's what happens when you run out of apples.



But in all seriousness, I am going to do write today.

Or I'm going to have Odin take away my hammer until I'm worthy. Save a hot chick or something.

A fictional, hot chick...

Ch-ch-chaaaaanges...

Yes, I'm aware the title is cliche. But it's the last two months in a nut shell.

The last time I wrote on this thing, Chloe wasn't even six months old. And now she's, well...She's two. And Delilah's four, starting preschool in two days.

Did I mention that we finally moved? I'm sure most of the people who read this will say "duh", but for the random blogstalker, we finally got orders out of California's armpit to the east coast.

Life has been so busy the last two years. And lately, even more so with moving and everything that comes with that. I think I just hit a lull. Why would anyone want to read anything I have to say? I've been ignoring a lot of things, and people (sorry friends). It's not even that I don't want to talk to anyone, its just that I haven't been doing anything that would even remotely warrant a text aside from the "holy cow I made this dinner and it was GREAT!"

And then, something happened.

Inspiration.

I hadn't written, really written, in I don't know, how ever many years I've been married. Here and there, nothing concrete. Then a friend passed along her book. HER BOOK. And it was good. And then another friend let me read hers. Damn. (Cough, thanks Kristy and Nina).

 And it reminded me of what I wanted to do when I sixteen. Write. So I sat down and spouted off something onto note pad, shared it with a couple friends. They said "Actually...this isn't bad." And while my story of a farmer's daughter may never reach the light of day, it's a step in the right direction. It's ten chapters further than I've written before. It's four, five, six more ideas that came along from that, that might be the ONE.

Now, I know this has nothing to do with military. Well, not really. But it still has a lot to do with everything else. Some times in life, you just get so caught up with what every one around you is doing, or growing or watching or whatever, that you don't really take the time to do what you want. I've had no one to blame but myself, and even then, maybe I don't regret it. I should have been fostering my own skills, even if just here and there, but I was watching my baby girls grow. And the grass. Well, the dirt in the desert.  But this is for me now. This is a new starting point.

Maybe tomorrow I'll write about the new base. Maybe I'll talk about an idea I'm throwing around in my head. Or maybe I'll just beat my head against the keyboard and post that. But its something.