I’m typing this with a one year old on my lap. He doesn’t say many words. He does have a lot of opinions, however. And he makes sure everyone hears them.
Sometimes I wish he would grow up faster so that he could communicate and there wouldn’t be so much screaming.
But then I try to pick up my eight year old and I can’t because he’s so big and I want to bawl my eyes out.
Time goes so fast. I feel like I’m a 100 years old. I also feel like I’m 13. Just yesterday I was learning to drive a stick shift on the steep driveway of a church by Timpview, my mom making me practice with the clutch over and over again until the smell of burned rubber and metal was so bad, she said, “Okay. I think we better stop for today.” Today I’m driving around a orange peel infested Odyssey full of people hitting each other and yelling for me to change the song.
I’m nostalgic for my childhood.
I’m nostalgic for right now because I know it’s going to be gone before I know it.
What does your character miss?
What does your character wish would end?
Does time go fast?
Does time go slow?
Does she want to buzz her head?
I want to buzz my head. Or at least cut it very very short. But I also don’t want to look like a mom even though I have five kids. I have five kids and I wear the same clothes for days in a row and one time my only hope was for a boy to hold my hand at the movies.
My one year old is trying to type now. He’s yelling about it. And we’re fighting. My baby is crying now too. I guess I’ll go.