The Continuous Struggle

I was feeding my 13-month old by the opened kitchen door this afternoon, enjoying the silence (the bigger kids were napping), wet post-rain breeze coming from outside, and Zoa’s latest antic (tilting his head to the side and flashing you a s heart-melting smile). The house was fairly clean, my tummy was filled, and Zoa wasn’t making too much of a demand from me, babbling away by himself in his high chair while I did the dishes. It was a very peaceful moment, that I even fantasized having just one child at a time.

There was always a little one around the house, and at the climax, there were three. I was a harried, stressed out mother of three children, all under the age of 3 and a half. I had tried journaling, for it would have been a shame not to jot down their firsts, their antics, their funny words and phrases, which only come by at a certain age by the way, but it proved to be pretty much undoable. Oh yes, I did manage to journal some, but the daily routines always seem to overtake me, leaving me exhausted at 4 p.m. everyday. That was my writing life, pretty much.

I always loved writing, but after I graduated from college, I think I gifted myself a long break from anything academic, though I did resolved to do some math problems at some point (despite my hatred for math in general), because I thought I was getting dumber by the minute. So writing merely emerged in the form of journaling, and even that was spurred by my three little bundle of joys.

It wasn’t until 2004 that I seriously took to writing, in the sense of exploring the writing world so to speak. Interestingly, it was also spurred by my little bundle of joy, who passed away in my 24th week of pregnancy. I can safely say that he was the catalyst for my plunge into writing. It was therapeutic for me, and since my youngest, Zaza, at the time was about 5, I didn’t have to deal with much manual labor in terms of child-rearing, so I had more time to write.

I realize now that with a baby who is nursing, it does take some bit of juggling to find time to write. The fact that I’m also homeschooling three other children also makes it even more difficult to shave time off for myself. Just today, I managed to start the doll project with Ski, my oldest daughter, do my housechores, have some relaxing time (which is defined as feeding Zoa his lunch in absence of the usual din coming from three other children), and now write this post up. I figured that since I am serving everyone else, I deserve that time to myself even if it’s just one blog post a day. I can deal with that, just as long as I get some writing time.

Setting aside a specific writing time during the day is a little tricky because of Zoa’s irregular nap schedule. I have decided not to stress over putting him down for his nap at the same time everyday (like I did with the other three), and just follow his lead, and try to find some time for me from what’s left over. Some days I’m too exhausted to write, after the day’s work, and some days, I’m able to write several blog posts and ongoing writing projects. I noticed that if I get my writing time, I’m better able to serve my family joyfully. Yes, joyfully. Not that I resent serving them all this time, but hey, you gotta get some time for yourself too, and getting some time to write is what I crave at this point in time.

So, as I continue in my struggle to find those elusive time slots in which to practice my craft of writing, I should end up with excellent time management. I mean, you can’t do a lot of things if you don’t manage your time well, and with homeschooling three kids, caring for a multiple allergic tot, and trying to be supermama, it’s a bonus if I get enough sleep (which I probably don’t right now).

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