Yesterday as I was artfully dumping a turkey roast and vegetables in my 15-year-old slow cooker, I had a thought.
“I love my crockpot,” I thought. “It makes life so much easier. Though it would be nice to get that new pressure cooker/rice cooker I found on Amazon. That way I could make risotto and …”
My next thought was, “Wait, WHAT?!!”
Just when the hell did aliens from the planet June Cleaver take over my brain? I used to work as a journalist, then a science and medical writer, then a publications editor for a large, university-based health sciences center that shall remain nameless (ahem). I’ve covered crime, natural disasters, meetings at the CDC, press conferences large and small. I’ve managed editorial budgets in the six figures. My days used to be filled with Big. Important. Weighty. Things.
Looking back over the past few weeks, I realize my world now largely revolves around keeping the house clean, deciding what to cook for dinner, whether or not I need to start sleep training our daughter (we have – post for another day), and how to lose 20 pounds before my 20-year reunion.
This person would not be recognizable to the human being I was five years ago.
Intellectually and emotionally I know the work I do is important. I love my daughter. I am glad that I am fortunate enough to be able to stay home with her right now. And, I’ll admit, I like to cook and have a clean house. (The little teeny tiny fly in that ointment is that I hate housework. Hate it, hate it, hate it.) I do like the idea (note, I said the idea, still working on the reality) of making our home and life more simple and more sustainable.
But, I need to get out more.
I need to have thoughts and conversations and concerns that don’t revolve around the best way to keep the floor clean, progress made on organizing the study and the baby’s room, and whether or not I get the stains out of the diapers. Let’s face it. No one cares but me. I’m not sure I should care so much.
Being a one-car, one-income family with a toddler, me getting out more is probably not going to happen.
So, I’m starting this blog. I’m getting out there, at least online. It’s a writing project of sorts. And, it’ll keep me from obsessing over that steam mop that I saw on TV this morning. (Maybe I should buy it. It really seems like it’s simple and would clean and kill germs all at the same time, cut right through all that food the baby drops on the floor and the cats throw up…)
I may need serious help.
