day 5 takes a detour to mercury

Life happens. Especially around here. 
Day 5 started with writing a post that's been waiting in the queue for several months. It's difficult to write with a Toad singing in your ear and snuggling in close between checking on dinner in the oven and supervising homework. So, that deeply personal post is back in pre-production for now.
And that brings me to..........

I want to sing in a band again.
I want to write anywhere and anytime.
I want to read all the books all day long. 
I want to go to design school and make Tim Gunn proud. 
I want.
I want.
I want.

I still want some of the same things I did at 21. Adventures. Late night jam sessions. eating all the food, all the time. Marathon philosophical discussions. 

Something happened on the road to creative freedom. I birthed five sons.

Let's throw back to June, as I gathered in a room with members of the Prayer Chain for a listening party.

Side note: the Mercury album turns 20, y'all. What's that mean for me? Yikes. 

Anyway, it was fun to talk music and art and parenting, of all things. We all have gotten obviously older. While the other fanboys (we females were sorely outnumbered) were asking questions, I had the privilege to sit next to Nancy Hindalong for a bit. Her husband, Steve had been the producer on the album and all these stories are being bantered about about the making of this album. All the late nights and crashing on the Hindalong couch between studio times, etc. And Nancy quietly mentioned her kids. It struck me. All other minds were tuned into the excitement of the rock and the artistic process and, and, and.
I think you get me. All other minds were also male. I could not stop thinking that Nancy was really the one I wanted to sit in a corner with and ask questions of. The unglam life of the wife and mom keeping the show running. Loving and nurturing and steering the family while the hubs is out making his art, pursuing his love.
Because I get it.

I haven't always been good about keeping that resentment at bay. Hidden, but not extinguished. When my better half was crazy-busy building his little empire, I played a lot at being thankful (and I was in many ways), while letting personal frustration simmer. A lot of life has happened in those years as well. And resentment grew, much of it with having set aside my own pursuits. I stopped viewing it as my choice, joyfully made. In allowing this attitude, it was also easy to scapegoat his ambition as the monster. I, being female and more humble, would not have had this same problem. Until I did. And now I really get it. 

I am almost afraid to pursue the things I desire to do now. Afraid that they will take over, because the years cleaning and homeworking and shuttling and nursing and caretaking and laughing and snuggling and reassuring and pouring into my boys show on their faces. In the closeness that we have. In our zaniness together. And it's humbling. I resented the best gift of a vocation I never knew I wanted. And I love them so. 

And I still want to sing. And I still want to dance. And I still want to write. And I still want to debate. And I still want to stay up too late.
Maybe I'll just do it with my house full of funny, loving, loud, creative, wacky men. 

And I still want to interview Nancy Hindalong someday. Maybe when I get around to that book I'm writing in between dinner and football and loud car sing-alongs and..............

Click to listen and turn it up loud......Humb
                                                                  Grylliade
                                                                            Creole

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