This will sound like I have developed a multiple personality, but I haven’t. Well, maybe a little, but not in a you-need-to-call-the-white-jackets sort of way.
Zach starting kindergarten pushed me into different head-space. See, we weren’t supposed to still be living in this house. I was supposed to be finishing a master’s degree. We should have been done with the renovations.
But we are, I didn’t, and we aren’t.
Living life has a way of readjusting–or obliterating– priorities and goals.
All of these stream of consciousness ramblings in my head– because what y’all get technically counts as organized– led me to a few conclusions.
Scattermom remains my first baby. Right now my most pressing daily challenges are parenting, and living/parenting with ADHD.
Scattermom did a lot for me– both as a writer, and as a parent. But instead of making me feel like a boss, she often makes me feel– well– scattered.
Then it occurred to me that she may very well have an expiration date based on how comfortable my children are with my blogging their lives.
Also important? It’s not always true that I’m randomly spinning around in multiple directions. Sometimes my ideas (and focus) result in such impressiveness that I’m surprised by my accomplishment.
Those are the moments/days of The BonBon Ninja.
Ah– The BonBon Ninja makes a tongue-in-cheek reference to those that believe SAHMs sit on their spreading asses while munching bonbons.
I’ll have you know that I don’t even like BonBons. The BonBon Ninja is the one that replaces candyland ennui with painting cardboard boxes. Or sewing halloween costumes. Or … whatever else.
Which leaves one. Lately she’s knocking the loudest– hello, nose-piercing and tattoo. She’s been quiet for so long that it became easy to ignore her importance.
What to do about the tattooed, pierced woman that– in a parallel universe– spends her day on a coffee-shop patio; chain smoking and drinking double espressos, utilizing both written and spoken words to change the world? She deserves a space that protects and nurtures the part of her identity independent from butt-wiping and cardboard box repurposing. A place where she doesn’t have to worry about the desperately yearning stares from moms, or ninjas.
To be fair, Stephanie existed before any of the rest.