Maybe I’m not being dramatic, after all

Confessions of a work-from-home mom

I had a light bulb moment last week.

I was driving down the central artery in town, on my way to a rare lunch date with my husband after a very intense consultation with a branding/marketing specialist. She and I had spent an hour on Zoom teasing out the strands of all the different professional things I do: write music, write feature articles, write novels, travel and give retreats and concert-storytelling events, teach on ensemble faculties, play in a professional orchestra. I was turning it all over in my mind, and I suddenly thought:

You are doing full-time work on part-time hours. No wonder you are always stretched thin.

I don’t know why this never occurred to me before. To be honest, for the last several months, as I have clung to the edge of the cliff trying to take care of family and professional business, I thought I was probably being a little dramatic. (Maybe a lot dramatic.)

“I think I just need to quit whining,” I told a couple of friends. “Everybody’s busy. Why do I get to act like my life is worse?”

But last Thursday, after volunteering all morning, followed by early school pickup, followed by taking a kid to a specialist, followed by teaching a flute lesson, during which my husband came home from work with a splitting headache and had to lie down before HE taught a lesson, I went into the kitchen to put together avocado toast for dinner. Over the next twenty minutes, three kids stuck their heads out to yell, “WHAT’S FOR DINNER?” Naturally, not one of them offered to help. In fact, when I told one of them to help, she sighed heavily and went back in her room. And I thought about the two evening rehearsals I’d been to already that week—four hours of rehearsal, with 40 minutes’ drive on either side—and a kid’s concert on the third night.

A picture my mother-in-law took of me playing during our annual family concert, where we raise money for disability services. In case you’re wondering, this concert was the day BEFORE all those rehearsals started.

I gotta tell you, I was feeling some pretty deep resentment in that moment.

But maybe that’s what it took to make the next day’s insight possible.

Twenty minutes after the light bulb went on, I sat across a little table from my husband at the Turkish restaurant in town and shared my epiphany.

He laughed. “And you don’t really get paid!”

“Well, not upfront, anyway,” I said. “When I finally get another book out there, I’ll get paid.”

We spent forty-five minutes at lunch. Then I went to the bank, to Aldi, came home, unloaded groceries (my youngest did help with that), and spent TWO HOURS creating a slide with a call to action to put at the end of my promotional videos.

This is the glamorous life of an author, folks. Right there you have it. This is why you don’t do this job unless you really love it.

Lucky for you, I do. And I’m keenly aware of how deeply I want to get another book out to you… SOON!

Fresh Photography

One token shot out of my normal wheelhouse, just to explain what “family business” means in October. IYKYK.

I only had my tablet the evening I took my youngest to 4H out in the middle of nowhere. I was really sad not to have my good camera. This will have to do.

A climb to Eagle Bluff—the boardwalk is closed, but you can still stand behind it…

…and you can still take the “social” trails out to the rocks at the edge of the bluff and be mesmerized by the turkey vultures.

Color isn’t great this year, but I found a bit!