Okay, I went through this several months ago and suffered deeply. Is it because Jonathan is gone again or does it have to do with the author? Earlier this year I spent four long months in the United States without my husband. It was just me and my three sidekicks livin the good life in America. I picked up the latest top selling teen novels written by Stephenie Meyer and read them all. I did restrain myself somewhat to reading one per week. The suffering was too deep for me to read them any faster. (The bags under my eyes were too deep.) Anyway, I've been back in Turkey for a while and I'm without my hubby again. This time he's livin the good life in the States for about three days picking up some needed items and stuffing himself at whatever restaurant strikes his fancy. Lucky guy! Anyway, here I am reading Meyer's first adult novel called "The Host". I won't describe it or critique it. But I will describe and critique myself. I'm a mess! I'm really disappointed in myself for letting this happen. My poor poor kids! I stay up late reading this book, justifying just one more chapter until it's obscenely late. Then I crash. A few minutes later I am awaken by a small voice and face very close to mine saying something about cartoons. I suck the drool back in my mouth and say something like, "You know the right button to push, right?" and I think to myself, "And I wanted to homeschool my kids? Yeah, right!" I drag myself through the morning snapping at my older kids and putting on a happy face for my baby, the whole time thinking about when I can get some more shut-eye.
After a few dramatic scenes involving Atticus, myself, and a toy boat we made it out the door and went to the beach. The water was clear with a jellyfish sighting every once in a while. Cinci ran around the beach butt naked. He looked like one of those vanilla cones dipped in chocolate. I'd dip him in the water and then roll him around in the sand. I'd set him on his feet and he'd strut the length of the beach and back giggling at himself.
The point of this post is that I'm mad at myself for losing control of my strict usage of personal time. Do I ever get personal time? Hardly ever. Should I waste all of it reading? Should I use my sleeping time for reading? At times I find myself quite foolish indeed!!!!!!
A warning to all you Stephenie Meyer fans out there. Jacob 6:12 "Oh be wise; what can I say more?"