Elisa's Journal

Ya know, I have no idea what I want to do when I grow up. Sad statement considering I'm 50 years old. But seriously, I wonder how many women find themselves clueless about who they are after their kids grow up. Hell, I don't even remember who I was before kids. That first diaper change transformed my life (and my olfactory sensibilities) forever. Being a "fixer" motherhood was perfect for me. I like fixing problems whether they're diagnostic dilemmas or door-slamming teens. But now my kids are older and most of the kinks have been ironed out. So what do I do with myself from 8:00 to 3:00 before that hair-raising homework time threatens to fray my last nerve? Crossword puzzles are a possibility. At least Monday through Wednesday. The rest of the week they just make me feel like a moron on serious drugs. I could take up the guitar. Maybe start a rock band made up of 50 year old women like me. What about "Gray Day" for a name. "Old Play?" I'll have to work on that. I could take up painting or drawing. I could go back to work. I could hang with my friends more. I could get into shape, a if I stood a chance against any of Newton's laws. I could volunteer. I could convert the home VHS movies to DVD. Or maybe I'll just remain in suspended animation until the grandkids come along. I'm sure they'll need plenty of fixing. I draw the line, however, on cleaning out closets and drawers. Lint, geckos, and broken crayons only find their way back in a matter of hours.