Choices...

Sometimes the ideas come quickly and the words flow easily,

but even then, it still takes a sacrifice of time to sit down and actually write.

Time spent writing, means less time spent on something else.

Watching tv rarely happens now, magazines I used to eagerly read the day they arrived in the mail

sit for weeks, sometimes months, unopened.

The creative expression in writing is rewarding, but I'd be dishonest if I didn't confess that I hope something I've written will eventually get published and live on after I'm gone.

I suspect that to achieve that it will require a lot more sacrifice of time than just giving up a few tv shows.

Wednesdays are usually a day that I set apart time for writing.

Today, instead of writing I'm caring for our two youngest granddaughters

 while their mama and daddy are out of town.

Our oldest granddaughter came over as well.

And as much as I'd like to sit down and write something profoundly beautiful and unforgettable, there  are only so many sunshiny summer days I'm going to have when our grandchildren are young,

 and we're still young enough to play in the backyard with them.

And truthfully, if I had to chose writing something memorable for the world out there,

 or being someone memorable for my grandchildren, well, I'd have to choose them.

Here's a few of my words I hope that they never forget.

"Nana loves you."

"You're my favorite (insert name here) in the whole wide world!"

"If all the five year old girls, (or eleven year old girls or two year old girls), in the whole wide world were lined up in a big long line and Jesus said, 'choose one little girl to be your granddaughter', I would still choose you!"

How many more chances are there for backyard firepit s'mores in my lifetime?

It's easy to sacrifice a tv show, or time reading my favorite magazines,

but to miss moments I can never get back again of the summer my grandchildren were

 11, 10, 5, 2 and 5 weeks old, that's a sacrifice of a whole different level.

 Maybe I'm not serious enough, or devoted enough, or hard working enough of a writer.

Or maybe, because I've already raised my own daughters and know how fast it all flies by,

I realize how valuable and rare and precious these days are.

So, here I am at 11:45 pm on Wednesday.

Our three sticky faced granddaughters have had their baths, brushed their teeth, had their prayers, 

been tucked in and are finally fast asleep.

And here I am, clickity clacking away on the keyboard,

because it's Wednesday and Wednesdays are the day I usually set apart time for writing.

Except today, I had something more important to do with my time.

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