The Rhythm of a Life

My life, during the school year, has a certain rhythm. Rise at dawn, pray, walk, feed dogs, start coffee, blog in the quiet, wake the kids, 45 minutes of mayhem getting them ready, send them off to school, write, wait for them to come home, homework, Ninjitsu class for kids or driving to afterschool activities, mayhem, dinner . . . quieting down, put Demon Baby to bed, write, climb into bed myself, read some physics or science book, fall asleep, start it all over the next day. Now, to be sure, those "mayhem" spots are really insane. And encapsulated it doesn't read as chaotic and exhausting as it really is. But there IS a rhythm. I know it by heart.

But summer is different. I usually have my own four kids plus and extra kid or two over, we all sleep in a bit (WOW! until 7:00 a.m. for me, how decadent!). I try to write more in the morning before all of them wake up. But they are in and out of my office all day, so much so that my brain hurts sometimes trying to concentrate with the level of commotion.

I'm out of sorts in summer. I wake at 2:00 a.m. and read some nights (like last night, until 3:00 a.m.), or wander the house in this perpetual insomnia thing. We eat more haphazardly--easier meals served "whenever." There's more noise. There's more chaos. I was commiserating with another writer-mom the other day. She resorted to headphones for her TVs because the noise from her child being home and the TV being on more is driving my writer pal to distraction.

Summer should be easier. Bedtime is more relaxed. Everyone sleeps in. Even the dogs laze in the sun in the backyyard. It's a different vibe. This is great for a week or two. I am now at that point of summer when I miss the rhythm. My beat is off and I know it.

For me, the seasons seem to mean more because I have kids on school schedules. But I usually write more in winter. Except this winter will mean Oldest comes home for five weeks from college and my parents are coming for Christmas . . . so more rhythm issues. Maybe a life is meant to be more like jazz and less of a symphony, more played in some improvised fashion.

Either way . . . I am more of a mess than usual. Does your life follow a rhythm? And do you miss it during summer? Or is there never a rhythm you can discern?