Ramblings of an (un)accomplished life

Wow. I wrote last year and nothing since. Weird. How things change. I go through cycles as the years progress I think. I am pretty good now. I am pretty happy. I know things need to be better; my relationship with the Lord really needs more work. I am not nearly as in shape as I want to be. My house is a considerable wreck at the moment. I long to be super organized and a perfect housewife, and I'm not. But I'M okay. I want a million things to be done; I used to say I'd die before I could accomplish all of it. But I realize now at the ripe young (middle?) age of 29 that I will never finish all that I want to accomplish. I'll never do all the things I dream of doing. I won't ever be all I can be. And that's okay. I have a life here, with my husband and three kids and considerable busyness. There isn't really room for more. I'll never be a black belt at karate, I'll never start my own organizing business, I'll never be a counselor or PTA president; I'll never ride my bike across the U.S. or volunteer at the zoo. I might do one or two of these things in the course of my life, but definitely not all and probobly not many. And that's okay.

I am despondent

So what am I? Mother, dancer, cooker, cleaner, what? Here I am, on a saturday night, alone at home with my three kids. I am bored. I am sick of all of this; the never ending mounds of laundry, the house that gets messy over and over again. I want to be out doing things, exploring new paths, biking, running, being free, or at least temporarily experiencing the false sense of freedom. I love my family, don't get me wrong. I am just tired, disenchanted, apathetic, and discontented. Maybe tomorrow I will feel completely different. Maybe tomorrow I will feel my life is fulfilling, and that my time spent picking little scraps of paper off the floor and wiping numerous snotty noses is worth something.
Maybe.