I am in a period of waiting.

Waiting to fly to Ft. Worth to see Paul play football and meet our soon-to-be born niece. Waiting to drive to Texas for Christmas. Waiting for Meredith to come home. Waiting to buy another car. Waiting to decide if we will be able to go to Europe next Spring. Waiting for Stephen to finish his Master’s. Waiting to have kids. Waiting to do any more major projects on the house.

I go to work to occupy my time while I wait for these things to happen. I do little projects here and there, craft, paint, sew. I plan out our next major projects on the house for whenever they do happen. I sketch designs for our future home, whenever that happens. 

I’m bored. 

Life is routine. 

The b-word was taboo growing up, because it was inevitably followed by, “You’re bored? I’ll give you something to do!” And it is hard even now to admit that I am bored. I suppose it is a blessing to be bored, rather than living life in turmoil. But I shouldn’t be bored. I have a job to do, a family and house to take care of, places to go, people to see.  And while I do those things, I’m waiting.

Waiting for things to happen.