It's getting perilously close, you know. The being a grown-up.

I like to think that at times when I'm out and about without my children, when I've got a stylish outfit on, when my hair is just right, that I can still fake youth. I could still be a college student, right? A grad student, perhaps? I'm not a grown-up, yet. Because if I really were all grown up, then I'd have to admit that what I am is sort of already decided.

I'm a mom. A wife. A lady who folds laundry and makes dinner and pays the bills, usually on time. Fits in a little writing at home for the local newspaper. Too busy to do much more than that.

But that's not all I am in my head. The little girl inside of me still wants to be a real writer. You know, like making a living off of things I thought up.

Of course, to do that, I'd have to actually spend some time doing creative writing instead of all the non-creative tasks that seem to fill my days. As my friend Rebekah reminded me via her blog the other day, writers write. That's all it is. You're not a writer if you're not doing any writing. And this article on "Finding Time to Write" drove the point home.

So good-bye for now. I've got 20 minutes before I need to get started on some dinner preparations. Time to write.