For the entirety of last week, due to work restrictions, I don’t think I cooked one real dinner. As Buddy so aptly but it, “sometimes work doesn’t leave enough Wylie left to make dinner.”

So true.

There really is only so much of me to go around. And the mathematics of that are brutal to contemplate.

Let’s say I have a grand total of 168 hours each week to play with. Of those, I spend 40 hours at work and 56 sleeping.

That leaves me with 72 hours. Rosebud is with her father 18 of those hours. Juniper’s schedule with her mother is far more changeable, but let’s go with the notion of 18 hours for her as well.

54 hours left.

Now, it takes me, on average, about an hour a day to make meals. More like 3 on Sunday.

45 hours left.

Laundry, grocery shopping, tidying eat up another 7 hours a week.

38 hours in total that are left to me, where I’m not working, sleeping, cooking or otherwise performing life maintenance.

Of that time, I  devote as much as possible to the girls and spending time with them, encouraging, validating, cheering and snuggling.

Let’s say that takes up another 24 of my hours.

18 hours left. 2.5 hours per day. And this is usually the time left at the end of the long and exhausting day. And it’s our time. Our time as a couple to do our activities, to spend time together, to reconnect and discuss our kids, our house, ourselves.

So. That’s how my life generally runs.
But Wylie, you ask. Where is the time for you?

There’s precious little of it, I’ll admit. And you know? I don’t even really mind that fact. Sure, I’ve been obliged to pare down a lot of the things I used to spend time doing. Some of that is based on sensible application of time, and some if it is because there are some associations I’d like to move on from.

I’ve given up the majority of television - some shows because they weren’t really worth my time, and others because I watched them with ex - as a “thing” we did. Football, as much as I adore it, and my Colts, carries both a heavy time (viewing) commitment, and an unfortunate mental association.

I catch up with friends largely via e-mail and phone, and our plans to go out together are scheduled weeks and months in advance.

What’s left isn’t much, but it’s the very heart of who I am.

Blogging is part of that. I’ve often wondered if there would ever come a time in my life where I simply run out of things to say, or run out of steam to keep up with it.

But I haven’t. No matter how small the time gets for me and my blogging, no matter the fact that I can’t take or make the time to extensively revise and edit what I post. The fifteen minutes I find to pour brain into keyboard are as good as it gets, and it’s enough.

Even though the time I use to write blogs, interact with other bloggers and keep current about the community is invariably begged, borrowed or stolen from something else, I’ve discovered and reaffirmed that blogging is part of me. It’s crucial to my identity.

It’s not just what I write. It’s the people I read, the community I feel a kinship with, and it’s you. You silent readers. It doesn’t even really matter what your reasons are for being here and reading. Without you, I would merely be converting a paper diary with a heart-shaped lock into the electronic version of same. But you’re here. You read. You don’t comment (most of you). But your very presence gives amplification to my voice.

And I thank you for it.

Just as I thank all of the bloggers out there - those I don’t read, those I read but don’t admit to, those who have evolved into celebloggers and are not participants in the community, those I can’t relate to, those who have never been discovered, but are plugging away at their words, finding their voices.

I thank you all for being here, for sharing with me this passion, this interest, this community. I thank you for inspiring me. I thank you for encouraging me to keep going, simply by your presence.