College produced some of the same feelings of rush, rush. I was in my adviser's office a lot, and taking classes mostly on the basis of "need to have", though I did take some "want to haves" along the way, and they all seemed to be English related, which helped me graduate in the end.
I graduated from BYU-ID (Rick's College then) after just 1 1/2 year of work with my Associates degree, and got married a few days later.
Then I finished up at USU after another year and a half with my Elementary Ed. teaching degree a month before Nellie L was born. (By the skin of my teeth. I took 18 credits that summer, and didn't get to graduate in May with my class because the Dean didn't think I could finish. Oh, well. By the time I could walk in the procession, life had moved on.)
Then about every two years the stork came. I would nurse for about a year, and then the stork would come again.
This is the life I chose, and I have been happy.
I am still very happy and blessed.
Twenty years ago, this was exactly where I wanted to be, and I have been blessed beyond what I could have imagined.
But...(You had to know it was coming.)
I thought that at this point in my life, I would be able to get it together. I guess I somehow thought that i would have the energy of a twenty-year-old, without the morning sickness and exhaustion of little bitties everywhere. I didn't count on my body aging and deteriorating with all that baby-growing. (But I guess if my body hadn't fallen completely apart, I would still be having babies...)
I thought that I would still be able to have a burst of adrenalin and whip through the house every day. I saw myself getting organized and healthy and slim and productive.
Volunteering and socializing and serving. Juggling 10 items with one hand while doing push-ups with the other.
Things are easier now that my big kids can help, and I luxuriate in the knowledge that I can run to the store alone, or ask someone to switch the laundry.
Note to the reader: I know that this has become a redundant theme of whining. Send me a bill for the therapy.
Anyway. I just want to say that life doesn't get easier. That's not the purpose, anyway. It changes.
So now I'm trying to change my ways. I'm living in a constant fog of headaches, so I can't be the brilliant genius that I've always seen myself as. (I sometimes feel that I can't even hold my end of a conversation.) I'm forced to depend more on the Lord for ideas and help with everything. I might even learn some humility. I'm exhausted in a new way, and have to play triage with the house.
I cannot feel guilty about getting the sleep I need. People need me late at night, and I need to be cheerfully functional at the drop of a hat more than I need a shiny kitchen floor.
The kids need me MORE as they grow, not less, so I have to make sure that the less important things don't crowd out the MOST important. This also shows my need for Him. Maybe I'll learn patience.
Maybe age is more about becoming one with God, and less about getting stuff done. Maybe I should become reconciled to the idea that my worth is not dependent on exterior, surface indicators.
If I can relax, smile and quit hyperventilating about everything, maybe I will be less tense. (And have less migraine action.) Maybe my peace will come as I listen to my Heavenly Father's messages of love and approval, and block my own stupid ideas of failure and not measuring up to unreasonable expectations.
I think that my "hurry, hurry" phase in life is over. Now I can slow down and bless others with peace, counsel, comfort and wisdom (if I can find any).