I am sitting in my loft office with my fifth grade son at my feet. He's doing math, I think. I'm thinking about how my world has become a swirling vortex of freelance jobs with deadlines, checking on my mother who is recovering nicely after the removal of 80% of her stomach, trying to be my own remodeling contractor, driving my daughters around town, and teaching my sons.

Notably absent from the list are the following: working on my manuscripts, cooking, cleaning, and... well... living.

That's what I want to talk about today.

I spent a restless night going over and over why I seem to feel so miserable and nervous all the time. Jean, you already knew, but it took me a while to admit it, I think. I am overextended. When you stretch yourself so thin that you move from opaque to clear and then can even be seen straight through, something has to change. And for me, it is changing right now. I've decided to take a month off from freelancing so that I can get my book manuscripts back into shape and submit them. I am also going to cook gourmet meals for my family again. I LOVE doing that. My mother cooked for us each night, no matter what else was going on or where we needed to be -- football, music lessons, choir practice, whatever. There was still a family meal, and the absent child always, ALWAYS came home to a plate of food warming in the oven, a remnant of the spectacular meal everyone else shared together.

I plan to reconnect with my family over dinner. I remember clearly the night in 1974 when we solved the energy crisis around the dinner table. I also remember dragging the old black and white tv into the kitchen the night Jack Benny died so we could watch the tribute. There would be no repeats, so we had to do that! I remember being tricked out of the last portion of this or that by my scheming brothers and loud arguments about which political candidate deserved to win an election. I remember the somber night we walked into the house silently after dining out at a restaurant together. We had just heard Jim Croce's plane went down (Bad, Bad Leroy Brown, Time in a Bottle).

We talked about school. We talked about movies. We talked about sports. We talked about religion. The point is... We talked! Over chateaubriand and brussels sprouts. Over lamb roast and rosemary potatoes. Over Matzo ball soup and homebaked bread. (Never over hot dogs -- My Jewish father didn't permit us to eat them. Or to drink coke for some reason unknown to me. Now that we all know it leaches calcium from the bones, I'm thankful for dear ole dad and his idiosyncrasies!)

All that to say...

If there's a delay in my email answer to you, if I don't answer the phone and linger over a meal before returning your call, if I take my daughters to the opera instead of meeting that deadline, if I help my sons build a trebuchet when I could be racing around town to this meeting or that, please understand.

And please take my advice.

Life is short -- live it wisely.

Yours -- when I'm stupid and shallow and when I'm deep and thought-provoking,

Megan Elizabeth

"Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love Him" (James 1:12 NIV).