My husband looked at the towels spread across our back porch. "Why paper making?"
My 13-year-old didn't even hesitate. "Paper is so cheap," he said.
I had spent nearly two hours on my knees on the hot concrete, scooping watery paper pulp into a frame, sponging out the excess water, and laying each fragile sheet onto a towel as if I were preserving ancient documents.
Just as I finally stood up, my hip bumped the bucket, and over she went. Cue the sound of dirty paper water pouring straight into the grass.
Was I making paper? Was I making papier-mâché? Honestly, I wasn't sure anymore.
My back hurt. My knees hurt. My grass looked like a kindergarten art class had exploded. By the time I finished cleaning everything up, I had exactly one thought:
But the paper had never been the point. Heck, it didn't even look good.
Take a smarter break in your day – and see how far you get.
At 35, I decided to try one new thing for every year I had been alive. Some of those things would stick. Others, clearly, would not. The point was to remember what it felt like to do something simply because I wanted to know what it would be like.
I became a mom at 19. My first son was born before I had fully figured out who I was as an adult. By the time many people my age were learning what they liked, I was learning how to keep a tiny human alive.
Now I have three kids, ages 15, 13, and 6. For the last 15 years, motherhood has been the center of my life.
I love being a mom. I love my family. But somewhere along the way, I got very good at being useful.
I work from home, which means I am almost always available. Available for school pickups, snacks, laundry, appointments, and the "Mom, where is my…" questions that somehow only I can answer, even when the item is directly in front of everyone.
My husband coached our son's soccer and football teams. He volunteered with the church band. He played golf with friends.
My kids had sports, friends, activities, and their own growing lives.
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