When I grow up...

I have reached a pivotal moment in my life where I finally know what I want to be when I grow up. It's the thing my mother and grandmother told me as a kid I was destined to be but I refused to consider. So much so in fact that I spend 6 years in college being mediocre at something I thought I really wanted to do, even though it kicked my hiney. (hence the 6 years for only one degree!) Also, the entire time I was determined to get that degree and stay the course, I questioned constantly if that was something I really wanted to do as a career. I still feel the same about my degree 9 years after graduating as I did in the middle of school, so I think that means I didn't follow my passion.
I want to write. I would love to be a published author and get paid to sit in front of this computer and pour my stories into beautiful masterpieces that will entertain people. And while I type away, my income would pay for some sweet, efficient lady to take over my household duties while the kids are in school, and as soon as it's time to pick them up, I would morph into super mom-someone not tired from mopping and ironing, someone not frustrated from a trip to the grocery store, and someone not wondering what to make for dinner. That part wouldn't be my job anymore! It's good to have dreams.
Then reality whacks me in the face. I have spent exactly NO time of my 30-something years cultivating my portfolio or working toward a tangible goal of writing professionally. Changing directions midstream with 3 young children and several bathrooms that depend on me to care for them seems impossible. On the other hand, when I was  younger woman, I didn't have as much to write about. Becoming a parent and walking through some raging storms of life have given me more inspiration. It's a catch 22. Perhaps by the time they're grown, the kids will have given me enough material for a novel! In the meantime, I'm thinking of reading my stories aloud to the dog as I scrub toilets.