Mothering At Almost 33

I've been doing this for awhile now. Being "Mom." Twelve and a half years. Sure, that's just a drop in the bucket in the long view and I'm not even half way to having all my children adulting. And I don't want to be. I don't want to trade one minute of where I am now. But I say twelve years, because I have had little children for that amount of time. Little children that need me for everything. And now I'm getting big children, too, and our new normal is just to bicker all the time. It drives me crazy, quite frankly. I don't know how my Mother let me and my brothers live.
So I kind of have both: Little and needy, Bigger but still Little and deeply insecure, Big but still a little bit Little but getting some sass, and Bigger and pubescent and driven insane by the Little. Sigh.
I feel in transition, and have felt this way for awhile. A transition in Motherhood. I don't have the patience necessary most days. By the time bedtime rolls around at eight I am singing hallelujah. And that's okay, I don't think that's bad.
But I am ready to start reaching outside my little house. I am ready for some personal development -- not church wise, not physical body wise, I just want to build something that stands independent. I think if we still lived by family, I would be a homemaker forever because I would have my sisters-in-law. But we don't and probably never will again, until retirement. So I don't have that secure little system in the day to day. I need adults. And I want to build something.
I know there is a time and a season.
Benson only has three and a half years until Kindergarten. And I treasure my time with him. But I am watching and wondering -- what, where, and how I will reach outside these four walls.