It’s mid-August, and I hear writer moms everywhere breathing a big, fat sigh of relief. It’s not that we don’t love and cherish the time with our little ankle biters. Of course we do. But as writers (and human beings for that matter), there’s no such thing as concentrating when the kids are home.
Take this blog post for example. I quite stupidly thought I would write it while lounging on the bed with the family cat, and sipping a refreshing iced tea. Instead, I just called my children in to threaten them with their lives. Go watch some TV, I said. Don’t fight, I said (for the gagillionth time). If you bite your sister again, I said, I’m going to call your father. (This is a well known bluff in our house, as the kids know good and well, A., I won’t take the time to call, and B., their father won’t do diddly squat when he gets home, since this isn’t 1955.)
So what do we writer moms do? We roll with the punches of summer vacation. We take our netbooks to the park and balance them on our laps while applying sunscreen and Neosporin. We write after the kids are in bed, unafraid to prop our eyelids open with toothpicks, just so we can get a few hundred words in before we collapse. We plot out the rest of our book, while watching the same episode of Phineas and Ferb for the thirty-sixth time, pretending at the same time to pay happily attention.
I love my girls. I love them with all my heart. But when I drop them off that first day of school, I’m going to have to keep from squealing the tires out of the elementary school parking lot and running over the lunch lady in the process. I’ll be heading to the nearest Starbucks, grabbing a cup of joe, and sitting down to finish this god forsaken book that I started in January. Finally. Because I’m a writer mom, and that’s how we roll ;)
About the Author:
Kaylie lives in Southern Oregon with her husband, two little girls and her two indifferent cats, Alice and Cosmo.
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