Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Mother Writer

Yesterday I spent the afternoon making homemade spaghetti sauce. We planned to celebrate Girlie's 9th birthday with cupcakes and presents after dinner and she asked for spaghetti, so I wanted it to be special.

It had already been a busy day. It had also been one of those days. Little Guy was literally hanging on me every second. Laundry was getting washed but not folded. The dishwasher was full of clean dishes, but not unloaded, so the new dirties were stacking up. I had only just wrapped Girlie's presents minutes before she got home from school. Hubs texted me that he had to work late, so he'd only arrive just as dinner was ready. There were emails to answer, an assignment for a class I am taking that is still, even now, incomplete.

When Hubs came home and asked how my day had been, I almost said, "Fine, but there's some woman killing chickens in our basement."

What I meant was that my laptop was sitting down there, with a story half baked, one that had been burning in my head for the day. But it was one of those days. So the story sat half written, just at the part where the woman picked up the first chicken.

Such is the life of a mother-writer. Lots of stops and starts, and squeezing it in. Heaps of neglect of either the writing or the family. Or both.

So now I have to get back to that woman. I hope I can remember why she's killing the chickens. Maybe she was thinking about dinner?

Or maybe that was just me.