I’ve learned that there are a few things I will have to accept if I’m going to be a mother that writes. And by that I mean a mother that writes while her kids are around. Keep in mind this is probably only a partial list because I am constantly being interrupted and have to write in snippets of about thirty seconds to one minute. We’ve all heard of the thirty-second sound bite? Well, this is the thirty-second writing bite.
- TV. It’s probably not what you would think. I write while the TV is blaring Spongebob (four-year-old boy child’s favorite show on earth) or iCarly (10-year-old’s favorite show though she will watch paint dry as long as it’s on TV). I learned long ago not to write in a quiet atmosphere because that frankly doesn’t exist in my home, even when the kids are at school. Why? Well, let me enlighten you.
- Husband. JP works at home, in a nice, big room with a great big desk in front of a pretty window. He sits there for oh, fifteen-minute intervals after which he comes to find me, to discuss various and sundry stuff. My office is as follows: a netbook. Yep, that’s it. I put my little HP wherever I can and write, write, write. That is, when I’m not interrupted by people interrupting me. To his credit, JP acknowledges that he has Man Disease (he is terrible at grammar and spelling), so I proofread most of his emails and help him write his scripts and design documents for his business. (I love that he can own up to being bad at all things English–there are some things you just can’t fake–if you know what I mean. Oh, get your minds out of the gutter, people!)
- Housework. Ugh. This may surprise those of you that don’t live in the OC, but not all of us have long blonde (extensions) hair, drive luxury vehicles, are Republicans, wear five-karat (minimum) rocks on our fingers, fake boobs, a few ex-husbands, and a full-time housekeeper. Well, I guess I could amend that by saying that I DO have a full-time housekeeper: ME. Given that I’m constantly picking up after not only my family but also a puppy (if you read previous posts, you’ll know I’m referring to my son, who I believe is the same as a puppy in temperament), you will understand why this presents quite a challenge in getting my thoughts down–yet somehow I still do. The laundry can wait–the muse waits for no one.
- OMG the bickering and fighting. Do you have children? Then you know exactly to what I am referring. If not, then recall back to your experiences growing up as a child with your beloved siblings. Come on, it wasn’t that long ago! If I happen upon a quiet moment among the chaos–dishes are done, children are fed and bathed–and I’m typing away in the illusion of peace, chances are Lukas will pounce with stealth upon Anya for really no reason whatsoever–to which she will respond with the shrill wail of a banshee who has been knifed in the gut with a twelve-inch serrated blade. In other words, typical hell will have broken loose in the Thompson home once again, and I will be thankful for the autosave feature on blogger that has saved my ass more than once.
- Patience: part of being a mother is having had to learn how to be patient. Not my biggest strength but one difficult lesson that has come with surprising ease. While I can’t always get to my computer or notebooks when I want to because my little guy wants me to build a Lego with him or figure out a Tinker Toy project, I’ve learned, as mothers the world over have done, to put my creative needs on the back burner until his needs are taken care of. My words will wait; my children won’t. And that’s okay.
Their need for me is something I created, nurtured and grew. Far be it from me to look into their beautiful little faces and see them fall. One day they will have muses of their own that will sing out to them in the middle of the night. Until then, they have me.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
