Last night, I jumped out of my computer chair, rushed over to my teenage daughter, grabbed a piece of her hair and said, "What is this? What would you call it? Oh...a lock! Of course!" Then, I hurried back over to the computer and typed the words, "picked up a lock of her hair and gave it a gentle tug." (Or something that was much more brilliant than that. But you get the general gist.) My daughter said, "It's so weird having a writer for a mom."
A few minutes later (or was it hours?) she said it again. "It's so weird having a writer for a mom. I say something to you and you laugh about it like five minutes later." That's exactly how long it takes my brain to portal from the world of my novel back to reality, process what she said and react to it. This makes writing a long arduous process when the kids are home from school. My brain is travelling from world to world constantly, and doesn't really get much done in either place.
I'm sure it is weird having a writer for a mom. But it's kind of weird being a writer here during the summer with all the kids home. This morning, as I was searching for an idea for this blog post, my younger daughter made gingerbread pancakes all by herself, and I was only half aware it was happening, even though my computer is located in the kitchen. They were delicious, and no thanks to me.
But last week, we went on a vacation to a lake house. My youngest son and I decided to go on a walk up the dirt road, and on the way he discovered a little wild blueberry bush. There were about ten ripe berries on it, and so we immediately started looking for more. He had better eyes for finding the bushes than I did, and pretty soon both our hands were full. We hurried back to the lake house, grabbed a red solo cup and started over. The berries weren't plenteous, by any means, and we made up a story about a bear who had eaten most of the berries but left a few of the best bushes untouched for the queen bear who would be coming along shortly. Hopefully that queen bear won't find out it was us who stole her berries.
Eventually we'd nearly filled the cup, and the horse flies had discovered our presence, so we hurried back, where we proceeded to make the most delicious blueberry tart you have ever tasted. It was exactly big enough for all eleven of us to have one big bite. Soon afterward, all the cousins took off down the road to search for more, but between the bear and us, there simply weren't many left. They did find a few blackberries though.
It was unplanned. It was spontaneous. It took most of the morning. But it was with one of my favorite people in the world. He's growing fast, and I don't want his only memories of me to be that I laughed at his jokes five minutes late. I don't feel guilty for that. I don't just want to be with my children. I want to be someone with accomplishments they can admire too. I don't know how to delineate writing time and family time here in the summer, especially with a terribly beautiful deadline looming on the horizon. But I'm trying.
How about you? Do you have any funny "It's so weird knowing a writer" stories? Or advice about how to quickly and safely traverse the perilous pathway between your worlds?
A few minutes later (or was it hours?) she said it again. "It's so weird having a writer for a mom. I say something to you and you laugh about it like five minutes later." That's exactly how long it takes my brain to portal from the world of my novel back to reality, process what she said and react to it. This makes writing a long arduous process when the kids are home from school. My brain is travelling from world to world constantly, and doesn't really get much done in either place.
I'm sure it is weird having a writer for a mom. But it's kind of weird being a writer here during the summer with all the kids home. This morning, as I was searching for an idea for this blog post, my younger daughter made gingerbread pancakes all by herself, and I was only half aware it was happening, even though my computer is located in the kitchen. They were delicious, and no thanks to me.
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| By Rosemary Ratcliff Stock Photo - image ID: 100100281 There were not nearly this many blueberries on our bushes. |
Eventually we'd nearly filled the cup, and the horse flies had discovered our presence, so we hurried back, where we proceeded to make the most delicious blueberry tart you have ever tasted. It was exactly big enough for all eleven of us to have one big bite. Soon afterward, all the cousins took off down the road to search for more, but between the bear and us, there simply weren't many left. They did find a few blackberries though.
It was unplanned. It was spontaneous. It took most of the morning. But it was with one of my favorite people in the world. He's growing fast, and I don't want his only memories of me to be that I laughed at his jokes five minutes late. I don't feel guilty for that. I don't just want to be with my children. I want to be someone with accomplishments they can admire too. I don't know how to delineate writing time and family time here in the summer, especially with a terribly beautiful deadline looming on the horizon. But I'm trying.
How about you? Do you have any funny "It's so weird knowing a writer" stories? Or advice about how to quickly and safely traverse the perilous pathway between your worlds?
