When the Writing Distractions Are Funny Not Funny
Sunday mornings. The day that I am supposed to have to myself. Husband gets up with the kids, gets them breakfast. I shower, grab my coffee, and head out to my writing desk in the sunroom. If I am lucky, I might have two or three hours to myself. Yet I cannot escape the house around me, and sometimes I just have to shrug my shoulders and laugh because, well, I tried.
There is a sliding glass door between the living room and sunroom, so the baby can see me. She crawled over and pounded her hand on the glass, in an attempt to get my attention. I tried to ignore her. She hoisted herself up on her knees in a more fervent attempt, then fell over and clonked her head on the glass door. Began bawling.
Even though I always tell everyone to “pretend I’m not here” I still commanded the two older kids to go downstairs and get dressed. The six-year-old appeared at my side wearing a white button-down shirt he calls his “lab coat” because I am apparently the only person in the house who knows how to button and he needs help.
Minutes later, I hear someone screaming bloody murder from the basement playroom. Not murder. Just the same six-year-old wanting the lab coat to be REMOVED but won’t let his dad help him unbutton. Only wants me. I pretend I don’t hear anything and the screaming continues.
Husband puts the baby down for her morning nap and proceeds to settle in for a nap himself. I’m like “But, but the kitchen hasn’t been cleaned…” (part of the morning tasks I’m supposed to be escaping) and heard a response of “I’ll do it later.” Well, now I’m mad.
And oh crap, now realize it’s the end of the month and I have some household/bills type stuff that needs to be done and if I don’t do it now, I won’t have a chance on a workday.
Somehow in all of this, I set my coffee cup down in an odd location and now I cannot find it. Spend a good five minutes searching high and low, only to find it on the corner of a bookshelf.
Before I know it, over two hours have passed.
But… I did get some time to plan out my writing for the upcoming week. That’s always a plus and makes the days feel less chaotic.
I resolved the fight between my husband and the 6-year-old over the whole button-unbutton shirt situation.
The baby napped for an hour and a half.
And my husband came down and loaded the dishwasher.
So we’ll call the “morning to myself” half a win.
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