I wanted to write today. I had every intention of finding a moment of quiet and sitting down to write an idea that’s been replaying through my mind for months now.
But this morning my kids got hungry and they needed someone to make them breakfast. By 10am we had made pancakes and muffins, all worked out in the living room, given the baby a bath, and were ready to get out of the house- for sanity’s sake.
I wanted to write today. I dreamed of nap time for the baby and turning on a show for the older girls. Time to sit at the table to at least get out some ideas.
But Rose fell asleep in the car after a visit with Grandma and then we had to go Easter shopping with my mother-in-law…because it’s another holiday where everyone needs to buy the kids something more that we don’t really need.
I wanted to write today. Maybe a sliver of time to jot something on a napkin or on the corner of one of the million pieces of artwork littering every surface of our house.
But there was laundry to fold. Bags to pack. Lunches to make. Tomorrow is Monday. The week begins again.
I wanted to write today. “At bedtime,” I told myself. They’ll all go to sleep and no one will need a thing.
But Rose had other plans. It’s a teeth growing night. Popping two in one week wasn’t enough. Despite over an hour of rocking, her head bounced right up as soon as I put her down in the crib.
I wanted to write today. I wanted to settle in at my laptop, a cup of something warm to enjoy as I wrote and revised.
But my husband is working from home on our laptop, despite having spent the morning at the office… on a Sunday.
I wanted to write today. I wanted to feel like a writer who had time to craft and rework ideas, in a space that gave me inspiration.
Instead, I’m curled up at the bottom of my three year old’s twin bed- the only way she can fall asleep these days, typing this up on my phone…because I wanted to write today.