“Whatever you do, don’t bother Mom while she’s writing,” cautioned Ken as he zipped out to the garage.
Which is why Katie only asked for a little help with her candy-making stand. She needed marshmallows. And caramels. And Rice Krispies. And chocolate molds. And wax paper.
“Mom is writing, so just let her be,” reminded Ken as he opened his computer.
Which is why Lizzie only needed me to photograph three of the costumes that she put on her stuffed pig.
And why Henry crawled into my lap and fell asleep.
Our kids drive me batty sometimes. They do not understand the sanctity of my work time.
Then again, they are the inspiration for my work. Their shenanigans fuel my stories; their silliness softens my heart. Because of them, I get to say all manner of things I have never said before.
No, Lizzie, it is not ‘illegal’ to kick a volleyball.
No, Henry, you cannot bring three owls and a puppy into church.
No, Katie, I will not eat that spider for a dollar.
Yes, Lizzie, I would love to see your pig’s new talent show.
Girls, stop fighting over that cucumber.
Lizzie, even if Katie said she would pay you a dollar, please do not shoot that arrow at your father’s butt.
No, thank you, Katie. I do not want a chocolate-covered hard-boiled egg.
I sometimes envy my writer friends who have offices, computer desks, and uninterrupted hours in which to create.
When I really need to do serious writing, I drive to the grocery store. They have a couple tables near the check out. It is quieter there. Plus, afterwards, I can buy milk.
But mostly, I prefer to write past bedtime. I tuck myself here in the alcove, just me and the spiders, and maybe a cup of tea. I type through the shadows, thankful, always so very thankful, that the kids’ stories light up the dark.
