The day is almost
here. The day when my boys will be back in school and life can return to
normal. Well, as normal as it ever gets around here. I rub my hands together
with glee in anticipation of the little freedoms I have lived without for the
past nine weeks. Once I get through the horror of getting them out the door and
safely dropped at school, the world will become my oyster! I can write when I
want to write, not when they are momentarily mesmerized by a cartoon–all the
while, the guilt of using a screen as a babysitter eating away at me. I can run
errands without constant whining in
my ear. Hot dog! I can pee in peace! And I can actually finish a thought
without being interrupted with a request for a Disney Infinity game system.
(Ever since news spread of the Star Wars characters, it’s ALL my boys talk
about. They are relentless!) Life looks pretty damn good.
Then the other shoe drops. I realize that
I will now be left to my own devices in an empty house. Instead of sitting down
with my laptop to bang out brilliant ideas for my latest book, I will be
tempted to take advantage of the array of vices looming in front of me. Perhaps,
a long, hot bath with a good book? I cannot remember the last time I could read
without being interrupted every two
minutes. (Constant requests for sustenance, technical assistance or refereeing
prevent such a luxury. I’ve already been interrupted ten times since I started
writing this blog post.) Once I talk myself out of my Calgon-take-me-away time,
the remote will try to jump into my hand, beckoning me to lose myself in the
wonders of Netflix, Google Play and Hulu Plus (Have you SEEN the number of cool
shows they’ve added lately?) As I use one hand to force the other to drop the
remote, I will remember the list of recipes I have bookmarked for the time when
little helpers aren’t close enough to hear the whir of my KitchenAid. I will run
from the kitchen, knowing if I set foot in there, I will come out several hours
(and calories) later. I’m nothing if not thorough with my quality testing.
The more I think
about it, my impending kid-free surroundings start to feel like a minefield of
epic proportions. How can I possibly be trusted to bypass all this cool stuff
in favor of buckling down to work on my next book? (If I didn’t fall asleep
shortly after my boys went to bed, I wouldn’t be in this predicament. I have
literally NO alone time. That’s what having two rambunctious boys will do to
you.) I’m reminded of my early college days when the doors of freedom opened
wider than I had ever seen them and I was left with the choice to stray into
the unknown or stay on the beaten path. After a small detour into debauchery, I
was able to stick to the straight and narrow, capitalizing on the benefits of
my excellent education. Maybe this is what I need to do now. Just a small taste
of freedom should do it, right? Then
I can focus.
Suddenly, I
remember my secret weapon. My husband has just changed jobs, which means he
will be working from home EVERY SINGLE DAY. Ha! There’s no way I could stand
the ridicule I would see in his eyes if he were to catch me, say watching my
umpteenth episode of Gilmore Girls or
perfecting my latest cookie recipe. The drill sergeant is in place, y’all. We
can all breathe a collective sigh of relief. Come hell or high water, my next
book will be written.
(Psst! Don’t be
fooled. My husband may look like he’s a sweetheart, but he has a mean streak!
He’s PERFECT for the job.)
The price of
freedom is rough, peeps. I’m really glad I don’t have to pay it on my own. ;)
No comments:
Post a Comment