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. ;)