A Slice of My Writing Life

I’m sitting in my kitchen on this rainy Saturday feeling somewhat of a sense of accomplishment. The bed is made, the house picked up and the dishwasher and the dryer are both running. My daughter, who is three years old, is singing parts of Taylor Swift’s song “Trouble” repeatedly as though she’s one of those big old LP’s where the needle gets stuck in the same spot, “Trouble, trouble, trouble, trouble, trouble ...” ad infinitum.  At least she’s not torturing us with endless repetitions of PSY’s “Gangnam Style” video.  This is all “women’s stuff”, and it really belongs in my morning pages (which I haven’t written today) rather than a blog. This stuff is part of the daily landscape (for me) of being a woman and a creative person. I do housework at breakneck speed and I even joined a semi cult-like group called “FlyLady” a few years ago in my efforts to become domestically super-efficient so that I would have more time to write. More time to write, dear God let me write something half-way decent before I die! My daughter watches me sitting at my computer a lot. Lesson planning. A little writing. More lesson planning. A little more writing, maybe.

Children emulate what we do of course, so Sophie has learned to navigate the iPad like a ten year old.  She started with “Angry Birds” and moved into YouTube videos of people teaching her to play Angry Birds, or demonstrating Angry Bird toys. Then she started finding videos of people baking various novelties, such as “Angry Birds” cupcakes and “Hallo Kitty” cakes. “Mommy,” she asks me in that deeply serious tone that three year-olds sometimes use, “do we have a cake leveler?”
“Um, no honey” I say distractedly, searching for just the right  phrase in my latest mini-epic. “How about fondant?” she says  hopefully. We sit together snuggled on the couch while I type letters and write blog posts. Do I feel guilty about how much time I let her play with technology? Of course! Guilt is a language many women and especially mothers understand very well. Or maybe that’s just me. Maybe other mummies take time to sweep under the couch on a Saturday morning before they set to work baking with their cake levelers and colored fondant.

This morning I did something I never do. I asked my husband to clean the bathroom so that I could have more time to write. And he did. “Hey mommy,” Sophie asks me, “can I paint now, please can I?”
“We have to go out soon honey” I say, “but we can do some modelling clay for a few minutes if you like.” 
“Ooh yay, let’s make some Angry Birds!” she claps excitedly and I smile. She's creative, just like me.