Wake up, mad rush to get kids ready. Dash out of the house only to find out the coach is running late and you’re standing around for thirty minutes, trying to keep a dozen 4 year olds from chasing each other/hitting each other/getting dirty before picture day.
Help 4 year old play baseball, while simultaneously appeasing 1 year old’s neediness (thank you Ergo for inventing a comfy carrier that even pregnant women can use). It’s hot and humid and there isn’t any shade. Why isn’t it fall yet?
Son goes to dharma school, daughter goes down for a nap. Get 45 minutes of writing done on chapter 3 before cranky daughter wakes up. Son and husband come home. We all go shopping for our weekly groceries but don’t quite make it to Costco, where cars are going up and down aisles like sharks looking for parking spots. Decide to send husband later on his own while kids sleep.
Second round of nap time. Daughter cries for 30 minutes in protest. She falls asleep. Son starts crying. Go to check on him only to have him say “but I loooooove you” as he attempts to weasel out of nap time again with crocodile tears. Tell him I’m working and go to continue writing.
Finish beat in chapter 3 and copy and paste bits and pieces of a previous draft I think I may be able to use and revise. Look at what is left in chapter 3 and feel like maybe it’s now time to clean the house. Will not maintain sanity if I trip over one more stupid toy on the floor or if I have to look at one more crumb on the counters.
Think to myself I can continue chapter 3 when the kids go to sleep for the night, but deep down inside know I’ll probably fall asleep before they do.
Bit-by-bit it will get done.
Teresa Shimogawa 