…that I wonder why I bother to try to write at all. Really, it would be much easier to become a published writer if I didn’t have children. Oh sure, J.K Rowling managed to write Harry Potter while the baby slept. Bully for her. I’m not she. She was probably a lot more disciplined than me. Maybe someday I shall get to that point.
But I also do know she wasn’t juggling four kids, two whom are homeschooled, three who have religious education, two who have dance classes, one in soccer, and one who decided to come with all sorts of “extras” (you know, Maura.) I’m not going to even try to lie and convince you the rest of my time is eaten up with keeping my house spotless. Though tomorrow, I do have major cleaning plans. Today, I grocery shopped and such.
Yes, today, I spent a good hour or more hunting down Lego Castle items for Collin. I was hoping not to have to go across town to the Toys R Us. I should have just gone there first and saved that extra time. His birthday is Monday. Live in denial with me that my firstborn will be fourteen years old.
The good news though in all of this – once I get the book written, I can use those same kids who distract me from writing as my first critics. If it actually interests the boys, I’ve done very well. Very well indeed.
In the meantime, I must get the mixings for a red velvet cake, which is what The Boy requested as his birthday cake.