It's science... I think.

Every time I finally sit down to write, I become the default everything in my house. 

“Mom, I forgot to tell you…” “Mom, do you know where…?”, “Mom, I haven’t been pet in like the last three minutes…” It’s a chorus of Mom, Mom, Mom… 

I am blessed to be the default. I am truly glad they come to me for all the things, and they typically don’t just barge in. They patiently wait for me to pause so that I can finish my thought (except the dogs, of course— they couldn’t care less about my focus and demand immediate attention. RUDE!) (And for the record, they are far from ignored.) But it must be science. Something about sitting at the desk triggers a silent alarm only they can hear, eliciting a deep need to include me in their lives. How lucky I am for such an alarm, and that is not sarcasm, even if it reads as such. 

I mean, how can you not pet me?

Is it Pavlov’s dog? Schrodinger's cat? Maybe if they know I am writing, there’s a conditioned reaction to be included in MY life. Or perhaps it’s more existential: am I even writing if I’m at the desk and no one is there to prove it? 

Balancing writing with the daily aspects of regular living is a precarious tightrope walk. I don’t want to miss a thing. I want to be included while they still want to include me. So how then do I balance it? I compromise. A trade sleep. Coupled with a bit of exercise, it allows me to stay up a little later. I write when they are busy. I write between stirring the boiling dinner on the stove and hoping I don’t forget something and burn it. Compromise, right? I write in my head and then jot it down in every spare moment. And when I can’t do that, I read, because that is equally important. Audiobooks in the car, when I’m walking, folding laundry, cleaning house, grocery shopping. E-books or paperbacks at appointments. I work full-time, and it goes through busy seasons of grading or planning. On downtime, I read or write. 

I hope that as my girls mature, they will remember me as a mother committed to a dream. I hope they will understand that there is no age limit to growth. I hope they will understand that they can be both a mom who shows up for others and one who shows up for herself. 

Regardless, their interruptions, my pursuit of growth, burnt dinners,... it’s all science… I think.