It's 7:25 am on Mother's Day. Do you know where this Mother is? Writing, of course.
Girl-child told me the other day that she had read an article directed at new fathers and it suggested three things to ensure they were good fathers. One of them was accessibility. She couldn't remember the other two.
We talked a bit about how hard it is for a kid to catch up to Dad if he's a workaholic, or goes fishing or even just spends his spare time under the car. This made me examine my own accessibility, particularly my habit of hiding behind a computer screen for the entire lives of my children.
Girl-child didn't think it was an issue. "You're still there, Mom." Like the television. Click on the food channel and something edible will appear. Kind of. One of my kids is a picky eater. I won't say which one HE is, but last night was a good example. At least he's learned to simply say, "I'm not that hungry." And, "Thanks for dinner, Mom." Then he has a bowl of cereal while cleaning the kitchen. He's cooking tomorrow, by the way. I may not be that hungry by then, but I'll try to remember my manners.
Anyway, I forgot it was Mother's Day until I checked my email while waiting for the kettle and had a message that someone else was blogging about Mommy's Day. All I was really thinking about was getting my butt in the chair and accomplishing something, but I'm feeling a bit scatterbrained on the writing front these days (as opposed to simply being scatterbrained across the board.)
So I wasn't sure what I'd be working on when I got upstairs, but I know I'm behind on writing my blogs. I knew I would fall behind when I started, so please be kind. This sort of genius doesn't just pour out, you know. And now that I'm here, I'm wondering what kind of mother I am that I'm writing a blog rather than interacting with my kids.
Do I play the "It's Mother's Day, I Can Do What I Want" card? Or the "Cherish These Moments For They Will Be Gone Soon" card. Both are stained heavily with guilt.
Let's see. If the goal is a happy mother, we need to go with the first option. I'm a miserable cow when I don't write. And let's be serious. Do kids really leave home these days? No. They're buzzing like flies on poop for years. The days of having them around are not numbered that low.
Therefore, I'm allowed to write.
But like I say, I'm having trouble figuring out what to writeI don't mean writer's block. It's more like writer's cram. I'm full of ideas and literally am not in this chair often enough to throw everything onto a page. Too many options.
I just finished a partial, but I need to let it sit a few days and perk, then have another quick peek before pushing it out the door.
I mentioned before about the young adult story the kids want me to write. That's on top of the one I started with my daughter two years ago and never got past the first few pages. She named all the characters, helped me sketch a basic premise and worked out the rules in the imaginary world, then left the easy part--the writing--to me.
I have two manuscripts I'm anxious to rewrite because I know where I want to submit them. Oh, and I really should get the rest of the story written for that partial I just finished. If they like it, they like you to have the rest of the book. If they don't like it, it's good practice. (I'm told. Shoot me now.)
So I'm sitting here wondering which way to jump, the sun is on my back and the thought, Today would be a great day to start the garden, drifts through my mind.
See any sign of kids in that? I never do. They hate pulling weeds. Of course I do have that lovely, "It's Mother's Day So You Have To" card in my pocket. Nothing says "I love my Mom" like buckling in for her lengthy guilt-trip, right?
The fact is, I mostly think Mother's Day is just one more day designated by Hallmark to kill a tree. I don't feel a need to present myself so my kids can appreciate me. They show me the love often enough and if they don't, I make them. They say, "Thanks for dinner" even when they didn't like it and "You're still there, Mom," even though I only feel half-there.
(I will, however, show up to my own mother's house this evening for the dinner she's offered to cook. Wait. Was I supposed to cook? You'd think so, but my son's picky eating came from someone's DNA and she'd rather eat her own cooking than mine--just like him. Coincidentally, son is quite excited to be eating at Grandma's tonight. He always eats well there.)
Meanwhile, I'm going to post this then dig into some kind of serious writing. Right after I check in with the kids. It's Sunday. Maybe they'd like pancakes.