Being a writer and a full time mom can be quite a juggling act. Throw in a string of ear infections, a plethora of pink eye and the usual antics of a four year old diva and her six year old ultra sensitive sister and you have the makings of a whole lot of something going on. (Except writing of course)
I’ve logged in minus 200 words since school’s out and no wonder with scenes like this piling up like chicken wingbones at a sports bar.
Little C: Well I know best, because I am the oldest.
Little M: Second is the best, fiwst is the wowse.
Little C: Well, you don’t know anything, you’re such a baby!
Little M: Well youwah just a dough-head, anyway!
Me: (feeling the vein in my neck bulge as I try to wash the breakfast dishes in time for supper) Guys! Guys! That’s not how we speak to each other in this family. You need to change your tones and apologise.
Little C: Sor–ry!
Little M: Sow-wy!
3 minutes later…
Little M: whack, whack, whack
Little C: Mo-om! M is hitting me!
Me: (Drying my hands for the 6th time since I started supper to break up a fight) M, we don’t hit in this family. Apologise to C, please.
Little M: Sowwy C.
Me: Now go find something to do while I make supper. How about those sticker books we got at the store?
Off they trot…
1.4 minutes later
Little M: Dough-head
Little C: (comes running from the living room) Mo-om! M called me dough-head!
Me: (Exasperated. It’s 5:30, trying to get supper on the table, this is the 1300th Mo-om I’ve heard today) Well, don’t tell me–talk to M. If you have a problem with M, you’re going to have to work it out with her.
Little C: (considers this for a moment, then disappears back into the living room) M, don’t call me that. I don’t like that.
Little M: Sowwy dough-head.
And I wonder why I haven’t written a stitch since June.
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