I can already see a major obstacle I’m going to have to overcome with this whole blogging every day situation: the weekends.
See, I have two small children. They look exactly like each other, and nothing like my husband and me, leading me to believe that I was twice impregnated by some sort of alien replicant situation bent on populating the earth with small, somewhat funny but usually pretty annoying blonde women.
And for some reason, they like me. Like, a lot. So when they’re not busy yelling at each other, or our cat, or just out of sheer glee at hearing their own screechy voices, they are surgically attached to me, or physically attempting to climb back into my uterus, which must have been pretty nice, given the urgency with which they try to reenter.
This kind of closeness can be quite comforting– it’s nice to feel loved, even if these same children tell me only minutes later that I am the worst mommy in the world because I wouldn’t allow them to wear their dirty underwear on their heads to the grocery store– but it turns out it is terrible for blogging. For instance, right now, literally right next to where I’m sitting, this is happening:
So I face a dilemma– do I disarm her, re-pants her and figure out where the other boot went? (I am already ignoring the probably-permanent-marker stains on her hands and legs, because quite frankly, she’s got one on her hand that looks like a watercolor tattoo and is pretty badass, so I’d rather not mess with that.) Or do I attempt to stay focused on my writing, and ignore the nagging feeling that she might not be wearing a diaper under that shirt?
(I just checked. She’s not. So I guess that answers that question.)